Poem About Daily Life Novels & Stories

She lived from the heart, lived with every fiberShe hadn’t always done it, though. After her favorite people had done it, Helen too had given up life, as if it were a low-paid job. Death is a funny thing. When someone dies, the sun rises the next morning, as if nothing has happened, and punctually it sets again at night. Even though someone is dead, the train platforms are just as busy as before. Someone has died, and the people simply go on with their daily lives. They meet up with loved ones in the evening, and continue to complain about the coffee that burns their lips, the boss who won't give them a break, the partner who almost suffocates them with love.

All of it simultaneous. All of it the ordinary days. Large and ongoing and entirely real.

She carried the memories of the subtle signals with her—a memory of gentle warmth amid the rigid structures of her daily life. On her way home, she recalled every detail of the day. She remembered the way her heart leaped when Leon’s eyes met hers, even for a second. She remembered the soft murmur of conversations in the office and the steady rhythm of work that filled her hours. In each memory, that one small smile shone brightly like a beacon of hope. It was a reminder that even in the midst of the ordinary, there could be moments that felt extraordinary.

Everything is ‘I’ these days. How can love exist in a world where the word, ‘myself’ exists? I think it is foolishness to believe the lies surrounding ‘love’. People are dreaming. It is like they live in a different planet on earth. Every day is a day for them to dream on. I even hear some say they wait for the love of their lives. Is that not waste of time? Why sit around and mope and day-dream about a world that does not exist? --//

He was about to curse himself when he found neat handwriting next to his poem. Rayven was confused, but his eyes followed the words, reading it to his brain quietly. Life is not a lot Life is just a thought As beautiful as I want Does not have to haunt It is full of ups and downs Of highs and lows of different towns With lights and nights of equal time You live and die for every dime I see the light that's not too dim I see that it is not so grim So, I try to light my world for me I try to listen; not hear from me

He looked at the kitchen garden gate. He thought: we are what we are. The thirty-first year is the year we can say it. The being rather than the becoming. The ordinary day is the deepest thing. Being is the condition in which the ordinary day is the deepest thing. Not striving toward something else. Not the hope of something better. The ordinary day itself. An ordinary day is enough. The ordinary day is the building. The ordinary day is the beginning. ---

I remembered how we had our first camping, our first diving lessons, our first times trying the rides and my first time to feel that I lived a life. My disease is my greatest motivation for now. It made me realize I have a shorter life than others and it keeps on telling me that I should not waste any moment. It was scary at first knowing my days are just numbered but now, I am not that scared anymore. I want to seize my seconds with everything I had. I want to make sure that the people I loved are going to be okay without me. I hope they will. “Hearbeats Of Poetry.” I stated as I read the poems Tim created. I feel like he could write better than me. His words are like him-simple yet elegant

They would enjoy the roasted millies and and the fruits they collected from the farms. So, Maria knew that life was like that. In order to get something, you have to make a little effort to make that happen. They were living a life that was not full of many possibilities but they were content with the little they had. They knew that every good thing was worth waiting for. There was a right time for everything. She remembered the words from the poem she once wrote in her scribble pad. The heading of the poem was ' Waiting for too long' it went like this-

I closed my eyes and listened to the steady beat of his heart under my ear. “And what do we write?” I asked. He was silent for a moment, considering the question with the same seriousness he had once given energy signatures and funding freezes. “A life,” he said at last. “Ordinary mornings. Ordinary arguments. Ordinary nights where the only countdown is how long I can keep my hands off you before I stop trying. You learn the house without restrictions. I learn how to exist without a war to organize my hours. And every day from this point forward, I wake up and confirm that you are still here—not because a monitor says the residual line is flat, but because you choose to stay.”

The sun shines outside like it says good morning to any people sleeping in their beds. The cold breeze from the outside made them shivers and stand up unwillingly to work like doing a daily routine for them. After sleep, you woke up, prepare to work, going to work, leave for work and go back to your bed. But as they said, you should live your life to the fullest. Do your work for daily expenses but don't forget to live your life like you wanted it to be.