Short On Writing And Wordslove Poems
Short On Writing And Wordslove Poems. Below are examples of the most popular short poems about On Writing And Wordslove by PoetrySoup poets. Search short poems about On Writing And Wordslove by length and keyword.
I am sure I will break my own heart
When you know I love you
That’s why it is a secret from the start
Eventhough my love so true
I’ll just see you from distant
Your happiness is what so important
The words I mean to say, the rhyme
as thoughts do insurrect, as to divine
the love I share, the courage that was mine
is often missing what the sense entwines.
If I do love you, sometimes hollow twine
is all my heart can muster up to line
and so the grace that heaven gives in sign
is muted by comparison, I find ~
And love tht once did merit grace in kind
now errors, as in limbo . . . . . undefined!
I love to write,
It's all I want to do.
I'm sorry if it sounds
Sad to you.
It may not be
How I feel today.
It's just words
That come my way.
Sometimes it's a thought
Sometimes it's a mood
I couldn't explain it
If I wanted too.
You may not agree
Or understand.
Yet if you do,
That's just GRAND!
Because I love to write,
It's all I want to do.
I don't care
If that bothers you.
In the beggining
The water was everywhere
A vapor moist with meaning
Substancing atom and seed
With love urged upon need
Until sound appeared in picture
And time tasted its first rapture
The tongue singing
The wing dilating
Thought upon thought
Mind and memory in vision wrought
The word had ancestry here.
And I griot, poet, sage
Its sacred keeper without a wage
Am the river in which the rage
Of words make war in love upon the page.
From what I have and feel, I know you love me still
But from what I hear and see, you’re not here with me
You’ve broken my wings!
If my wings have to be broken, I’ll take it without any offer
I won’t let go of them, cos I want to live with them
Until It’s over!
I don’t want to burn my own wings of love with a false feeling
Eventhough I can not have you, maybe I could still be dreaming
That someday…
I could give my own heart a special part of yours without anything for turning
My mind like a hand turned up before the eye
Palm bare, empty as a desert air
Found no words, for every fresh brook was dry
And I was left brimmed with care
But then I read a love note to man in absence
Where the flowers bloom wild
And felt a sprout quicken on a dew of evidence
So with the drought I reconciled
And for your love I scrape the page with my pen
And tell my soul to wring a memory
And make love flock to you, my sister, friend
For every frfiendhsip tells a history.