Sides Poems - Poems about Sides

We could cure all man's diseases, but we couldn`t cure humanities sickness. So I`ll bring back history's greatest minds, to rescue ourselves from these dark, dark days the gloominess caused by the mistrust of today. As life crumbled, it was surrounded by the worlds decay, Conflict: male vs female; a war between the sexes, a hatred without an end. The seeds of this...

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I have given up So I can never say I gave it my all The only thing I can admit was The weight of failures held me down No one can convince me that There is always a reason to keep trying Because when the sun starts to rise The darkness remains I refuse to believe that There is hope for me So I always remember...

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Trying to pick sides It extracts a terrible price You may not return ...

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Since you have been gone A lot of water has passed under the bridge A mixed bag of events have occurred Leaving behind earth-shaking calamities Difficult to quantify As confusion like whirlwind Keeps spreading and threatening The very fabric of National Cohesion Nobody knows what to believe anymore As looters of our commonwealth Keep spewing...

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I know there’s two sides to every story But I’m scared to know yours Is it how you loved me and cared for me Until you were torn Was it that you were everything and I was just too much Was it how you always asked before you went to touch I’m scared to know what...

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Sides Look for sides of a right-angled triangle. They’d like you to do that very much. ...

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Truth is the singing spark within your soul and the compassionate veins of the porcelain moon, composing lullabies like an arcane talisman, when words are mere daggers to the heart that aches for an empathetic empyrean. I’ve written tales with tortured ink in silence beneath starless skies, when the music of life fades into salt-soaked sands, drenched in monotonous beads of obsidian mists, listening to the golden grains in the wishing well, whisper...

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It’s not just about you and me, There’s a space between us, A place we can’t quite see, Where we need to take a deeper plunge. Share your story, and I’ll share mine, But let’s not forget the third strand that weaves us together, The portrait reflects our colours. A sage once said...

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"Parents forget relationship problems affect children involved, as they see and hear it through their own eyes." Quote by Poet Nesting in the kitchen table, Moving my nervous feet around. I am picking at my food, on the plate Unstable, unable to eat. While concealing the audible waft through waving shadows. My parents argue,"WE CANNOT AFFORD And LIVING PAYCHECK TO PAYCHECK." Voices quake,...

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There are three sides to every story a trifecta of subjective observations that warp over time and each time the story changes a bit until you have three completely different tales that tell the story of one event...

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The guy went crackers in the war Now he sells daffodils down the old grave road Sings songs about the dead His daily bread The kids throw stones Shout out names It’s a shame Who can you blame One day, the kids were playing in the river Tommy got into trouble, panic ensued They ran to him in tears He ran back with them, diving...

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There are three sides that form every triangle and not always are they of the same equal proportion. There can also be three sides of many a story told, and stitched with tenuous threads that loosely dangle. Each strand stretched and told in a dialogue of distortion. In one, a little of the truth blended in part with pure fiction. While...

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As you chase the melting mirage in the desert storm I look at your evasive eyes permanently petrified, see the void vision fixed in the personal frame. As the shroud of devious dust spreads on sneaky you, you wane in the waste land, like the shrivelled shadow of the skeletal tree, green once, but I know, you've lost your roots, turned into...

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In the calm spaces of thump ripples three gossamer shadows gather, each a whisper of what once was, three stories spilled, but which is true? The first speaks of love, its tender seed sown, nurtured in a guffaw, but fear grew wild, a vine gripping...

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she said she was, he said he was, then how? said constable at loss? fact was the old lady was dead, she looked like asleep in her bed, but she must have passed suddenly nothing suggests she was poorly, except her mouth was wide open, next to her drugs she had taken, her son said was busy at work, his wife said it sounds...

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