Half Poems - Poems about Half

My face is in two halves smashed together in flawed symmetry, each half squirming to get supremacy, Oh Two-Faced One! Split so, halved down the middle, which side are you on? Do I see my better half in the mirror? Or in the shadowy silhouette, devoid of details, that follows me around, like a faithful dog, wagging its tail. Which half-truth should I believe when spoken from a...

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There’s a moon Breaking through the dark Half a hundred plus four stars beside it Each one trying to equally share its spark. Then, the sun rises Gentle, not too hot, not too cold But it melts the walls that have risen within Changing hearts, making them more bold. A road appears Stretching across seas, sands, and trees Leading us all to a place Where...

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We are fire in the rain never really getting anywhere But we are also two flames in the wind, can't survive without each other I'm jealous and tired and torn but you are my home. This is messy, but I won't leave — Because love lives here too We're drowning, but you keep me afloat. We're a storm, but you're my warmth. I may...

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No amount of self-sought fury will bring back the glory of innocence. Well, I've never been innocent. And so, there is nothing left to do but seek. What's lost is found, and what's found is never good enough. So I guess you better work harder at washing their blood off of your hands— and the blood they spilt in an attempt to taint you. Yet here I stand: unmoved, and untainted. ...

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Woman, you came from my rib Not out of my leg to be humiliated Not out of my head to excel From the side to side with me Out of hand to be protected But from the side of my heart To be purely loved and adored....

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Mom writes polemics, when a cause grasps her heart She's a good soul and wants to do her part A journal took one, so she emailed it to friends Then found that old age had brought many to their ends Sometimes children answer back, or maybe a weary wife They thank her kindly, talk about the...

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At every turn of life, I've left things half done, Sometimes on the path to success, other times at the threshold of silent ruins, Destiny has always held my hand, like a mother protecting her child, But I, a rebel with a wandering heart, have always found solace in unraveling. Like an artist leaving their painting unfinished, colors still...

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Why are the half-witted usually also hard-boiled? Not only are they wrong, they will not listen to other’s ideas They are maniacally determined to be wrong Determined to do what they want, without facts or proof Stubborn fools, not necessarily old, but certainly half-witted...

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. And even Through mine Fog ...

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Wandering in my darkness of soul the city cries like a wounded animal the sky wears a bruised dusk, half-forgotten. Neon veins pulse through pavement cracks a river of headlights bleeding into fog I am lost between the spaces where voices collide and images recedes each syllable, a jagged tone skipping across the river of night. Crowds move like carrion in cannons I...

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Here We Are, Half a Century Lived Here we are, we’ve lived for half a century, We’ve fallen down, yet risen, it’s our destiny. We’ve laughed and cried, like butterflies in flight, Tasting life’s warmth and cold, both day and night. Those who dared approached and felt the burn, While the fearful lingered,...

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A man, half a mountain of hair, Gave Cupid a bit of a scare. He wasn't a knave, He just didn't shave, A heart that was rare did he share....

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The half-time show was well-rehearsed And those who watched it all concurred, Though I’m not sure if Kendrick cursed; I didn’t understand a word. There was a message; what it was Perhaps the younger crowd did get, But in between the hype and buzz, One note made me a bit upset. I know for years it wasn’t right When chorus lines did not include Performers...

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On the table, posing silent, It taunts our outlook, coyly – Un-sharing of its true intent, In Mona Lisa mystery. We bite at its enticing mass, That bends our mind in simple bait – This still-life liquid in a glass, A frozen frame on reel of fate. Some say it’s half the way toward gone, While others see there’s more to pour. But are we...

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Many years ago, I’d been seeing My whole life in front of me. Like a tale, I could tell how it’d end, By simply looking at how it begins. Thinking I’d been born this way, Without any luck. With no other options, Neither freedom, nor choice to change anything from which has already been written in the past. In fact, it’s nothing more than a bird’s cage...

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