Romantic Age Poems | Examples
These Romantic Age poems are examples of Age poems about Romantic. These are the best examples of Age Romantic poems written by international poets.
The first act sets the scene
Romantic and serene
In the second act it is revealed
The conflict there that was concealed
Count to three, it's there to see
The act that brings finality...
The resolution or... dissolution
There's a solution for ev'rything
Sometimes it's sweet, sometimes it stings
Sometimes it's bitter, sometimes sweet
But that's what makes the play complete
Though we leave the stage it won't leave us
And like the note left in the dust
No longer there for all to see
It's now etched in our memory
It goes the way that all things go
Coming to rest down in your soul
Some you recall while some grow small
But down there you will find them all
Or... one day when you're not looking
They'll find you
They'll find you, that's how it's played
The game of life, the bed you've made
Ev'ry wrinkle ev'ry speck
Upon your soul it will reflect
There for all the world to see
The way you played is the way you'll be
Remembered as the curtain falls
As long as anyone recalls
i used to think
loving you too much
was romantic.
now i see—
it was me
giving away parts of myself
like clearance items,
hoping you’d find value
in something
i had already discounted.
you thought my devotion
was desperation.
you watched me fold
into smaller versions of myself
just to fit your world.
and when i broke,
you called me dramatic.
but i wasn’t asking for too much.
i was just asking you
to notice
that i gave everything
and asked
for almost nothing.
now,
i look at who i was with you—
and i forgive her.
she didn’t know
love isn’t supposed to
humiliate.
And if my words were for you
Singing of your beauty as the robin's song
Would not time be both yours and mine
And all of life be ours?
And if I wrote all poems for thee
No other loves be thine
Would our dreams find winds upon their sails
And all things blessed be ours
And if with time our days grew short
Within your eyes I'd find
The whispering of all I was
When all of life was ours
i
I was helpless,
I was shining.
You were knowing.
and bestowing.
When my steps were unsteady,
you held my hand.
You were ready.
Age is just a number, you said
grinning broadly like a
little girl repeating a loving fib.
You wanted a protector,
a guardian of devotion.
But I am not your Paul Bunyan,
the mighty timberman in your dreams.
In my twilight, I remember so many
mighty forests burning to cinder.
Frailty disintegrates the will.
Big-strong-protecting-men wilt with age.
They offer their pleading eyes,
longing to be cradled.
Maturity is mortality ticking.
I was helpless,
I was shining.
You were knowing,
and bestowing.
When my steps were unsteady,
you held my hand.
I am not a coward man de facto
Who has lots of curiosity courageous
With full of consciences in mind
Having to retreat from girl strangers
Who's looking for the Like-minded friends
Being young and pretty excels diamonds
They're attractive to distinct genres of men
And making them pride while being faint
I understand these be so-called romantic
But I must decline with responsible reasons
They may feel being treated ruthlessly
By me, en facto, being valued and respected
With conscientious rooting in consciences
Oceanic moonlight, glows on her soft hands.
Her heavenly torso so at rest on cool sands.
Penning romantic poetry to touch you in any land!
2/19/2025
Title: Translation in Enblish
“The Girl from Ipanenma”
Time passes on and quickly all is changed.
Spirits are different, yet youthful, yet old.
A world once warmed with love’s illusion’s cold.
Keepsakes bring back the memories, rearranged.
I wrote to express my feelings, so strong,
in metaphors and similes of verse.
This volume to my wounded soul, did nurse,
making sweet song of quantum ills of wrong
Take down this book, my love, so gently, please.
And open it softly, to read alone,
feeling the passion placed within each poem.
Travel your hands upon the past, with ease.
The springtime of our distant youth was when
we made sweet love beneath a silver moon.
The whole of life stretched out before us then.
Our future, a promise, a perfect tune.
Our silver moon, through time, would change her face
to hot summer red where our love did grow.
And our happiness, at one with life’s pace,
moved through the years in a soft gentle flow
Our love, strong and sure, was faithful to hold
Like heat tempered steel forged in the fire.
Our full harvest moon shone late autumn gold
No waning, nor want, in our fond desire
Life’s years have flown by, turns winter moon blue
But here near the end, our love still proves true.
Serene, the crisp of apple cider days
Each morning lightly misted. Its mystique
Perhaps a guise to hide from eyes the ways
The pink hydrangeas rusted; chic to meek.
Enticed, the chill does bring a woolen feel,
Matured, the sun grows old by afternoon.
