These Lonely Spring poems are examples of Spring poems about Lonely. These are the best examples of Lonely Spring poems written by international PoetrySoup poets
A sweet flower's funeral
displayed in the cold months
of snowy weather and bone chilling shivers.
A sweet flower burned away, dried up;
buried six feet under.
Oh, my sweet flower,
how you once bloomed with no remorse,
like a madman blooming with beauty
and a glorious halo over your head
shinned with such power and blinding glory.
Oh my sweet flower how you have gone now,
resting in peace in the land of paradise.
Oh, my heart it is weak when I see your face,
of once beautiful smiles and warm embraces.
I can hear your crying out to be free.
Snowing and bone chilling cold ripes at my soul
and feelings of sorrow rage through my blood,
boiling my hatred to the world, for losing your
sweet and ever glorious beauty.
What I would give away, if I could be with you
one last night, one last night together
to hold you in my arms, to smell your sweet perfume
that brings back sweet memories of you and I.
What I would do to be with you,
such romance travels through my heart in the highways
of my veins in my body, love is all throughout me,
and my heart breaks when pictures of you start to collect dust.
My love for you, my sweet flower,
is still ingering through the air,
as I travel and look upon a tombstone
which shows your beautiful name.
Come to me my dear flower,
when spring comes,
come to me my dear, sweet flower.
And bloom once again,
twice as large as last year,
and ten times more beautiful then last year.
Come to me in the first months of spring
in my dreams, so I could sit and talk with you.
I miss you already,
and my heart crys,
my eyes flood with tears of sorrow.
I miss our love we shared.
warm cuddling embraces
and beautiful displayed in a picture frame.
Now I hear the tapping of raindrops on my window pane.
That is all that keeps me company,
that and the rose you gave to me
and a picture of you and me.
Love is endless, even when blue eyed Death comes to visit
and play a game of chess with us,
we all play our game, my love.
I shall go tonight
in my sleepy slumber
and dream of you in the times of our height in our love for each other.
My lost love, you are gone, resting in paradise,
but never forgotten my sweet flower.
Am I crazy, or am I just talking to myself?
Look at yourself,
dacing through twilight suns
in sunshine colored dresses.
And you say I'm the crazy one.
Please, don't make me laugh,
I am too much annyoid with taught lessons,
of life and death and love is a magical thing
but I am not impressed till my Gypsy Queen
comes up from the shoreline of the Middle East
and comes and lays next to me, as we watch the ships sail
through the Golden horn of Old Istanbul
into the bay of Asia Minor.
You say I am crazy, Am I or am I just talking to myself.
I believe I am having a conversation that has no end about your beauty,
I talk to whomever has an open ear, and even if people listened,
Who would care about what I have to say?
Since I first laid eyes upon your beauty,
I melted and you took my sanity away from me,
you took my innocence away and turned me into a worried monster.
I love you, and you take me home with you
to meet your father and mother,
both poets who made love and created a beautiful poem called you.
I am in love with you, your songs you sing,
sounding better than a nightingale in the midst of the twilight.
Walking the seashores with your mother as I talk to your father.
He isn't listening, all though he is a good actor,
for he acts if he knows what I say to him.
I talk of you and marriage,
throwing of the rice, exchanging of the golden crowns,
the tolling of church bells, and a happy reception afterwards.
The honeymoon, meant for the first born to carry on the family crest.
As we grow old, I want to grow old with you
Nothing now, a few thousand miles of ocean and sea
seperates us from each other.
Do not worry, for I shall come one day
in the month of May, your mother's favorite month
and I shall bring along a golden ring, a pearl necklace and two roses.
We shall walk the streets together hand and hand,
and wait for the wedding guests to arrive and see us on our way
to new beginnings in holy mantrimony.
Care for me,
I ask you one question, Am I crazy, or am I just talking to myself?
Talking to white walls that don't responed with life.
I need you, too give me a straight answer, to love me
embrace me with your beauty and let me drink from your knowledge.
For my sweet Persian Bride, I shall love you for eternity.
Now, come off the beach and cross the crossing paths
of mortality and morality and join hands with me,
as we sing the nights away, along with the sweet nightingales.
As we look into each other's eyes
I ask you, am I crazy to love you?
