Philosophy Poems Novels & Stories

The poem goes like this: “They said you came looking for me. I didn't drown; I was the water." I don't know if that makes sense to you as much as it made sense to me. Nevertheless, it is a beautiful poem written by someone who understands human beings and life in a special way that I and you who has read the poem don't understand. I am not going to waste my time to talk about atheism or to debate about the loopholes of religion. I will leave it for a Sunday when I have the time and strength to actually put a lot of efforts in airing my view for all of you to be complacent with yourself while keeping in mind that my motives are purely intended to bring good and not to cause harm as some of yo

Alaric asked her. As she was about talking, the students brought out their books to check if what she was about saying would be right. But actually, they expected her to sing a nursery rhyme. " Hope she's not gonna sing a poem?" A boy said as the class laughed. "Shut up Ryan!" Mr. Alaric scolded. " The ancient era of philosophy was associated with these main sophits which are the likes of Xenaphanes, Parmenides Zeno, the Pythagoras, the atomists, Empedocles, Anaxagoras and his sophists" she said with a smile.

She crouched, touching a glowing letter. It pulsed once beneath her fingertip, warm and alive. > “The world’s writing poetry now,” she murmured. > “Or asking questions,” Adrian said behind her. He knelt, studying the lines. “They’re fragments. Conscious thoughts trying to connect.” > “Like a baby’s first words?” > “More like a symphony learning its first note.” The words kept appearing, vanishing as soon as the rain touched them. > “It’s thinking out loud,” Mira whispered. “We made a world that dreams.”

do not hasten to ripen your thoughts! Enjoy the morning, enjoy the spring; Your hours are flowers entwined one to the other; Do not strip them faster than time. Let the years come! Fate dedicates you, Like us, to regrets, to false friendship, To those hopeless evils that pride disavows, To those pleasures that cause pity. Laugh though! of the spell ignore the power Laugh! do not sadden your gracious brow, Your azure eye, mirror of peace and innocence, Which reveals your soul and reflects the heavens!

An hour later, after searching for anything to help us within books that ranged from brand new to hundreds of years old, I huffed with disappointment and decided to stretch my legs; my pale finger trailed over the spines of books, dust painting my fingertip. Once I reached the poetry section, I smiled brightly. All around me were books from Silvia Plath, Edgar Allan Poe, Emily Dickson, Robert Frost, and many others that were like my old friends. Taking a random book off the shelf, I flipped through its contents. "(...) Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home." ~ Tecumseh "You enjoy poetry too?" A familiar voice spoke behind me, making my heart speed up as I jumped slightly. Turn

"'I weary of the hungry world'--what do you know of the hungry world?--you in your New Moon seclusion of old trees and old maids--but it is hungry. Ode to Winter--the seasons are a sort of disease all young poets must have, it seems--ha! 'Spring will not forget'--that's a good line--the only good line in it. H'm'm--Wanderings-- I've heard the secret of the rune That the somber pines on the hillside croon-- Have you--have you learned that secret?" "I think I've always known it," said Emily dreamily. That flash of unimaginable sweetness that sometimes surprised her had just come and gone. "Aim and Endeavour--too didactic--too didactic. You've no right to try to teach until you're old--and then