Steeped Poems - Poems about Steeped

Shadows of yesterday eclipse reality. But in hope lies my dreams; where I am free of doubt. Love's ethereal touch; manipulates pleasure. And always seeking more; fledgling feelings take wing. Desire morphs into lust; untethered to your heart. And love's consigned to dreams; whenever doubt wins out. Should love ever dissolve; it was not meant to be. Yet, kept alive in dreams; it remains within reach. It does not help to...

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The Mallard Mimic is a myth.... it calls for a well trained chef to use his knowledge of meat and wines to create a standard that many would wish for and are willing to pay to have ------------------------------------------------------------ the usage of duck fat to cook white potatoes and then be arranged as scales attop a turkey cutlet that is stuffed with mushrooms, prosciutto olives,shallots spinach a sprinkle of nutmeg and garlic...

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At first embarrassed, but later I became afraid. ...

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Couples marry; it's tradition Since the beginning of time Our children would do the same While in their youthful prime Handsome, intelligent, employed Would be their choicest beaus No ills would befall a safe home Established in love that grows Into a heart entered a love A beau with mutant genes Carrier of Huntington's Disease that stole all esteem As tradition would have it...

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White moon- I set my boats free in your bay. I wound them up and they all sailed away. From here to the Milky Way. I don't know all the answers, but when I stood to walk away someone put poison into my cup of love. So, I headed out to where the stars burned brighter, when I hit the road... I lost my cigarette...

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a source of sorrow hatred steeped in jealousy who is being hurt...

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Knowledge gained liberates or mutilates. Ramifications of reality’s realm reached make your insides want to abandon the body ship. Rocking back and forth as you hurl dry acidic pain expelled by the force of shell shocked lucidity: You’re not good enough to be loved. Breathing in is treason. Your heart demands release of life’s lease. On the kitchen floor crumpled dreams drag to prostrate...

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I can still visualize my hometown in Gumaca, Quezon both in my mind and in my heart, with vivid mem’ries rich with natural resources, the place where I was born source of my childhood, a passage to my changing self. It’s like a landscape of my continuing inspiration a connecting link to my goal, the beginning of my calling. our...

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Whilst her children brawl, in blood she’s steeped, Only able to watch and wait, And her tears are filled with floods that weep, Waiting for time to choose their fate. Right in believing for which they stand, Knowing whence they fall they‘ll never rise, Through hills or swamps or mud or sand, They’ll battle until their demise. Soon after death again they’ll meet, When...

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