Leaned Poems - Poems about Leaned

...You stood like dusk before me, quiet and burning at the edges. I knelt, not to worship — but to listen to the storm beneath your stillness. And later, when you opened like evening — petal by......

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... Why am I here and not there I so yearned to be there, not here A tiny voice leaned into my ear ~ You and I are where we’re ......

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...You have neither season nor outline, Yet you dwell in every beat of my heart, crushed By disappointment and solitude, As though the day leaned over my hours of penance To gather the source of my ......

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...That night, when love appeared— not with thunder, nor with wings— but as a hush across the skin of earth. No stars announced it. No voice declared its name. Yet the sky, emptied of time, ......

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... This poem is featured on YouTube (The Convergence point with Dr. Ivan Edwards), bringing its words to life through spoken expression. A gas station on the edge of the city, Neon lights buzzin......

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...The sleepy begonias undulating slightly so undisturbed leaned forward to encourage and wish me good fortune, while the apricot trees spread around their strong aroma, a dazzling daylight was risin......

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...Your car fishtailed in the slush that was already beginning to freeze, as if you couldn’t wait to get away after dropping me off at the library on Christmas Eve. I had just started readi......

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...[Verse 1] We were hidin’ out where the lights ran low, You were talkin’ soft, just takin’ it slow. But I was somewhere else in my mind, Caught up in a face I’d left behind. That sideways grin,......

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...I leaned back in my chair and carefully thought, 'bout what is to be, and what is not, and the things that are and the things which was, and what doesn't and that which does. Just then, I lea......

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...The machine lit up like a small cathedral— chrome saints hopping under glass, the silver gospel of the pinball spinning wild between my hands. It was my birthday— twenty-one— and free b......

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...Is life truly an art or just a messy canvas I never asked to touch, and death the same, a final brushstroke or just a fear hidden in dark corners? I ask this because, if life is art, then I suppose......

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...They don’t ask if I remember. They think I’m just a tree— bark, leaves, and silence. But I do. I remember. Before roads, before fences, before the wooden swing on my lowest branch— I was ......

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... Along with the Thunder In midst of a storm where dark clouds gather Where thunder screams with a deafe......

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...There once was a sandwich, quite absurd, who dreamed of speaking every word. One morning crisp, it woke and cried, “Oi! Who nicked my clock?” it sighed. The chef just blinked, his whiskers twit......

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...An oval shape—a ghostly pane, A frame of whispers, soft refrain. It hung in quiet, out of view, Where silence slept and shadows grew. I glimpsed “the oval window, a portal to another dimension,......

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