Nails Poems - Poems about Nails

I saw a Man today as he walked the hill Tears and drops of blood did equal spill From brutally torn flesh and eyes of pain I saw a Man today my inadequate refrain I saw a Man today unjustly convicted His trial was short and clearly scripted The verdict assured without any proof I saw a Man today who spoke only...

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These broken nails Not pretty to look at, My triumphs, my fails Mean more than that Been scratching away Digging for some end, By night, by day … ‘Til they begin to bend Once polished to a shine … Is perfectly cracked, With pulled hair of mine And my nerves wracked All glitter, all gold … Neither one can stay, But, broken nails, I'm told Says something anyway. ...

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In darkest days, when shadows blended with the earth, And nails hung humanity in its blood-stained hands, While the priests looked on and smiled politely They stole the heart of everyone who saw truth In God’s own Son, yet left the gate wide open for death, And so, we enter the darkest hours, as life...

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Perhaps I have descended so low, already sinking my nails into the bottom of the abyss, While my fangs point towards the distant sky, bathed in moonlight, Perhaps I have lied, hidden things and left them behind on the stars, And perhaps I only told you what you wanted to hear, a story to lose yourself in. But I...

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Rough cut pieces of wood bearing many splinters, they shall be a portal through which all sin enters, blood soaked nails being constantly driven, one set of nails that will have a story written, from a sapling these pieces of wood were chosen, a destination to end stained a color of rosen, part of history that will never be forgotten, a mark...

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Six fancy ladies came for tea Wearing painted six-inch-long fingernails They could barely pick up their cups I have no idea how they put on their stockings They wore shiny sequin party dresses Most had been to the beauty shop Their hostess’s nails were short She had been working in the kitchen all morning. The finger foods were super delicious. Stories and laughter prevailed. Kids...

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I will never have my nails done In a salon or anywhere else Mine will remain short, dirty, and broken Because I use them not only daily, but almost every minute. I cannot fathom having those two-inch appendages With points, painted with daisies or in wild colors How do they open a can of pop? Or pet a puppy without doing damage?...

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I'm feeling judged still by what jury's found cold; in the courts of February Tried to hide 'til July; warm feelings are just not meant to be temporary I count my curses on one hand and my blessings on the other Whichever fills up first; the latter will assuredly smother The shadows always seem to know that light exposes...

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My brother calls me "Hammer Head" Cause I eat Nails ! My sister calls me "Tacky" Cause I eat Nails ! My friends call me "Spike" Just because I eat Nails ! Everyone says I am a "glutton for punishment" I just can't seem to stop, Biting on my Nails !...

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An exquisite ‘O’ curved her supple lips, she tilted into a cursive climax; The loop of nails now a scar on his hips....

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Pale pastel blue nails As blue as translucent sea, Waves pale as white sails, Complimentary to toes Matching my summer beach clothes....

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Trudy came to school wearing pink and orange nails. Everyone asked who had done these for her. We all made appointments. Including me, and I do not let anyone paint my nails. I just did not want to be left out....

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She loved those quiet moments together…loved the rainbow of colors they chose when Mom would color her nails…and Dad would paint her toes. It was during these quiet moments when it seemed to her like time suspended. When she discovered that beauty was in how the colors blended It’s where she first discovered love…how out of her heart it...

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~O’ GLORY MY GOD’S SWEET NAILS-SWEET TREE JESUS HAD TO ENDURE TOOK ON MY SINS SO HE DIED UPON A TREE Jesus, Jesus, Jesus Nothing but… Jesus, Jesus, Jesus He died for us Because He’s in love with us It’s in God whom we trust Liturgy sings: Sweet nails, sweet tree where life begins He’s Lord is firmly nailed to the cross; ...

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His nails have dug into his palms; they do that kind of thing. It's only when he's hearing psalms, and hearing others sing. "Oh why, dear God?" he says on Sunday, knowing there's no lord. "I do so wish to get to Monday, feel no longer bored." Yet he will know, when starting Monday, working now for six, the seventh day will be a Sunday...

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