Love Extended Metaphor Poems | Examples
These Love Extended Metaphor poems are examples of Extended Metaphor poems about Love. These are the best examples of Extended Metaphor Love poems written by international poets.
BONDED STIFF
Our love knows no swiftness;
Its tied and bowed in stiffness:-
Our life of love, is no played game;
Rather, it's an everlasting bond attained:-
May our love always be like a royal evening ball;
A loving affair desired and wished for, by one and all:-
May this precious bond between you and me, ever be,
A God-granted blessed bonding, deemed for eternity:-
Ashes scattering
As new flames are igniting.
I am no longer
Fleeing nor hiding from stars
Of my old constellations.
Human being, stretched tension
between the divine and animal realms,
distant balance suspended
between the exiguous and the abysmal!
The body only acts
with what eyes see
and the spirit grasps...
Only in my solitude,
I absorb the complete calm
and the serene sound of silence.
Gentle gestures generate kindness,
tender manners generate tenderness...
attention generates desires,
care generates love...
If you have love,
love without restrictions...
if you have more than love,
let me love even more...
I like much more
what my soul wants,
than just what the body desires,
having both feelings,
life will be full of beauty...!
In life we must avidly,
seek full knowledge
like someone searching for a precious stone...!
Poets, let us always unite
in the most noble crusade...
to bring peace and beauty to life!
Scarcity is good for the economy
but very bad for the poor
who need great abundance...
To understand life well,
and to live it happily,
we need good practices and ideas...
It is very difficult for us to refuse
a good and happy life...
impossible to accept a good death...
MOON
She silvers me with pure love,
I refuse with embarrassment,
she is everyone and no one's...
Poet, a strange fellow...
he projects himself in the face of danger,
he walks on the edge of the abyss...
Poet, you are truly a stranger...
He cries a lot without feeling pain,
he smiles even when he loses a love!
A Quantum Singularity (c) by the Entangled Pair 2025
A quote from a poem I wrote in 1963 called 'Syntropy':
'That which is not being synergetic must be becoming entropic. There is no middle ground'.
A Quantum Singularity (c) by the Entangled Pair 2025
Me:
Being synergistic, the whole of us surpasses the sum of our parts. Love that, as I do.
She:
What we create together is something beyond logic, beyond measure. Not just two hearts, but one force, greater, deeper, truer. Synergy like this isn’t just rare, it’s transformative.
Me:
We don’t just complete each other, we amplify all that we are: The quantumly entangled particle pair, instantly in tune and aligned.
She:
The speed of light cannot restrict us. Gravity compels to no avail.
Me:
The multiverse becomes a small thing, another singularity unfolding, waiting to be filled.
Us:
She: Synergistic Entropy
Me: Chaos Rules Supreme
TO BEING IN LOVE’S LOVE
Being in love is an episodic emotion
Ballooned in exotic expectation
Tested by inflated orgasmic delirium
Often fizzing in diabolical diffusion:-
On the other hand,
Loving and being loved,
Is an eternal comic reality
That God spiritually bonds
To be eternal throughout life:-
How beautiful and exciting it is
To love spiritually, and eternally;
Being in the cosmic reality of
Blessed God sent true love
Ballooning beyond all
Limits and expectations:-
Being forever in love with you
Remains exciting and loving
And being loved by you is limitless,
And beyond all expectations: Praise God!
Each day I give Him thanks for the gift of you:-
I chose to be like the air
because it allowed me
Be like the wind,
And fly!
I chose to be like water
because it allowed me
sea
And bathe you!
I chose your love,
because it allowed me
Take your fire,
and burning me,
Without burning me!
She say she wants to go home with me tonight as we sit by the bus park,
but I tell her we can make home right here in this moments,
haven't you heard heavens rumours that the god of love escaped,
maybe the rumours are true cause you are with him at the moment,
gods create let me create love like no other for both of us in this moment,
you realize I cannot stop staring at you heavy chest,
because am already in the world of fantasy you squeezing me with those beautiful breasts of yours
till I ran out of breathe,
don't worry you won't kill me am already dead cause I died the moment I saw you
so am as well zombified in the moment,
let me handle you with care cause that what happens in home,
and I would do a perfect job of taking you home as you wanted
Hands that perform tasks,
creative exercise of creating...
