Antiquity Poems - Poems about Antiquity

"Arrogance, a harmful disease, Never keeps human souls at ease ...

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Oh farage do give it a rest..' at last things are more quiet Yet you have to beat your chest.' How much did you cost? Who has paid your price.? You turned your back and are Part of the pack..While Tommy is stuck; in the jaws; of their Vice..I ask you hold that thought for a moment..If its a Thing...

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Children like bright colours And so kindergartens and nurseries And so shopping items And so youngsters And so tourist centres And so food and souvenirs And so bright photos Colours brighten up hearts A sign of hope,happiness,confidence Freshness and life But too much artificial touch Will lose the naturality of scenery The classic beauty A quiet elegance The history of antiquity An appreciation with time Anyway natural...

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I feel like an antiquity some relic from the past crumbling at the edges eroded over time aging has arrived There are fissures in my proud steel plated armor once invincible reality is bringing with it a heavy blow it creeps upon you like a stealth thief in the night now you berate yourself for being caught unaware new words slip into your vocabulary things like “possible stroke” a...

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In my blistered ruined mind I build odd gods, old! They sit in irregular rows, In a crooked cathedral , Like a pantheon of ornate oddities! Each one dusty or lost, I have forgotten Honesty…! Cracked white china and blue filagree… Each a stony façade, Carved eyes hollow, staring! Absolutely hollow and odd… Staring like little divinities! Sitting in irregular rows. In a...

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The wind is come to sojourn once more Delivering tidings from far away, yonder. It expires its breath and wheezes veracity. Eyes may not see but ears are alarmed As the wind calls out its blustery voice And those who listen will know it well. The legend told is one of timeworn myth But nought can change, save for illusions, And he who...

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True, a Myth-and-a-half ever since dim Antiquity “Breathes there the Man with Soul so dead Who never to himself hath said This is my own, my Native Land” True, a myth-and-a-half ever since dim antiquity Who breeds and holds the brood in binding sanctity Isn’t s/he...

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Silken seas pouring chromatic, waxing floral in scented bliss; ecstasy of godly kiss is jubilation, they reminisce. Woodbine entwined, elegance refined; eternal hearts enraptured like minds. Chrysalis ever so divine in flight. Dragon dreams transcending light-play’s mesmeric seas; rapturous cacophony tranquility played with ease. sultry flows yet to compose aesthetic dreams, in natural repose; then awaken blossom of newborn rose; heart of Egypt’s majestic Pharaohs. 5-7-2 All Yours (May 9) Poetry Contest021 Brian Strand...

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Until the cap is won, effect of heat on reasoning remains unknown. Until the palace is visited, that comfort creates discomfort is undiscovered. Until power is tasted, that corruption is a genetic disorder remains a fallacy. Dereliction, never a power disability, but a long inherited trait in ANTIQUITY The Lion hectors the antelope The Antelope terrorizes the grass Strength uncommon...

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Experiencing trials and hardships along the way, For four years I’ve witnessed the truce in full play. The nation’s at stake as the willow catkins in a gale, My life is the drifting duckweed hit by rain or hail. The defeat at the Panic Beach panics me constantly; Passing the Lonely Bay, I feel even more lonely. Who has ever survived...

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Standing proud are the buildings they’ve erected Bold and tall, contemporarily dressed in concrete and metal attire Architects of the future laying down their visionary foundation in the present Rising up from the ground are their impure skyscraper dreams of global domination A false resurrection, that in due time will be torn down Can’t you see it? Look at the ancient Roman Coliseum, a picture of...

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Memories Renewed by scene A heart carved in sapling Mighty red oak thirty foot high Heirloom Memories can be pronounced mem-o-ries or mem-ries...

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If power of prayer dusk come of flame what make for a good lunch her love If money could no longer make a bridge would a throne still appear piece of pieces does not lack wood Is a walk a walk but how long does a paste paste time can timid out paid a disguise If lighting could...

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“Hoc est quod Isidorus”, she said, As I ate Swiss cheese Wrapped in a starch fold, While blatantly returning a nod. Never grace my table With your impurity. Is it finished? Indeed! Something supercilious waxes the eye, and you beaming go. I stay for the gladiator match. But all around I see hordes. She said there was a transcript in the mail. But I laid down my...

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You become culpable. You feel you are in a prison of your own making. Cursed familiarity is inescapable, Capable of ennui only-- You rediscover yourself around every corner: an indelible image of what you were minutes ago, aging with the clock's every tick, the merry music of chimes, announcing each solitary hour. And, then, there are the ghosts, shades of those who've graduated, enshrined in faux gold or...

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