Farewell Metaphor Poems | Examples
These Farewell Metaphor poems are examples of Metaphor poems about Farewell. These are the best examples of Metaphor Farewell poems written by international poets.
I butter the toast as if it were a pardon,
its crust breaking under my knife
like a sealed envelope.
The coffee is bitter ink,
a confession cooling in its cup.
I swallow it fast,
as if speed could trick the executioner.
When I buy myself flowers
I imagine them lining a witness box:
petals trembling,
each one swearing I once existed.
I take long baths,
the water climbing like hours,
the body softening, rehearsing its exit.
Every errand feels ceremonial:
the grocer weighing apples,
the cashier stamping receipts—
as if recording my presence
before the page turns blank.
I buy the trinket, the sugared cake,
because why shouldn’t the condemned
glitter a little,
lick the spoon clean?
The hours leer,
their faces blindfolded.
Any minute the rope could tighten—
a phone could ring with pardon.
So I go on feeding myself,
scraping honey from the jar,
gilding my throat
for the last song or the first acquittal,
as though I might vanish mid-bite,
or else be called back,
my name suddenly rinsed clean
from the record.
Present
Flowers
Before
My hours
Fall in
Darkness
Rightly
You watch
Idly
Come near
With songs;
Sweet drink
Calming
Lightly
Hold back
These parts
From him
Who hides
In wind—
Hunter
Seeking
Close by,
Black eyes
Tighten
My heart
Repines,
The beat
Creaking
(Deceased March 17, 2010)
Here lies Sondra Ball whose shadow too long;
May a passerby see and sing her song.
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.
She thinned to vapour, blue as longing's edge,
while we searched skywards, calling her lost name.
Wind replied in whispers no one could catch–
just hollow notes strung on a frayed thread.
Now dusk repeats her gesture: palms upturned,
spilling light where her shadow once poured.
We drink the rain, still tasting her farewell.
You are the warmth of the summer sun
That makes me long for distant shores
On a rainy day
You are the gentle breeze that bathes my face
At the end of winter when spring flowers
Come out to play
You are the magnificence of the elusive moon
That bids farewell to a day of joy
And renders me whole
You are the sweetness of a sculptured rose
Whose fragrance assails my being
And soothes my soul
1.
Sorrow entered, so cold and deep,
As if it came the soul to keep.
It seemed it never would depart,
A shadow cast upon the heart.
But then came joy, so bright, so fair,
It lit the world with gentle care.
It felt as though it ne'er would cease,
A time of light, a time of peace.
2.
The sweet Spring came with blooms anew,
With skies of gold and morning dew.
The birds began their songs to raise—
It seemed we'd live in endless days.
But Winter swept across the land,
With frozen breath and icy hand.
The leaves were gone, the flowers too,
The birds were still, the sky turned blue.
O Traveler, choose your path with grace,
Each road will fade without a trace.
No grief remains, nor joy can stay—
All things must pass along the way.
In the storm of my mind,
You were my quiet yearning.
Nothing to hold onto, nothing to chase,
Nobody can adjust to this phase.
Do not claim the jargon words,
Words mean nothing when they are hollow.
Letters and pauses are only the reflections of my urge
To put you in my precious seat.
I see a scarlet paradise,
Beneath the fabrics, beneath the skin.
I can even see what's underneath your skull,
My heart is nothing but an omniscient witness.
When you claim that you are feeling all alone,
Isn't that worthy of being welcomed?
When you claim that you do not want to be left alone,
Isn't it pleasurable to be denied?
The empty clock reminds me of your sweet but mean promises,
Temporary happiness is what you always crave.
But I have been an equivocator for so long,
I just want to see what my strides mean to you.
Oh poetry,
why do you not feel me.
I was once your poetic percolate,
the assonance to your consonance,
spilling in silver ink,
upon Earth's raw fibres,
but in your quest for perfection,
wanderlust words are now waterless roots,
resembling a mediocre muse,
cursed from rose tinted glares,
exposing pages of bad grammar.
Since the feather in my quill
set adrift with fireflies in the wind,
conflicting choruses echo
in an acoustic refrain.