The Black butterfly waves away her adorations
All she seeks is seclusion, subsuming slave to mortification
The Dear Air is all she can breath, captive of imaginary dreams
The Beacon resonates, but the hope isolates
The Wasteland's silky fingers caressing the virgin's face
So she is now, the covet of the damned
Programmed to every victim's pain
Carrying the weight of every sorrow
Drowning in wrongs she does not know
But paradise is at loss; she must go
Nature sighs after the bite
All my hopes fading
Don't look at me with those sorrowful eyes
How do you know exactly what I'm feeling?
I'm just the ghost flower passing by
And you can hear nature's sigh
Soy sauce drains
Into the white, clustered rice
spills . . .
Hither I stand, at crossroads,
And then I gaze, at the yonder end-
The vague horizon from where I began;
And all that I may ever deem
Is that- my days
Have been a waken dream.
Hither I stand, at the edge of my dream;
Then I wonder, at the depth of my trance-
An adventurous journey through the wondrous woods;
An idyllic stroll through the vicissitudinous meadow;
And from the final station as I depart,
All that I can ever say, is that
Perpetuation has been a rouge
Of fleeting phases of my life.
St. Stephen’s College.
Ah, the september weather is here,
the trees turn firery red and orange,
and the leaves gently fall to the surface.
Fall is here,
and the grass turns from green to yellow,
the souls of many change their ways.
From going on beaches in sun
to walking on wet streets,
with jackets on.
September weather is here,
too most it is depressing to see,
such change in the world.
But I love it.
The girlfriends and boyfriends go away,
and that makes me happy.
Then I go apple picking.
I pick red apples,
from low, hanging apple trees.
and I eat one, while walking down the trail.
Fall is here,
the time of death,
the last of sunshine.
I don't argue,
I love fall,
it is so cosy and it gives me hope.
Hope that a day will come again,
when the sun pops its head out
and the warmth returns.
September weather is the best,
when summer is gone, but not quite,
and the cool breeze sweaps through your open windowpane.
I love fall,
it gives me hope,
that with death comes life.
An empty barn was the home of a dog;
outside buzzing bees attacked a tiny cat...
joyful was the song of a parched bird.
An hour ago, happy was the warbling bird;
no rascals bothered the skinny, smelly cat...
they didn't get close to the hungry dog.
Rain came and it worried the shivering cat;
spring showers were the joy of the bird...
he could have been the prey of the dog.
Sunshine returned: the dog barked, the cat ran and the bird fled.
You whispered in my ear,
a breathy secret, hushed.
“I love you”, you murmured.
I said nothing,
lost, in your arms,
I found a home. At last.
“I love you”, you said,
I said nothing,
lost in my thoughts,
I found peace. At last.
“I love you”, you said,
words failed me then.
They still do.
My Madness, Me...
Confined by this straight-jacket,
strapped in, numb and dumbed,
a washed-out, has-been, also-ran,
body, eyes, the equilibrium of mind,
rattling like stones in an old tin-can.
Still, I am,
and I am unchained,
my dreams taking flight, soaring,
above these claustrophobic walls,
of synapses, and dungeons of stone,
swooping through green valleys,
taking a detour to savour the joys,
soaked in torrential, evergreen memories,
of a younger man, with passion in his bone.
My wings unclipped, unshackled, free,
I am, and though I am unable to see,
At long last,
Those Distant African Nights...
The shadows swayed in your candlelit room,
a cool breeze teasing your bare back,
streaks of lightning forked in the Johannesburg night,
as my hands stroked your hair,
kissing your soft mouth,
ever so tight.
You whispered that you loved me,
and I kept silent,
the rain fell,
the breeze teased your naked back,
you whispered that you loved me,
as my lips found yours,
the rain washed over our tender nights,
lightning and candlelight,
etching poems on your burnished skin,
a fear gnawed at me,
We parted ways,
and you could never forgive me, you said,
now, after numberless thunderstorms,
the rain that falls,
echo the countless tears that I have shed.
You are long gone,
happy, I pray,
yet the memories persist,
those precious moments shall never,
like the Jo'burg rains,
and I wish you well,
for loving me as you did,
for it was I who was not worthy,
and it is I who is not worthy,
You were always true,
it was I who always,
to give myself,
completely to you.