Cloak Poems - Poems about Cloak

like a heavy cloak darkness covers all the land nothing moves or breathes ...

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In the silence of a frozen morning, when the cold weaves its crystal cloak over the world, I will never say "I love you," not because I don't feel it, but because those words, Thrown like coins at the feet of strangers, cannot bear the weight of what I feel, They are too small, too worn out, too...

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You can get used to a feeling as if it were an invisible cloak that gently wraps around you, So much so that you forget when it dresses you or when it disappears in the morning silence, You sink so deeply into the habit of feeling bad that you no longer recognize the light, You don't realize that...

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Home, a word that people wear like a cloak of light, uttered like a spell of peace, a place where the heart finds rest, but for me, it has always been a land of shadows and troubling echoes, never a sanctuary of safety, but a silent struggle for survival. Since I was a child, I felt the pain hidden...

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An intellectual dresses a simple idea in the cloak of heavy and elaborate words, Building castles from long, intricate sentences that rise toward the sky, While the poet, with eyes deepened in the mystery of the world, opens doors to truth, He takes the complexity of life and transforms it into a song of wind and light, Love becomes...

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But what lies beneath the shadow of the night you wear like a heavy cloak? What do you see in the mirror when all the masks fall off and fade into nothingness? Pure white, cold light that bathes the wound, is all that remains beneath the layers of silence. Your scars, what do they truly hide, and what...

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The night has spread its cloak of cold stars over the entire earth, I, a lost soul, call to merge with you into eternity, In winter sheets, like two flames dancing their shadows, Weaving our dreams into a secret ritual under the moonlight. You, my distant light, are the beacon at the horizon of my heart, The distance between us...

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It's not wrong to wear an old hoodie that feels like a cloak of woven memories, to keep jeans that hug your body like a spell that knows you by heart, because some clothes are not just fabrics, but shields of comfort on days when the light hides. It's not wrong to use a phone that freezes, like...

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A wizened boy who lived at seventy-two Oak Relaxed in his tub with a lemon salt soak Ate a curly pretzel, downed a harsh throat coke An honest child who sprang from truthful folk Dressed himself in a red and yellow super hero cloak Flew around New York City watching for dangerous smoke News of his heroism quickly readily broke Giving some...

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In the whirlwind of time when leaves weave their copper cloak over my wandering soul, I let myself be carried by the wild dance of the forest whispering the tale of a rusted season, While my hair becomes a nest for autumn dreams falling in an infinite rhythm, And I run through the carpet of gold and purple,...

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Secrets ... callous on your heart stone around your neck cellar of respite weight upon your soul Deception ... bane upon your conscience affront to voices hiding sire of excuses — truth behind the mask (Dreamsleep: October, 2024) ...

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“The mind trestles the bridge to redemption.” – Thompson Emate When night falls, Sounds come from stalls piercing through the tranquil night, We seek for light. The night awakens the eerie, The ambience is dark and dreary, We hear footsteps and see shadows, The uncanny lurks outside our windows. A...

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On a starless night, when the sky retreated like an old cloak, I found myself floating on the river of melancholy, memories intertwined in the fabric of a dream, a fabric woven by unseen hands, where the steps of those who climb the mountains of success are steps of shadows, shadows dancing at the fire of illusions, hiding their faces under...

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Under the cloak of night, where the moon weaves delicate incantations from forgotten dreams and silent woes, I wander the corridors of my own mind, a flickering flame in a world of spiritual guerrillas, of gods and madmen. These young men of talent, I think, are shattered mirrors reflecting the nightmare of our collective existence, Caught in the iron jaws of material...

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In moonlit dreams, the stars align, Their shimmering dance, a cosmic sign. Silent whispers weave through the air, Echoes of wishes, secrets to share. The night unfolds its velvet cloak, As constellations softly invoke. Stories of love, loss, and grace, Painted across the vast celestial space. So, close your eyes, my dear friend, Let Stardust guide you, without...

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