Deep And Meaningful Poems Novels & Stories

Though the storm rocks our boats and the gentle wind eases our rows, our peace still ebbs and flows, because until our eyes are fixed beyond the sun, our nostrils will know less roses than our skin the thorns. In a of white and black world, let's be just enough to repel these filthy shades of grey. Karma is a poet, so please the arms that make you less a prey, because until our eyes are fixed beyond the sun, our nostrils will know less roses than our skin the thorns. So let us milk the cow while it is still dawn, for the night comes, when only the diligent will be able to admire the milk he weighed. Even if the sun rises on our evening wake, time will surely set on our wasted years, then our

I will write a poem and I'll read it to Mom tomorrow," I answered. The days arrived calm and breezing, Everybody was bustling from travelling, Then you came to me without and hesitations, Giving me friendly and adorable expressions. The days were bright and shining for a while, And here you are looking at me with a smile, You always make me a way to catch my attention, Congratulations! You are now my immersion. The days proceeded moody and leaves were falling, Yet you are still there to keep me aspiring, Those sleepless nights that you showed my worth, I thought you were truly down to earth, The days come cold, Same as your heart's constantly changing, You eventually manifested your true col

she said with a light smile and opened the Poetry Anthology to the poem. ‘Coloured’ By De Wet Life starts with colour With a sort of spirit Only a child can give A parent is brightened By the mere presence the light projected But after time That colour fades Dimming Like a worn out jean A ghost Heavy and burdened Uncertain Seeking guidance Purpose Love But once found Once explored Colour returns to life And is reflected and spread

I didn't expect that. "That's a really sad book," I say. "You've read it," she straightens up a little. I nod. "And the other one?" "My mom gave it to me," she tightens her hold on it. "Poems, by Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Ernest Hartley Coleridge. Do you know him?" "Yeah. No man was ever yet a good poet, without being at the same time a profound philosopher. I read Poems for an assignment in school," "You went to school?" she all but shouts. I'm taken aback by her outburst.

Lucas leaned against the door frame, his dark eyes turning towards me. I switched on the light. His facial features, strikingly similar to Arthur's, became bright and distinct under the bright lamp, instantly pulling my thoughts back to the past. Long-forgotten scenes flashed through my mind. Starting with a complex and uncertain entanglement, progressing to a passionate romance, followed by a proposal, and ultimately experiencing the separation brought about by life and death. Those memories were more vivid than ever before. "It's that look again!" Lucas' voice brought me back to reality.

"May his soul rest in perfect peace," the Reverend father said, his solemn words echoing through the cemetery. Tears welled up in my eyes as I slowly poured the sand over my father's casket. "Take it easy, don't cry, okay?" Brenda's voice broke through my sorrow as she gently patted my shoulder. Despite her efforts to console me, the tears flowed freely, unstoppable in their descent. "The only man left for me was strangled to death. I was in so much pain. After the incident, they still went ahead and killed him," I confided, my voice heavy with grief and anger.

Petichor always brought him a slight comfort. Night walks were his way of searching for peace, his futile attempts to feel anything. Sometimes the feeling did come, but they were emotions like disgust, anger, displeasure, hatred. All were dark emotions he was used to, emotions he wanted to get rid of completely, even if it was for a brief moment deep down. The rain was one of the few things that brought him a change of emotions. He didn't mind getting drenched in it.

Drenched in or dried up bloomed up or withered ‘way, lived for or lived on, sought after or shooed off, rejoiced or rejected, benighted or enlightened, felt close or felt within, sizzled or silenced soothed or sheathed I wonder, “What now?” And you say: “Why? It’s the crystal drops of moments, creating a stream of tales about you and me!”

Nor do the heedless in the throng, One thought beyond the morrow give, They court the feast, the dance, the song, Nor think how short their time to live. The heart that bears deep sorrow’s trace, What earthly comfort can console, It drags a dull and lengthened pace, ‘Till friendly death its woes enroll. The sunken cheek, the humid eyes, E’en better than the tongue can tell; In whose sad breast deep sorrow lies, Where memory’s rankling traces dwell.The rising tear, the stifled sigh, A mind but ill at ease display, Like blackening clouds in a stormy sky, Where fiercely vivid play. Thus when souls’ energy is dead, When sorrow dims each earthly view, When every fairy, hope is fled, We bid the un

Could it be that he got fed up with me or he lost interest in me but there again if my own family left me why won't someone I met not long ago. Thinking of this I did not notice the droplets of water that flowed through my eyes . You never really know how much someone means to you until you loose that person . There is a pain within this heart, pain within my sadness through my eyes, My eyes are like a burden that you can see right through, No pain I ever felt was that single broken heart that, There is way out of this pain but somehow I can't see it , See the light , the hope ,the happiness I once wanted to feel , Now I ever feel is this sadness , this pain, this heartache, A pain within t