Threadbare Poems - Poems about Threadbare

I was kind enough To put your shirt In the drawer next to my bed But I wish I had the strength To leave it on the floor instead I want it to collect dust But then that means The last few months didn’t matter Maybe I should just wear it To cover up making My...

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thin moon hangs in the blurring light when the red tape of work ends day's end before darkness darts onto idling pillows a too slight shine to navigate the strain of living wounds unstitched like a heart unhealing from over-crowded transgressions a feel that's too familiar nestled in the treads of tired where we can't always control the skidding crescent moon dangling, unsettled in...

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“Your mother’s love, the silent devotion ,the never heard prayers, the unseen care.” ~~ Shobhna Kanwar~~ She stood in the foyer of the church, through the window to the aisle. Her threadbare clothes hung around her form in denial. She watched him take her arm, as they approached the groom. A hush was heard as the organ...

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The light by which everything else is known, is what we seek, to become self-aware and so we sow seeds of love, all home grown, that the tree of life reveals truth threadbare. Love is a mist in which ego dissolves, paving way for consciousness to expand, whence we see how soul in our heart evolves and then God’s divine plan we...

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Moon came out dressed only in threadbare clouds Sun spun her a gown of seawater embroidered with green glass...

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Threadbare memories from my past like worn out souvenirs, packed away with dreams recast and thoughts of yesteryear. Tear-stained photos caked with dust and ghosts of long ago; stowed away and ne’er discussed, yet will not e’er let...

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A Collection of Days David J Walker It looks for all to me like The same sky Passing by As I wake to greet Each new dawn And the midday grass is As green and fresh as any shaggy lawn I ever mowed for money As a boy Every summer day Every leaf that fell in Fall Ever winter snowdrift or Spring rain Feels and...

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can a threadbare rope hold the balance of justice from crushing our hope? what's the cost in gold to decide any man's fate when it's bought and sold? heaven is the place where a man is judged simply by his sacred face!...

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Rags To Threadbare Tatters... (a true “FAKE” story how Mein Kampf - chill as hoary frost – and totaling lacking glory.) A woeful disgraceful cautionary tale stitched from the barest thread harkens back half life of yours truly comprising a few decades in the pluperfect...

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How and Why?? With whom and where.. Amidst innocent cries and tearful eyes, HUMANITY ONCE AGAIN... THREADBARE... Don't let the pain fade this time Don't let politics and religion play Zero tolerance is the demand now A new promise, a fresh vow.. Slogans and protests no more in vain. Days passed, Oh! Sadly I hear, Thank God, it is not someone Dear.. And see HUMANITY...

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Gray smeared sky like a quilt of rags Winos sip rot gut from brown paper bags Threadbare cloud crotch splits up the side Rain pours down, you got nowhere to hide Cheap umbrella from a street corner pimp Turns inside out before going limp Putrid puddles, soggy doggy doo dollops Are artfully dodged by high-heeled trollops A rat scurries by with a piece...

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a slight feeling of ambivalence, the merest hint of cold indifference crushes all the confidence that's in a threadbare heart take care, take time, show tenderness, each simple smile's a rich indulgence that costs but a moment of patience and restores a threadbare heart...

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Wear thy breast thin, now rest thy cheeks rosy upon my armored chest smashing the headboard, tea cozy Now we play ring around the rosary In me embedded, stroking silk strands of my hair Thoughts growing so hazy, day dream dozy Your fiery eyes keep me toasty now roaming kisses quest our lips mosey mounting crest Last test Bare ---------- This is a Diatelle....

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the delicate fabric rends once intricately meshed carefully woven together by loving hands beautifully it hangs the cloth, pleasing to the eye colorful hues in a fashionable design underneath--tattered and shredding worn from friction and resistance strings now falling on the ground the delicate fabric rends once intricately woven carefully meshed together by loving hands now frayed and flawed....threadbare...

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My love is like a worker's gloves grown old. His hands are leather, roughened now with age and years of work in weather hot and cold, yet through the many years, he has grown sage. . . My love is like a builder's pair of boots. He's dusty and fatigued and still he walks while trailing mud, but now his attributes shine...

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