Be Born Poems - Poems about Be Born

In realms of dreams, where magic is born in the late evening hour

In realms of dreams, where magic is born in the late evening hour,
A hidden paradise in whispers and in the descending moonlight's power.
Beautiful settings, love like an old perfume, beyond description,
Amber eyes burning with vows in the fire of a dream's depiction.
On this earth, seductive and full of love, we lose our senses completely,
Shadows of

The Poet's Vigil

In the quiet corners of his own mind,
he walks alone,
a poet whose pen drips with moonlight.

He counts the hours by the hum of his thoughts,
each one a lantern swinging in the wind.

A thinker —
he weighs the weight of names,
dreams of the laughter not yet born,
imagines a tiny hand curling around his own.

In solitude,
he builds worlds

In the depths of our fear, a trembling light is born

In the depths of our fear, a trembling light is born,
A fire that burns slowly, yet surely, in your murmuring silence worn,
Smoke rises from extinguished dreams, let your thoughts float free,
Into the void of the ceiling, where shadows begin to decree.
Strike your head against the cold walls of doubt and despair,
Reject the world’s false smile,

Born Beneath Plutonian Skies

I was born beneath Plutonian skies,
Where silence held the scream of centuries,
And the air was thick with memory—
Of kings undone and gods forgotten.

In the shadow of Saturn’s gaze,
My soul arrived not to live,
But to remember…
To tear through veils stitched by empires,
To speak in the language of dust and fire.

They marked my chart with fear—
Pluto in

She Was Never Born, She Simply Returned

She did not fall—
She flowed.
From the breathless stars to the edge of form,
She shimmered between sound and silence,
Becoming light before becoming skin.
She walked the void barefoot,
Carving paths in places the sky forgot,
Speaking in colors the earth hadn’t learned to see.
She was music before voice,
Fire before flame,
Knowing before name.

In lives long buried in salt and smoke,
She

Before You Were Born

There must be 
an entry point
somewhere in the fabric 
of being, perhaps 
an unhealed 
wound in the bark 
of an ancient tree 
deep in a primordial 
forest or gouged 
in the cliff face
of a remote shoreline 
where southern ocean 
gales pound the continent, 
or somewhere quiet, 
unobtrusive, hidden 
from view in a corner 
of the

In the desert of silence, where thoughts are born from extinguished sands

In the desert of silence, where thoughts are born from extinguished sands,
A creature without garments, with eyes burning like fallen stars,
Holds its pulsating heart in dry hands, like a poisoned gift,
And bites into it, eagerly, like a forbidden fruit of knowledge.
I ask it: "Is it sweet, friend, the taste of your cosmic blood?"
"Bitterness calls me,"

Swicker Turf

Grueling Smiles
is a book about a couple
the woman had married a man who had been married Twelve times.
She had been married twice and would do anything to keep her current husband loyal to her and there marrage.

The book "Grueling Smiles" was written by Mossa Crumbo in 1821.
The main character. The asked for a  new

Born to Rage

I woke with blood in my mouth
and no memory
of the scab that sealed the rasure.

I’m cat-spitting
dog-growling
peregrine-divebombing
rooster-flogging
badger-flipping
hornet-stinging
wolverine-ripping mad.

I fired the sun for showing up late
cursed the fridge light until
yogurt soured in terror.

God called
I let it ring twice.

The therapist said breathe
so I swallowed my tongue
now I speak
in the language of things with canines.

coyote-howl syntax
vulture-vowel decay
the guttural grammar
of

In the abyss of silence, where thoughts are born like falling stars

In the abyss of silence, where thoughts are born like falling stars,
We let ourselves be carried by the invisible currents of unspoken dreams,
Searching among the shadows of time for a meaning that never arrives,
On untrodden paths where eternity weaves its webs.
In the cosmic dance of light and darkness, we find ourselves lost,
Each step is a

Thought Born Ghost

you ate my heart with your bow in it
while i had a choker around my throat
and without the one which would keep me alive
my body forgot its work and gave up
i sacrificed myself for a ghost
that was born in my thoughts
i tried to touch your face
but it started to fade away 
i kept on screaming

Born For This

I’m  born a stream with winter’s thaw.
On swiftness from steep slopes I draw.
Beneath the sun, I gather steam.
With winter’s thaw, I’m born a stream.

I warmer grow as on I run.
I gather steam beneath the sun.
With river kin I’ll likely flow.
As on I run, I warmer grow.

I may grow wide; I may grow thin.
I’ll likely

born to slay

lashes bold and bright,
curlers crown a tiny queen—
sass starts with the brush.

Born to Fail

Begotten to Fail 

The strutting hustlers 
rouse their slumberous day 
amidst their maddened worlds  
In the midst 
of the wary ghetto
A dream steps out 
blinking, yawning with a resolve 
even as their sky seems blurry 
Repelling men and monsters 
Relishing the forecasted rain
Marching through 
mud and splatters 
riding with the lightning
dancing to the pounding

A warrior is born

I am not my father's princess
Nor my mother's lookalike 
I am but a warrior, born to fight
In this world where every action counts
The dark misty place, a child of light

A lot to laugh for, a lot to cry for
But all i need is the love for forever and more
A star so bright
Its inner strength full

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