In this musical merry go around -
I'm only composed as a last thought.
In chapters of contemplation,
wondering if you feel the art of my heart;
I ponder if I am a
vacant vowel in your 'why?'
An unexplained myth..
A rhythm not seen in your rhymes
or do questions only bring bitterness?
But without the reason for answers,
will there be anything left to express?
I'm just an empty cartridge
abandoned from your fountain pen.
Now only aches and angst alliterate,
as invisible ink slowly dissolves.
I'll forever be an unfinished masterpiece.
A long forgotten poem. An anagram of listen.
There is no metaphor for this grief,
so I say goodbye to poetry
and farewell to my muse.
The fire crackles—I take the heat,
but my hands pass through my frozen skin.
You bury your only dog beneath a home of desecrated poppies.
Pup frozen from years of neglect, full of ignorance and stained of regret.
You claw at the dirt like one of the far-gone soldiers, and the earth knows better but to serve you.
You lay his body down Heavy, limp and soundless.
His wide eyes the color of heartbreak and broken promises, his coarse fur kissed by the signs of war.
You wear the same marks, you have the same saintless past,
But your fate is not the same.
War was your mother; she taught you learn once, not twice. She taught you dogs die and you were reborn by your own hand, born with thorns for skin and poison in your breath.
Dog and Human,
Killed and killer,
One was inhuman the other was a self-created monster.
There is a fear on the dog's face that you can only dream of. Pure light consumed by the darkness. a child of war, taken by a river of blood and the fear that led to his death.
And you wish you had the humanity to grieve.
I lost myself in reaching for the sky,
I buried my dreams in shadows nearby,
I rejected myself at a remarkable dawn,
I found myself when you were finally abandoned.
Maybe I craved the way you used to utter my name,
Maybe it was nothing but a spiteful game,
Maybe you knew exactly when to pause,
Maybe it was all just a tremendous noise.
I am in a field of blooming cherries,
It is truly a remarkable phase.
I reach for a long-cherished, unknown wish,
Plucking a forgiven gist, only for it to wither.
The field is an astounding desert,
Where I can barely survive.
To live here takes audacious courage;
To pass by it is an incredible damage.
I want to let all the blooming cherries know:
When you blow in through the window,
Won’t you ask the plucked one whether its petals still glow?
Won’t you let it throw my heart in with the flow?
I have inked my verses
All day for so long
Poured my soul in pages
But got nothing in return
For being a full time poet
Poverty has ruined my life
Crippled my very spirit
Humiliation and neglect
follows me everywhere
My wrinkles and weary eyes
Speak of misery and destitution
So I have decided
To forsake my pen
Destroy all my works
Delete from memory
That once I was a bard
My verses will die with me
As I perform their last rites
Since writing has got me nowhere.
Harsh is the time of your birth
The bleaching sun, taking away all beauty of the earthly jade.
But out of this parched season,
You bring forth the passions of your ever living substance.
Whispers of the cool, dry winds
Wave your exquisiteness for all to see.
Canvasing the floor of the soft earth,
Beneath each towering tree.
The stately soft petal
Of your comeliness fall ever gracefully.
Like the rains, that you seemingly beckon
To come and drench the thirsting earth.
Your cries for the heavens
To bless the earth is without sound,
But great things occur in silence,
Just as the warm sun rises.
The God of the heavens
The great creator set you as a sign.
A herald of great tidings,
For the rain draweth nigh.
Not once, nor twice but as many as three times
Your passion is echoed.
Filling the land with hope,
That soon the watering of the earth will appear.
But alas, you are no more as the heavenly windows open,
And as the thirsty land drinks her fill,
Your passionate silent calls are needed no more.
We bid thee farewell till next mother nature calls.
.
"'twuz this close"
certainly
y'all indulgerz uv
mine write
with telepathy knowz
such thuh close
'twuz that tingly feel'n
whence literary lisps
out mine
face
my almost
kissed them
the pink thick strips
'buv her chin
whilst her see's emeralds
glister'd
(((CRACK)))
her daddy's
bullwhip
clop clop clop
my best friend'z
canter
galloping mine safely
from wrath