Short Dry Eyed Poems
Short Dry Eyed Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Dry Eyed by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Dry Eyed by length and keyword.
Warrior
I am not a warrior he said
whispering from afar
courageous,
dry eyed
a soldier of the dead
I am a child from love
black steel once clasped in hand
A silent wind and yellow moon
now soothes my icy ground
The dry eyed man walked
with his chin held high.
He'd done his best, and
said his worst.
There he walked away,
away from the hearse.
Who it contained,
I do not know...
But whoever it was,
they sure got a show.
Form:
Yesterday we laughed
And loved
And dreamed...
Today we love and cry
Loving no less
Yet suddenlly how wide the bridge
Between reality and a dream...
Today we dream
Yet cry...
And love
And cry
Dry eyed...
It hurts when we swallow!
Yesterday we laughed
And loved
And dreamed!
C. Alvez
ExploreWriteDreams and Reality
Yesterday we laughed
And loved and dreamed.
Today we love and cry,
Loving no less,
Yet, suddenly how wide the bridge
Between reality and a dream...
Today we dream,
Yet cry,
And love
And cry
Dry eyed...
It hurs when we swallow!
Yesterday we laughed
And loved,
And dreamed!
Cynthia
light a match to the dry eyed heart
bring back the romance
bring back your heart
while there is life there is hope
you've been through the darkness
now come back to the light
the world needs bold hearts like yours
bring the love you have in you
bring it home
light a match to the dry eyed heart
bring back the romance
bring back the light
My tears were all for Fred.
My brother has already died;
My mother and my dad and then
The Tom to whom I had been wed.
Through it all, I'd been dry-eyed.
(They stalk me at night in bed.)
The phone call came that Fred had died
And a bomb went off in my inside!
I howled, I pounded things and cried!
I still don't fully comprehend;
I heard he was a real good guy,
But I hardly knew old Fred!
The whimper of a defenseless child weak and haunting can fill the cup,
of melancholy to age a grail of tears.
The squeal most animal like as heart is pierced
by betrayal a declaration ..almost too real.
The bawl of hunger and indignity the red-faced rage of entitlement,
the dry-eyed warning hail of men from battlements, so many, variations,
so many wet displays, so many maudlin melodies
of man and his betrayal…
I sometimes wonder if Shakespeare cried
when he wrote a scene where the main character died.
Or was he so consumed by his art
that he could keep fiction and reality apart,
and write those torturous scenes perfectly dry-eyed?
Companion poem
I sometimes wonder who was there
the day Shakespeare finished writing King Lear.
Was he at home with his Annie?
Or was he drunk off his fanny
in the Tabard Inn, stroking the dark lady's hair?