Carry Poems - Poems about Carry

In the city of diffuse lights, the young carry their dreams like transparent cloaks, With souls hungry for desires and unfulfilled quests, running through glass labyrinths, Trying to quench their thirst with offerings of life that sparkle but are hollow to the touch, Between the shelves of existence, where cheap illusions are wrapped in attractive colors. They seek nourishment...

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I love to cherish IMAGINATION , wish to DREAM on fantastic fantasy. Might be it is my HALLUCINATION, yet I enjoy on extreme ecstasy. My muse offers VISUALIZATION accepted as the best blss...

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Oh, Dad to the cemetery we come our hearts numb with no glee though we know you were set free . . . rest beneath the weeping tree...

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I see them still, in the hollow hours, Familiar images etched against the fading sun, Their laughter spilled like water over stones, Now stilled, forever caught in time's cruel snare. Once we stood, shoulder to shoulder, Carrying a weight we dared not name. We believed in the dawn, Even as the night stretched its fingers, Pulling them silently into its depths. I speak their...

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Carry The Lamp Through the noisy streets. The darkest nights. Through many burdens. Recognize your salvation. Do not complain. Walk brave not knowing. Potential to achieve. Hath discipline, continue growing. Carry the lamp. Be open minded. Nourishment to the soul. Be the light on a dark road. Ignite the fire. Have faith, move forward....

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To carry the truth, weighs heavy on the shoulders... like a wooden cross!...

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I don’t need a diamond ring, And I don’t need a castle in Rome, I only want one thing: For you to carry me home....

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I no longer want to be a child, for those years carry a thick layer of forgotten dust, where every corner hides a room where I learned to forget how to breathe, and memories are like shadows dancing silently on the walls of time. Returning would mean shattering myself on the same silent and cold corners, on the same...

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As the demons I carry weigh down on me heavy, shadowed and restless, they cling to my skin, a battle un ending both outside and in. Regrets with sharp teeth sink in my chest. While doubt grips my throat denying me rest. The anger ignites like a flame in my veins, feeding the fire of...

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Deprived of your love, I carry the burden of deep shadows under my eyes, with crow's feet drawing the story of endless nights on my face, where each lie was your illusion, born from the confusion surrounding me, elusive and fragile, a dance of amorphous metaphors unraveling in the wind, subjected to your disdain, your words mercilessly cutting my...

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I am not ready For the end ... Though the road may wind And it may bend ... And if it might Even fork in two, I will carry on Just as I do Steadily stepping Both here and there, A trail of footprints Without a care And if one day I walk alone, Will be no reason To weep and moan Though the road may wind And it may...

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On the paths of destiny, merging in the eternal labyrinth, our steps carry us forth, the vagabond and the artist seek their wings in the flight of an unforgiving dream's worth. The soul, an ocean of desires and doubts, seeks a firm rock amidst the storm's embrace, in the sea of uncertainties, where light and shadow entwine their...

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What is the point of air if it does not carry your scent through the world, What is the purpose of the sun if it does not illuminate your skin with its gentle rays? If you leave, I will rewrite existence, dismantle reality brick by brick, Until time forgets how to flow and gravity loses its resolve, Until the...

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I met her once in a house with no laughter, where the wallpaper peeled like old regrets, where the air tasted of dust and waiting. She sat on the staircase, small knees to her chest, counting the footsteps that never came back. She spoke in the language of careful silences, in the hush of a door never opening, in the crack of...

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I carry within me the rhythm of a winding road, a dance of freedom and longing, how to resign myself to being constrained within the limits of an infinite world, rows of poplars as pillars sustain the canopy of the meeting under which we find ourselves, I indulge myself in an afternoon of ooh-la-la, dreaming. The yellow eyes of...

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