Comfort Poems - Poems about Comfort

Dry the tears from your eyes, Look at the pretty blue skies, Here's a tissue for your nose, Sniff the sweet scent of a rose....

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Today I learned that being me always here for you, always yours in intimacy was never enough. I did not give you the peace your soul was searching for. It shatters my heart… how did we come to this? I learned today you were looking for comfort in someone else’s words, and all this time I thought I was your world. Have I taken you for granted? Was it my...

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I wake to the desert, talking to the wind; its voice is dry and muffled. Sand cuts my skin as I walk; nowhere feels like a place I belong to. The seeming figs glow like a distant fire. My feet are melting with every step I take. I lose my balance when I stride; I am surprised as the light darkens me. Flames...

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What is risk if not an invitation to break through our existing stagnation. We have given up our precious freedom and invited in a life of boredom. Could coincidences in life be clues? Are they hints, the direction we should choose? Should we unleash the habits of our past? Should we break them like chains, take risks at last? Our fear...

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the lighthouse beamed it's powerful light across the dark wine sea that captured me ask the ships that sail across the cliffs of wales return to thee while the lighthouse comfort me...

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Those we love don't go away, they walk beside us everyday. Their murmurs, soft, in tree leaf whisper defrosts my heart that did grow crisper with grief that stained inside and out when I existed with my doubt that vanished voices of yesteryear would come alive and stir the atmosphere. Breezy hands, they touch my shoulder, rustling lilac plumes and growing bolder— as shaking...

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Let’s get this show on the road, The car's still empty and we can't seem to load Susie's applying makeup, Jake’s playing video games, Mary’s scrolling her socials, where friends call her names. I want to get to the airport, I want to be clambering into an Impressionist painting of the sea Ride the chestnut ponies, get back to something real, My...

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She is deliciously unhappy. Listening to heartbreak songs in minor keys, the melodies seem to flick her heart…flick,flick…Like the 4th grade bully who sneaks up behind everyone to flick an ear, thinking causing jolts of pain is the funniest thing since The Three Stooges. Yea, that's...

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“Blessed are the poor in spirit” I am broken by my pride and arrogance How should I ever see the kingdom of heaven “Blessed are those who mourn” My sins and offenses are innumerable Why would I deserve comfort “Blessed are the meek” I struggle with anger and aggression What makes me worthy of any inheritance “Blessed are those who hunger and...

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Curtains hail the night To yellow light surrendered God’s hand strokes my head....

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She always hated the sight of blood But now it had become her greatest comfort She felt her blood was the only one who understood What it was like to be judged Both hated on for their colour Both wanting to be hidden Both wanting to be invisible Each cut sent waves of euphoria throughout her body She wasn't a masochist...

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My parents didn’t teach me love— I learned it from the silence. My mother never asked why my eyes were red. She looked, but never really saw. My father only noticed me when I made a mistake. Love, in our house, was conditional. Thin. Breakable. Absent. So I taught myself how to hug my own shoulders when no one else reached out. How to whisper "it's okay" when the shouting outside made the inside...

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Time was money was when a mindful mate That gave me time enough to feel its feel-- The touch of grain and texture of its state, How one hesitates ere part with the bill-- Crisper the notes harder to part was it, The time it takes to wean out the wallet That gives enough time to be wise and discrete To look...

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I wore this blue shirt the last time I saw my friends And maybe the time before that And possibly the time before that I have three comfy shirts They are appreciated and well loved More than a whole closet of clothes that never leave their hangers I like comfort, cozy fuzzy, warm. Did I say comfort? Comfort? COMFORT. My favorite pair of...

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Our love isn't a mime, nor a rhyming song, But one we sing that stings with grief and shame. A robe we wear with sorrow all night long, Our hearts no longer with passion's flame. The ripened time prepares to draw us wide, Our bond not stronger than a weathered stone. We stumble, yet let silence be our guide— Love suffers round...

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