Comfort Words Poems | Examples
These Comfort Words poems are examples of Words poems about Comfort. These are the best examples of Words Comfort poems written by international poets.
A return to Normalcy
As night comes, all are at ease
We return to slumber
In the electric comfort
Of artificiality that is our lives
We revel in the false sense of our own
Modern conveniences
We forget the thin veil between
Our electric life, truth of nature’s brutality
Of our existence, we believe we are
Immune to the real world, harsher realities
Till only a loss of electric life or death, finite
Our comfort zone is rot, lost, and won
Something jars us back to reality
Of the world so frail
So it goes for everything n anyone
We are wrapped in ourselves
We are ignorant of the truth, in flesh
We hid in the comfort of our arrogance
We whitewash our history
We tell ourselves one thing
We miss direct our attention
With glamour, illusions, n media broadcasts
Peel back the thin layer of civility
See the bones of mortality
The flesh of humanity
The blood of our souls, vanity
We are primal and dangerous
Everything foretold, lost
We are comforted by our excesses
We fear what we cannot hold
And believe all we are sold
As we turn in for a much-needed reprieve
A needed night's rest, we are in our woolen
Wilds and slumber in our hypocrisy.
Intruders
Invasive interlopers
Encroaching on the edge
Of thought
Prowlers invading
The sanctity of the soul
Clumsy burglars
Violating the boundaries
Of whispered secrets
Purring cat burglars
Seeking comfort
We met by fate, on a quiet eve,
January winds, a moment to believe.
7:50 it struck, the clock did chime,
A coincidence, yet it changed all time.
Since class eight, a soft hidden flame,
Unspoken feelings, never the same.
But chats grew deeper, laughter would bloom,
In silence and smiles, love found its room.
On 17th December, past midnight's hue,
We confessed in whispers, shy but true.
Not with those three words loud and clear,
But with comfort, warmth, and drawing near.
Exams came fast, we lived in texts,
Moments missed, but hearts perplexed.
Still, love grew stronger, day by day,
Through highs and lows, we found our way.
But life had plans we couldn't defy,
Dreams we dreamed began to lie.
Yet even if this birth won't let us be,
In the next, we’ll write our destiny.
You’ll always be my first, my start,
A name etched deep within my heart.
And though we're far, this truth won't sway—
I loved you then, I love you always.
WORDS
I have accumulating wealth for I have the gift of words.
They're a treasure unto myself in my expanding universe.
Words have the power to wound or heal; it is a well-known fact.
They determine how we think and feel, then finally how we act.
There's a huge supply and a great demand
For words of hope in our storm-tossed land.
People are searching for a reason to live.
Have we comforting words to give?
Whatever you believe then speak with your mouth
Will come to pass, without a doubt.
Your words determine your destiny.
So, speak words of life and be blessed indeed!
(c) L. Gayle Carter
some words wound and some heal
some words seeping down, hearts steal.
some words hit hard, some deeply cut
some meant to praise, but some to insult.
some stay inert, dead on the lips.
some cement cracks, but some widen gaps.
some serve as balm to those who are broken.
some, to beautiful relationships, new doors open.
some words comfort, some are aimed to assault.
some, hit hard and pierce like a thunderbolt
God, help me utter words that uplift
use right words at the right time, a gift.
I know words have the power to heal n' hurt
to bring joy and tears alike in other’s heart.
Lord anoint my lips with grace to utter words sweet,
so that, in others, they would open inlets of delight.
I love my pen
I love to write
Words of comfort.
Pen is my friend
I grow with it
Since childhood days.
With modern trend
More love gadget
So now I've change.
Instead of pen
I love cellphone
Comfort I write.
A choice
Without choice
No question arose
For this birthing
In blackness and
Sharp voices
Scolding the choice..
Regrets
For the choice arose
Imagined alternatives
Without sharpness
Without edges of an
Imagined identity..
Masks worn with
Pride and misgiving
Pain and elation
Comfort and shame
Colored to perfection
The separation game..
Yet in winding down
Appearances of memories
Flash and fade
No answers are found
To questions in time
Only these words
And not only these
Burning this page...
To whoever is writing my story,
I beg you to answer all my why’s
To fill the empty void in my heart
And give meaning to all the nights drowned by my hollow cries
Why did they have to leave?
I needed them most
Now without them I’m left drowning
Searching for comfort while I hang off the coast
To whoever is writing my story
Why did you hurt little me so much?
She wasn’t fat or ugly
She just needed a friend or such
Why did I grow up hating myself
With resentment and utter disgust?
