Rise Poems - Poems about Rise

She awakened to a world she did not know where fair maidens dress the world does show their charms in unseemly, wanton pose cast off their virtue ere their beauty glows ...

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In the hour when senile summer breathes her last, The vim of her ego births a somnolent child. Rising forth from the yawning pit of newness, Dyed with shades of seasonal confetti, Fall rises with a spectrumed diadem. October reigns with a high degree of splendour, Braiding strands of leaves with threads of gold....

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There lies a land behind the smoke, Where silence screams and hearts are broke Where lullabies drown in bombs and drones And cradles turn to shattered stones Babies cry with lips so dry No blood, no milk, no tear left to cry No schoolbell rings, no hospital stands, Just bones and ruins buried in the sand They queue for crumbs and bleed...

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I walked a quiet road at dusk, Where frost lay silver on the grass, And in the stillness, words I sought Some startled birds would rise and pass. They brushed my cheek, they touched my hair, Then vanished into fading blue; I thought of you, old friend of snow, Who spoke to silence, stern and true. Your lines were fences in the mist, Your...

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Let it be known— this is where I rose. Not from victory, but from void. Not from praise, but from prayerless nights with no answer. I rose not like sunlight, but like stone breaking through its tomb. Not like wind— but like silence that chose to speak. This is where I shed the skin of survival. Where I buried the man who begged for belonging. Where I kissed the...

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You smell like sweet roses, But I've smelled the sweat of the weak. My sight is as keen as an eagle's eyes; I see the chains, rusted from years of injustice, binding the meek. Segregation tried to tear us apart; Tried to break our spirits, but we stood unbroken. Like Carlotta Walls, I keep my head held high, ...

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If you can breathe through it You can get through it If you can get through it You can rise If you can breathe through it You can see your way through it If you can see your way through it You can fly If you can breathe through it You can push through it If you can push through it You can begin…again ...

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From the depths of forgotten sleep, the shadows of unknown dreams rise, On the paths of the night, our steps are guided by nameless stars, In the cosmic silence, the whispers of destiny that traverse us are heard, Every hidden thought becomes a window to the inner light. Through forests of memories, the heart seeks its way to clear...

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E-vening D-awns N-ew A-spiration V-iewed I-n L-ight, L-etting A-ltruistic N-obility U-se E-ach V-ision's A-wakening ©bfa062025 Monocrostic (Birthday of Edna P. Villanueva)...

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Inspired to write. Right? Rise up Queen ?? Take in the Scene you have everything you need to succeed no more heartbreaking, blood flowing, anxiety filled recollections of the past. Coming into my womanhood letting go of the pain at last?? This is the year I no longer fight the devil on his level. His ceiling is my...

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M-oments A-waken R-efined L-ight's Y-earning N-obility, P-ersisting O-ver N-ight’s T-rails I-n G-aze O-f N-ature. ©bfa062125 Monocrostic (Birthday of Marlyn B. Pontigon)...

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Pain hits us like a bullet Suffocating us with every few breaths we take Hit me with rock Poison my roots Burn me to ashes But like a phoenix I will rise Rise from the crippling pain of the burning ashes around me I will rise like the sun does every Shoot your bullets Try to annihilate me with every curse...

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The “Mayday” radio call message was the final voice from Air India 171 flight bound for London seconds before it crashed creating an eternal memorial for 241 gracious beings, with one survivor. My heartfelt sympathy and condolences to every family member, friend, and associate of those who made their ascent into the heavenly realms. May...

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"Blackbird" You cannot cage what's born to rise, she blazed beyond their brittle lies. They named her ash, they named her end, but fire learns how not to bend. Her silence cracked the sky in two, she flew where only lightning flew, They heard her cry, not weak–but wise– a battle hymn of "Blackbird" skies....

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for the ones losing hair, light, and hope—this is you. They said I was nothing special. Just a crawling thing, skin too thin, eyes too tired, body too slow to ever matter. I heard them whisper. “He looks worse every day.” “She’s losing her hair now.” “Poor thing.” And worse— the pity in their voices cut more than the words. I wanted to hide. Wanted to leave this skin, this...

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