Horizon Poems - Poems about Horizon

Yesterday was your birthday Unfortunately, that was a busy day However, I went to the garden Of my heart this beautiful morning Where I picked an invisible rose that could bring: Happiness, joy, good humor and an early spring. I shaved my beard and mustache to make your day With all my heart, I wish you a happy birthday Oh! I would like...

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I’ve been here before at this event horizon Is it shadow? Nothingness? Heat? A death a fire of refinement The pressure madness? The spaghettification of my timeline rage, doubt, clout drawn into this pull A cycle I’ve been here before Fragments of past I think they are memories not all at once Light, bent or twisted An echo? This eye I? Ai? A sunset? Or sunrise? An empty cavity? If I fall in what? A light at the end of the tunnel? singularity A new...

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I wander through my days and hours, Guided by thoughts of what lies ahead— My present is shaping the dreams of my future, A quiet hope blooming in the stillness. Bad decisions, missed chances, Unforgettable bonds etched deep within, Buried in memory, yet never forgotten— Lessons carved into the soul. Each day, I find courage anew, To glimpse a spark of hope, To trust that...

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Checked by www.howmanysyllables.com>syllable_counter **************************************************************** Dew Fresh Morn ...

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inky clouds merge hanging over horizon - collecting rain...

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The bold horizon burned and died cold in my eyes as I turned aside on the road to nowhere taking it slow making it easy in no hurry to go I'm taking my time for I never felt the need to heed the latest mad fad or follow the current day's craze yet I don't fret or sweat the small stuff but I did learn soon enough the tide...

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I do not heal as when I was young— Time has slowed its gentle hands, And left me in a hush of dusk, With brittle bones and shifting sands. The skies I once believed would stay Have wept their stars and turned away, And I—still dreaming—drift between The shadowed now, the might-have-been. My dreams are lucid, sharp as glass, Each night I walk the...

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I gaze beyond the phasing face of the nebulous horizon, searching in clamorous silence for a hypnotic glimpse of your poetic sparks ~ lost, placed within the kohl-dust of dreariness dressed in deceitful dancing diamonds, like layered silver and gold, seared by Zeus’s thunderous wrath, leaving memories engraved in satanic sapphires across the tempestuous teal soaked in surging tears ...

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So, it's been said that everything looks better in the morning light, but when sun's warm rays cannot break through the shrouded zenith what hope is there for life? What can be observed in a world that's been shrouded in gray when the nightscape bleeds its tears at the start of each new day? The answer I cannot...

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When alabaster twilights rain upon celestial roses, with tear-soaked trinkets of ancient aromas ~ I wear their amaranth scents upon acrylic wrists, and tie my terracotta threads of twinkling trust with those topaz ribbons of reminiscent tales, slowly floating in an opal olive fog ~ where a bouquet of bones decorates my heart-shaped coffin and this hoaxed bride, veiled in...

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Nebulous Horizon ...

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I see the horizon is not straight. It curves down at its ends, keeping the future pending, just out of reach, beyond the cliff's edge. It bends sharply, like water does. It refracts the line of expectation into a sudden change of direction, tilting destiny to fall its way....

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Written: July 7, 2025, for a contest sponsored by Edward Ibeh Quote: "Lose yourself completely, return to the root of the root of your own soul," By Rumi *************** The horizons near me recall a sheet of sheaf, Fluted and scattered, and perpetually in a reef. Its touch, as a flame, may...

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Mist swallows the edge~ sky and sea blur into one, no clear path in sight. Yet I walk where light once fell, trusting stars behind the haze. ...

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I told the truth and still, someone bled. Silence would have stitched us shut, a delicate, rose-gold lie— woven into the wallpaper of a bedroom left sketched. I thought I was choosing clarity, but the mirror fogs each morning. Future—blunted, gray— looms like wet brick pavements. No signs, only echoes of footsteps— taunting like the choices I regret. This morning, I climbed the roof before the city stirred. The...

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