Flow Poems - Poems about Flow

Gust Slow wind Tortoise walks Never reaching Owls howl, night falls Shells protect but kill too Roots deep, not brittle Wildfire burns within me River flows without future Yet it keeps on moving, flowing Yet it keeps on moving, flowing Raindrops fall knowing fate Still they come, soft and fierce Foxes mark the night’s edge Silent, cold and waiting Life and death entwined Hope flickers on Wind and fire Fight on Alive...

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Fingertips fall— not like stones, but like rain, plucked silver threading the air. Each string holds a hush, a breath not yet forgotten. The musician builds— not a score, but the curve of a heron’s wing skimming dusk softly vanishing in a single glissando. The guzheng does not speak. It spills: vibrato, a tide rising then breaking against memory. Sound leans back— not toward silence ——but toward a distant shore we once heard. ________________ Note: Guzheng is a traditional Chinese musical instrument....

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John 8:12 Then spake Jesus again unto them, saying, “I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the light of life.” I walk past the sorrows breaking through my silent plans – plans my heart borrows from the song flowing through my hands… song of light, a seeker, believer resting...

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Here we are again, on paths of time where thoughts flow like water under the sky of longing, it's absurd, I know, but I carry within me a joy that grows like a flower in a field, it's not an explosion, but a warmth like a hearth that heats the frosty night, I have no faith to light...

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Shocked and shattered on betrayal. Sank in nasty dreadful dismal. Environ became surreal, as my love was true and loyal. Continuously tears to flow Didn’t know, how tears-flow to...

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Rivers always flow… Let life be like a river… Wet in flowing grace… ...

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In the flow of time where memories float like leaves over the silent river, I will keep in my soul our kisses, lips burned by the fire of love, And how you gave me everything you had, every corner of your soul and every dream, And I offered you what was left of me, pieces of sky and...

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Isaiah 43:2 “When thou passest through the waters, I will be with thee; and through the rivers, they shall not overflow thee: when thou walkest through the fire, thou shalt not be burned; neither shall the flame kindle upon thee.” In the fragile silence, just before the morn writes her gentle story across the believer’s life there is...

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Around every corner In every nick or cranny The detail Oh the detail Every worry, Every ounce of stress Flows away, the smell smells like freedom It looks all so calm It's like a time machine once you open the door Every texture, Every line, Every room It is like you are living in another realm It feels so still but yet so...

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And perhaps the blood had to flow like a red river under the moon, Perhaps the skin had to open like a flower in a storm, To let the soul break free from the grip of silent shadows, I do not blame the hands that painted a silent story on the body. But how do I tell the one...

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Life mirrors the ocean's flow, skimming, turning, burning, and then churning below it thrusts and bursts forth impatiently, then spreads, searching and reaching for the unknown, befuddled, baffled, dazed by seeking, pursuing secret corners, returning to light our pathway before it dives to black recesses once again obscuring our dreams, pondering what it cannot resolve. ...

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Harmonic Omnipotent Flow Form: Grook Not in force, nor in fear, the spiral spins clear. Power that bends is not power that breaks— it’s the river that sings when the mountain shakes. The flame doesn’t shout, it pulses… and things come about. ...

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In a world where time seems to flow like a lazy river, I walk among thoughts that weave together like a tapestry of dreams, slowing my steps, for haste is not my companion, but deep within my soul, I carry the desire to find someone, a woman with whom to share stories until the end of eternity, when even eternity...

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In the depths of my heart, where thoughts flow like underground rivers, a rosebud, dried and pressed between the dusty pages of time, awakens from its old slumber, like a dream that remembers its own story. It does not bloom like flowers opening their petals in the dawn of spring, but like something once lost, yet not forgotten, recalling...

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Hardly even sputters to a start, The engine churns, Feel the vibrations in my heart. Machine gutworks, That’s none other than my own love, I’ve come too far though. I’m not even happy when on the chem though, Silence speaks volumes, Silence can’t say what you intend though. Life’s been worse since I found out...

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