Below persimmon skies of bonfire zeal
Embraced in sweaters neath the moon, we swoon.
Relinquish Virgo and the marigold
For Libra sparkles in the sapphire night.
As western winds turn cool and blue-jay-bold,
Let’s reminisce love sonnets we did write.
Like grapes on vines, we’ve ripened into wine,
September lips, your champagne kiss on mine.
My guild of Golden Year's ..
I'v had the quantity of life and it's quality, now I battle aches and shakes all day.
Hey malady ! Why do you usher affliction..
After many romantic sunset's seen and been on all the jazz of the bob and boogie blues scene ...
Comes a bumpy trauma to a years declining.
You have experienced the layers of betrayal's
And nearly married plenty cinderella's
Drank many beer's and stopped many tears.
Now at the golden years
The body parts are limbo
And not fit as dingo
Once I was a Fred Astaire
Now something wants to do nothing
Keep the whoopee !
And savvy the golden years
Though ..
The arm's void the legs
The cargo is heavy
The toe's they stay close
The heels are a struggling wagon
There is no dash
And the body prefers medicine
The eyes are a tired watchman
Nothing is up and about
Germs and moustache aqaint
Past the prime
But not senile
Life is for the living
Sipping gin and lime
Passing time
And I don't mind
The staying alive
On the couch
In my guild of
Golden years.
I wonder where it begins from is it eyes? Is it Face?
Or is it the beautiful connection of souls we both embrace?
Colours come into life,life seems like bliss existed never before
Contained by emotions, romantic imaginations,you crave it more.
Poems, loneliness,butterflies,feelings and rhymes
You want loop to never end,you just go beyond time.
A summer evening and death
I sat in my study thinking about death
not in an abject way, but I'm 86
and thinking if death has any meaning
and if I had in my life touched a soul
(soul advisory)
If what I had said and done would
somehow, join the forces for goodness
No, I'm not a hero, but I feel deeply for
the many who have not been as fortunate
as I had overcome childhood drama
I scribbled a few words I could work
another day.
My wife sat in the living room and watched
something romantic and didn't want
to be disturbed, I went to sit on the terrace
that has a splendid view of Cascais bay
I fell asleep and woke up at five, feeling
good about myself
Indulging in one another is now a norm, they don't want to change.
Togetherness,having fun, romantic teasing these are now their strengths.
They hold hands,they love,they play,yes they do engage in fight.
Separation hunts them,they crave each other,for watching eyes go wild.
Compassion is their bow,empathy is the arrow and love is their armor
As war is progressing,they are going wild,they are nurturing the child in each other
It's so godly, so full of passion, bringing forth emotions a new
They don't want this journey to end; they want it to continue and continue.
The beauty of hugs,
Is that we are often given them,
When we least deserve them,
So, the next time we might feel more deserving of them,
We might even find we no longer want to live in a world without them,
Unless we are unlucky and have an inborn aversion to them,
Or do not have a romantic bone in our body and only see sex,
As the reason for them.
Hugs spontaneously given show we care,
And while sex is something most of us desire,
That makes us feel alive,
Even in old age,
If you never get a hug after sex,
Then no matter how much you desire,
It may be better to take a cold shower,
As that is not the right kind of sex,
If you are a hopeless romantic,
Or aspire to be one.
Not easy for anyone,
In a world where it is hard to trust anyone,
And most believe romance to be dead,
But if you look at the go to site for aspiring poets,
There are poems there that will bring tears to the driest eyes,
And give one, a case of romantic sighs.
That will open your eyes to a world that hungers for more hugs,
And less sex that only ends with shrugs instead of hugs.
If you like the feel of sunlight that is bright,
I have Just the poem for you.
If you would rather stay up all night,
Until the stars are no longer bright,
I have just the poem for you.
If what you seek is a romantic moonlit night,
I have just the poem for you,
If you are looking to shine under the limelight,
I have just the poem for you.
If you prefer your dinner under candle light,
I have just the poem for you.
If you want something that gives off an eerie light,
That has you running out into the night,
I have just the poem for you.
If you want something to read under torchlight,
I have just the poem for you.
If you want something that happens under streetlight,
I have just the poem for you.
If you want something that will help you say goodbye to your night light,
I have just the poem for you.
Best not let others see them under a spotlight,
Or they will pick that they were written by everyone else but me.
I did write a poem once,
That was about moonlighting,
Which I can give you for free.