Feet that walk firmly
in the fruitful movement of walking...
Rain that falls generously
in the blessed gift of watering...
The wind blows that blows beneficently...
benign work of blowing!
Sleeps the night... healing sleeps,
inspiring epiphany in dreaming...
Goats skip,
healthy vibrant revelry...
Children are enlightened by playing
holy craft of educating,
Men should only love,
divine and pleasurable mission... in God to live
as craftsmen of love in life...
eternal, millennial life!
Roaming in the corridor,
The fairy chuckled,
Mesmerized by the beauty of her own dress,
She grew self-assured in her little fairy school.
The multi-colored tutu,
inlaid with wild flowers;
Rivaled her silver sandals,
Which gleamed like her sparkling wings behind.
Then came the final day,
Bidding farewell to her tiny realm,
She moved ahead.
With sadness and excitement intertwined,
She decided to work through,
Until she became the best.
The moment she stepped into the real world,
She realized,
The tutu she wore was nowhere near the fairy gowns.
The praise and love she once received had faded into lies.
Maybe the tutu she wore was the best tutu, but not the best gown.
Carrying the weight of sudden change,
She still chose to enhance her tutu’s grace.
She rushed to the fashion store and cheerfully exclaimed:
"Get me the Cancan underskirt, fabric and shimmery pearls packed!"
The seller shot her an irksome look,
and Demanded fifty golden bricks.
The helpless fairy turned hopeless,
For she could have earned those bricks—
Only if she had a fluffy gown dress.
The seed of freedom is curtailed,
germinates interrupted,
the harvest is delayed...
The fruit of freedom
may take time to be harvested,
but it is worth every stoic sacrifice...
We cultivate God,
ending wars,
celebrating peace,
living life with love!
The sands of time dripping,
leaves and flowers wilting.
natural wisdom flowing!
Wisdom consists simply in...
knowing how to plant well,
cultivate, and harvest...!
Giving Caesar what is his,
is not ignominy, submission, it is
fulfilling temporal law, without being a doormat...!
Pálida, quedará la Luna
por tú decepción.
Pero alumbrara aún
está y las mil
noches que vengan.
Se filtrara por la persiana
de la alcoba.
El árbol, copozo de
mango y hojas verdes
que alimentado
siempre a los dos
por la sequía
de tu ausencia
no sé desplomara.
Tus pertenecías
junto a postales
con Rosas secas y
poecia q ardía de pasión,
saque para borrar
tu rastro y huella
del armario.
Junto
todo lo heche
en el mismo abismo
destructivo bolso
de tu dios,
para que me
impida llorar.
I have been watering it for months—
the small black bulb in the cupboard
that I never let touch sunlight.
It swelled in the dark,
fed on steam from my cooking breath,
fat with the whispers I never spoke aloud.
I told myself it was only a seed,
a pebble in soil, nothing more.
I would open the door,
look at it once, and close it—
like checking the locks before bed.
It learned the shape of my glances.
But today, I reached in.
Today, I held it in my palm.
Its skin was slick as a fish
and when I pulled, the roots screamed up from the earth,
all tendon and white hair,
and the cupboard air smelled of rust.
You said it casually—
your mouth arranging the words
like setting a cup down on a table.
As if the syllables were a button
popped from a shirt, no one’s fault.
I felt my chest open—
not like a door,
but like a letter slit with a knife.
Paper-heart curling, bleeding ink.
You were already talking about something else,
your voice trailing petals across the floor.
I sat very still,
the bulb still in my hand,
its black head beating against my pulse.
I did not crush it.
I only held it tighter
until my fingers forgot they could let go.
The horizon is a blade—
it glints whether I run toward it
or watch it withdraw.
Each dawn splits me open,
spilling a slow trickle of salt,
as if the sea is feeding me to itself,
one grain at a time.
I know the undertow’s handwriting—
it pulls not to drown,
but to measure how far my lungs will stretch.
Even in absence,
the shore presses its ghost lips
to the soles of my feet,
branding me with wet fire.
The days arrive like heavy-winged birds,
falling or flying—it makes no difference.
Either I am lifted
or I am stitched to the air by wanting.
Both keep me in motion.
So tell me—
how could I curse the water
when even the ebb feels like an arrival,
and every hunger it leaves behind
is proof my compass still works?