Here's a glimpse of some of the poems you can find there.
I see it in his eyes,
I can hear it in his voice;
He loves me.
And it hurts.. how much I wish I had the choice
To love him that way too.
I can hear it in his voice;
He loves me.
And it hurts.. how much I wish I had the choice
To love him that way too.
~Nicole G
Even the fullest,
Roundest,
Brightest moon
Is just a breath of a sliver of a thought
A skeleton
When the light shifts
Roundest,
Brightest moon
Is just a breath of a sliver of a thought
A skeleton
When the light shifts
~Felicia Moon
throughout my short time
of stumbling around this earth
and often landing on my face,
i would like to declare that
the meaning of life
is that life has no meaning
until you give it some
of stumbling around this earth
and often landing on my face,
i would like to declare that
the meaning of life
is that life has no meaning
until you give it some
~Star
Remember the days of our first happiness,
how strong we were, how dazed by passion,
lying all day, then all night in the narrow bed,
sleeping there, eating there too: it was summer,
it seemed everything had ripened
at once. And so hot we lay completely uncovered.
Sometimes the wind rose; a willow brushed the window.
But we were lost in a way, didn't you feel that?
The bed was like a raft; I felt us drifting
far from our natures, toward a place where we'd discover nothing.
First the sun, then the moon, in fragments,
stone through the willow.
Things anyone could see.
Then the circles closed. Slowly the nights grew cool;
the pendant leaves of the willow
yellowed and fell. And in each of us began
a deep isolation, though we never spoke of this,
of the absence of regret.
We were artists again, my husband.
We could resume the journey.
how strong we were, how dazed by passion,
lying all day, then all night in the narrow bed,
sleeping there, eating there too: it was summer,
it seemed everything had ripened
at once. And so hot we lay completely uncovered.
Sometimes the wind rose; a willow brushed the window.
But we were lost in a way, didn't you feel that?
The bed was like a raft; I felt us drifting
far from our natures, toward a place where we'd discover nothing.
First the sun, then the moon, in fragments,
stone through the willow.
Things anyone could see.
Then the circles closed. Slowly the nights grew cool;
the pendant leaves of the willow
yellowed and fell. And in each of us began
a deep isolation, though we never spoke of this,
of the absence of regret.
We were artists again, my husband.
We could resume the journey.
~Louise Gluck
There you are. There's a lot of different kinds of poetry, and I love every bit of it.
Thanks for reading. Check me out on HelloPoetry.com :)
Thanks tons.
Blessings :)
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