Short Fugitives Poems
Short Fugitives Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about Fugitives by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about Fugitives by length and keyword.
I'm tired of flying
chasing fugitives
stars,
behind decaying
stars...
i got tired of me
fall in love with
unfulfillable dreams,
impossible missions...
today I run...back
of the lyrics,
hunting
words...
as a hummingbird,
kiss flowers...!
we stood
were well
you pushed
I fell
they came
I hid
she ran
I did
they chased
I stopped
she turned
I dropped
they shot
I died
she fled
I sighed
they went
her too
I died
for you
.. I died
.. for you
you used
me too
Those who leave,
those who leave are phenomenal...
Are cold, are hot,
are sun and rain,
walk in the fields,
wander in the cities...
They are from all continents!
Nobody notices them for sure,
no one chases them, they are fugitives...
We only notice them, when
they write poetry...!
I'm tired of flying
after stars
fugitives,
behind stars
decadent ...
I'm tired of me
fall in love with
unrealizable dreams,
impossible missions ...
today I run ... behind
of the letters,
retract
words...
as hummingbirds
kissing flowers ...
I seek a love affair
with poetry ...!
here they come again
windblown fugitives of gold
dancing with flowers
sun's shadow dancers
green fluttering leaves darkly
silhouette party
purple birds glide by
dusky beats upon the ground
trembling, shade fruit vines
in a dance to night
movement in grassy marshes'
dynasty of days
we become fugitives in our
own outlets when the law
has put us to shame and
unnecessary blame
we violenly revolt like refractory
horses,its such a cruel shame
who the runnaways are,elegory
like shakeshere in that windy tempest
himself,than miranda,the category
of africas aggrevation is unclassified
A time shall come
When our tongues shall die
And our issue
Shall speak no more
A time is yet to come
When they shall become fugitives
Not of warfare
But of Origo
A time is to come
When they shall all be masked
In another character’s costume
Forgetting the role to be played
A time when we shall all cry
In our private bosom
Fear
Thou make a warrior lame
An enemy to our race
Thy means so recondite
Suffered by all except none
In thee, ideas die
And motives murdered
Dreams doomed
Yet, no finger nor flesh
Thou are guilty on many a count
Starting from unactualization to death
Except you are defeated
We shall become fugitives
For a fearless man
Can be attributed as a god
Can you envision clearly
The path to your destiny
Is your software trained
Not to be a futile trailer
Of doubts and negatives
Turning ideas into fugitives
That turns you into a clown
I ask you now to kindle
Inner candle to purpose
Please burn your tears
Smoke doubts and fears
Steam all flaws to purify
Mind and soul, and clarify
The road to your crown
We can always escape
with your hand in mine,
it's in the pills that you offer me
but I shy away.
It's in the drink that you poor in me
and I cannot refuse.
Saturday night, we're running away,
through the turnstiles relentlessly,
flowing downstream,
it's the only way.
With your hand in mine
I feel your pulsation echoing through me
again and again,
again and again.
A downpour behind her eyes;
sparkling at me she stood as witness to the affliction I divide.
A breeze interjected between us,
clinging to her dress
picking up every strand of hair fighting to have it free and I stood helpless;
lost in a momentary haze transported to days gone by,
marked by child like giggles emerging from a broken smile.
“She always did have the saddest eyes”; I remember thinking, before I crumbled to my knees.
“Run away with me” – I begged.