Yourself Metaphor Poems | Examples
These Yourself Metaphor poems are examples of Metaphor poems about Yourself. These are the best examples of Metaphor Yourself poems written by international poets.
Don't be afraid,
to look inside yourself...
to find secret places,
with some treasures,
or dark,
hidden secrets...
Don't be afraid,
the discovery can be
a gift...
A good thing to be
developed...
A defect can
be corrected...
Knowing yourself is a
wonderful attribute...
So Live well with it...!
OF LIFE’S JOURNEY, DOUBT NOT
At birth, life’s journey is planned.
While there will be many tolls,
God’s GPS will guide you:-
Like Mary, don’t doubt;
God has purpose for you, too:
Believe in yourself:-
Destiny awaits:
With God navigating you,
Journey on in faith:-
We’re all just stories in motion, full of metaphors and simile and poetic notions but when the likes feel like love then the love feels like work, but you never put it in now somebody’s getting hurt that’s a lesson, but you can turn the page that’s a blessin’, release your new edition let the world feel your essence. When you can’t figure out what your story has in store but you know it’s never ending so you always plotting more it’s time to edit, some pages gon fold you gotta let it cause if your story stays the same you eventually regret it we know life is just a gamble to pick your prize you gotta bet it. Set it, leave your mark make sure they don’t forget it, don’t let it, break your heart if they don’t seem to get it that’s your vision plot a course and execute precision if they won’t get out your way make your entry a collision then incision, your path to your goals on a mission, to grow to where you never introduce yourself again cause when you enter any venue, they already know your name, that’s fame.
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Lost
The sun sinks low, the shadows grow,
No moon is out up high,
A chilling breeze begins to blow,
With stars up in the sky;
I wearily wade my way in vain
Across serpentine lanes of a forest,
Speckled with thick thorns and thickets,
But each time tumble at the same spot;
My heart is sore with seams of strains,
I feel lost in the night,
My feet are tinging with deep pains,
No pathway greets my sight.
Most of the trees seem to sneer at me,
Some to snarl like wild woeful winds
Treating the spot as their enclave,
A guarded setting of their own;
A voice soon whispers in my ears,
A voice from inner self:
“Move straight without a grain of fear,
And steer ahead yourself.”
Your smiles frozen over,
and you stand tall above the water
like an iceberg, so tall and elegant
in your presentation.
But surface-level trickery
can’t fool or satiate
my scuba diver
curiosity.
I see through your
poorly constructed ruse.
I prep my gear,
dive deep into your ocean,
and discover that underneath
the surface-level beauty lies dormant
a bummock of cuts and bruises.
The true nature of things,
the true nature of you.
A life packed full of solutionless problems,
scribbled out like math equations
written on a chalkboard
by a genius mathematician
who can’t ever prove his theories
or get anything to work.
Nobody understands him
because he can’t even understand
the things going on
in his own head.
Now,
enough of the comparisons.
Let’s get back to the subject.
You’re chronically ill.
Your condition is worsening.
You present yourself in a positive light
while, under the surface, you're
withering.
I worry for the day
when all of your problems
become too much
for you to bear,
and you slip away
like an avalanche
in the Arctic,
never to be
seen again.
What is love, really—
a figment of hope
sharp enough to shatter
centuries of lived patriarchy?
To think
education could make a dent
in what’s already carved
in bone & name.
To think
a stranger could be chosen
over the familial veins of caste, of home
over the womb of belief one never questioned.
Perhaps what’s
whispered in secret
was always meant to be hidden—
buried, before it flowers into regret.
Does it even matter—
your thoughts,
these societal norms, yourself?
whether you’re religious, or not?
What really makes one unique,
when the future already beholds
what always has been,
and what will be?
Destiny.
to think one is different—
to think everyone
is just the same.
To think
all that ever transpired
got fizzled on a random night
that never belonged to me.
A mirror isn't just a frame,
A sheet of glass that speaks your name.
It shows your image. Yes, it's true–
But now the whole of what is you.
It doesn't bend, it doesn't fake,
It captures truths you cannot break.
But mirror hide in the other forms–
In quiet thoughts, in silence storms.
In words that bruise, in eyes that know,
In shadows you still fear to show.
Not every mirror dare to shine–
some show the crack you called divine.
So ask yourself what mirrors mean–
They’re more than Polished, silver, clean.