It gets better I was told
But that’s something I could never trust
To whoever is writing my story
Thank you for bringing him in
But please don’t make him hate me
As I lie peacefully in my sin
I did the best I could
And for so long I tried to stay,
But I’m tired now
And I’ve got nothing left to say
To whoever is writing my story
Thanks for the laughter, the smiles and the woes
I don’t have much ink left
I beg you to bring my story to a close.
There may be
Encouragement
For the possibility
Of a rising fullness..
Yet fullness is
Already present
And may appear as
Arising of the
Encouragement...
"Live a little, comfort a little, cheer thyself a little." As You Like It.
If love were my bililligig
and thou my comely sorrcondor,
I’d shirren courst thine eyes assiligig
as mine own gane sizzon begondor.
Oh, mine hertzen hurtzen!
How could thoust be so frigidid
to blangst a sorrow murtzen
and forganen mine own brigidid?
Days pas in sorrest somburlen,
deviling in dark with horrdicap mourn.
I succumb to thoughts vorboturten,
comfort resangst your sassascorn.
The search
Names all experience:
Discomfort searching for comfort
Poverty searching for more
Death searching for life
Unsweetened searching for sweetening
The not-yet searching for already
And on and on..
Then there is that star and
The cradle...
There’s a peace that whispers soft
when I step beneath the open sky,
trees stretching in green prayer,
branches swaying like the hands
of a thousand saints, lifting their weight
toward something higher.
In moments when I’m alone,
that wide sky pulls me in close—
a blue blanket tucked around shoulders
on a night lit only by stars.
Crickets keep time, their gentle song
finding rhythm with my heart.
I think of the quiet crack of a baseball bat,
the ball arcing high, a promise carried on the wind,
a flight so clear it feels like love.
In a way, it's the same—a swing of hope,
the reach for connection,
the leap toward something more.
And isn’t that like a prayer, too?
Those small moments when I feel Him,
like sunlight slipping through autumn leaves,
or in the crisp warmth of pajamas fresh from the line,
or the sacred stillness of a Sunday afternoon.
Nature wraps around me like comfort,
reminding me I am never truly alone,
even when no one’s near—
because in each bird’s song, each gust of wind,
each blade of grass bending beneath my feet,
there is something holy, something here.
Which words soothe
You know the ones that cool temperatures
And bring that smile to the face of busy days
Overworked and overlooked
They fall out of minds
A jumbled cornucopia that somehow rearranges itself during a blink
The spell checker came later
The ooh and aah came with comfort food
An ear that took its time and stayed the night
Slipping between the REM breaks
Then they slid out of the sheets before dawn
Sentences flicker
A net caught them
But some need throwing back
Their time to dance will come
The milli seconds between thought and voice
Is what really matters
Times are broken when the heart is involved
As pulse throbs each vein in sweated brow
Lips quiver with each word born
Passion knocks on the door first
Its eagerness screams to be heard
Gestures mean nothing
Without the parlance of love
Tone stings
Anger stretches
Calmness pacifies a troubled soul
These are the words in their structure
Their meaning, their deliverance
That moves us
Whether in thought or deed
We must trust each constructed sound
To pay its way
Words are our currency
To a richer life
Spend wisely!
I wonder why these words are short
When they should have been rather long,
That, we have fair time to abort.
Fine, we’re not in judicial court,
Nor are scared of the judge’s gong,
Wonder still why the words are short.
There are those caught as if in fort
And feel, an abrupt ‘no’ is wrong,
Wish, they’d enough time to abort,
And say no in a polite sort
Of way that sounds a sweet dingdong,
I wonder why yes too is short.
None of the two should be so curt
And should be said like a sweet song
That gives enough time to abort.
To say them well’s a rare fine art
T’be cultivated all along,
I wonder why these words are short,
We need enough time to abort.
___________________________
Villanelle |02.10.2024|word, yes, no
Poet’s note: We often find it so difficult to say no, we are forced to say yes under pressure. Why? Perhaps both ‘yes’ and’ no’ as words are so short, they do not give us enough time to think. This Villanelle is born from this lack of comfort.
To reach to thy heart
I wrote poems all my life.
Too late on my part
When I knew in utter strife,
The roadblocks were far too rife.
It doesn’t matter where
It’s not about who
The spotlight
The stage
Theatrical
Words beyond what world sees and hears
Words uncertain
Tomorrow unseen
Words through suggestions
Cushion of no comfort
Amid the storms of doubt and circumstances
Words of wonder and delight
Precision in direct light
Words gather like no other
Statement and appeal
Words strike out for real
No longer concealed
Words surround
They found you
The gathering
Word out