They’re, everything that lays you bare–
Your secret grief, your silent prayers,
The mirror speaks without a sound–
It sees the soul where truth is found.
The sun unfolds, precisely peeking through
the light of stars, dominating ink-spilled nights.
Its rays graze softly on blooming wounds
as sirens set off warnings of incoming dunes.
O vulnerable soul! I pray you stay quiet,
hold dearly onto the kaleidoscopic life
slowly flowing out of your diluted sight.
O transient time! I pray you stay still for a while,
and let the sediments settle—
as the river carries away what's old and vile.
There will be another dawn.
When the sun unfolds again,
its light grazes softly on wounds withered with time.
As sirens hail warnings of unknown threats,
O powerful mind! I pray (and know) you'll never fret.
The sodium street lights
Your few striped freckles
The makeshift tattoo on my palm
A couple? Never. It's always been a triple or even a single at best,
A circle of medics healing medics.
This distortion is fine
It's a revolution of entrancing revolts.
Relics ignite for every star in the ground,
Scattered upon my brain.
To my pressed, dear, deadest flowers...
You keep leaving me out!
Crystalise for me, so I can die again for you.
My precious opalite,
Your purity is a miracle.
My beloved flaked obsidian,
Your impurity is a fiasco.
Both are much to be worshipped.
But now what am I to you>
The myriad, or the clone?
You keep me enshrined.
You rekindle yourself.
You say the circle is perfect, but it ends 4 corners behind.
I guess I'm only history.
Set me alight
If you dare.
Kill off the Mile Long Tree
For anyone who cares only cares about everyone
Revelation in mind, we don't feel the same
You should sort through your thick skull, my friend.
Each twig, a secret forever held
Each leaf, a statement never expelled.
My dear dreamcatcher, though my dearest is radical,
You're being ripped out by your roots, big buddy.
You're calling for unhelpful help.
So "Relational Warming" makes headline news
It consecrates our separate views.
They must've gathered some leaves,
And ever too many twigs.
You'll just grow another tree or two
To make up for the 'loss'
You'll just grow some extra foliage,
Replace the grass with moss
You'll just keep on making excuses
And dwell on your own exhaust.
But you're playing vampire in this romance, my darling.
To blame, you have only yourself.
You're dancing a dangerous dance, my dear
You're calling for unhelpful help.
Be as the sun,
And doubt not the Son of God;
Your guiding compass:-
Divine guidance is your gift;
Praise God for each day’s dawning:-
After sleep, you wake,
There’s sunset and sunrise;
You’re guided between:
Always believe in yourself;
Always be in God’s guidance:-
Journey faithfully,
You are destined for success;
God is your compass:
When lost, sign in your compass
And be guided on your way:-
Stop hating yourself;
prune away those evil thoughts:
new life blossoming:-
I’m as a dare—If just you’ll come along,
and give my noble providence a shot,
seeing what boundless bounty might be got,
you’ll sing me a river, cry me a song.
So if you trust that I can do no wrong,
and yield yourself to untying this knot,
finding this vacant vessel full of thought,
you’ll sing me a river, cry me a song.
Another hint may here do well to tell:
I am music not written for the ear,
a painting—that I am—though not in view.
Being seen, being heard, casting my spell,
I fascinate; this is my blissful sphere.
So know you now, which fancy sings to you?
Believe in me,
Because you cannot be
Alone in your thoughts.
A lie might make true what is not!
Be feared, be scared,
Be ware of what I am.
A love, a warm drain,
Along will wash your filthy brain…
And because I am one of you,
I know every one of you.
I know just what to do!
And I know this too:
When you blindly find something to lead,
It is a cry for help.
It could be a calf, it could be anything!
When you do what goes against your
heart
It is a cry for help.
It is all good if you feel good from a chart.
When you choose to prefer your own
wellness over the worlds’.
It is a cry for help.
It is natural knowing fright when what you
won’t understand unfurls.
When you believe in me,
It is a cry for help…
I am all you can see!
And I will answer it,
The answer I am.
Yes, it is always a cry for help,
Because you cannot be yourself…
Loving someone is just like running
You two try your best
To get used to each other
You make every effort to run
It's okey for the first lap
You keep your strength at the second
What about next
Life is not about sprint
It's like long-distance running
Let me ask you how far you can run
I want to tell an old saying
Take a rest if you feel tired
If you are tired to run, then walk
Watch the scenery and have a chat
It would be much better than
Forcing yourself running.