Poem About Me Mga Nobela at Kwento

Her tears at that time falling for me felt like a huge universe gifted my way which I was ever ready as I could be to grasp tight. I was a fucking moron to hurt her time by time. I wanted her with me. Her heartbeats to synchronize with mine. She was it for me and I wanted myself to be it for her. But not anymore. \'''If I were a poet I would write sonnets Dedicating to your beauty with utmost honest! If I were a priest! I would preach your love with utmost sweet! But Alas! I'm none of the above In your world, I am just a wild beast!'''/

So I decided to focus on writing the poem which I imagined so I won't forget when he ask me ! What you have done to me It's not me I'm sure it's not me You're not a perfect match for me you're bad and cruel But who knows you're the most pain baring person Your pain is vulnerable Your pain is invisible You're not the person whom you're portraying to the world You're a kid craving true love to mend your heart I will be your guardian angel in your life of hell I will be light to your dark soul I will mend your heart with a ray of hope called love

“But I have seniority. That makes my mistakes forgivable.” He collapsed onto the floor beside me, panting through his laughter. “You’re just old.” “Old enough to know better,” I countered. “Old enough to know that poems aren’t just words, they’re maps. They take you to who you’re supposed to be.” Liam was quiet for a moment. Then, in a smaller voice, “And who am I supposed to be?” “Someone who remembers,” I said. “Someone who keeps the good parts alive.”

"Writing poetry has been a source of solace and inspiration for me. Today, I'd like to share a poem I wrote, inspired by moments of reflection and the beauty of. . . Love.” Taking a moment to centre himself, Ryan begins to recite, his voice carrying the rhythm and cadence of his verses: "Not my acrostic smudges; Darkness is running towards me. I am running away from me. A universe is so huge. In just depths of my eyes, The universe is Too vast to fit. I am Asking myself;

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

; Do not stand at my grave and weep, I am not there; I did not sleep. I am a thousand winds that blow, I am the diamond glints on snow. I am the sun on ripened grain, I am the gentle autumn rain. When you awaken in the morning's hush, I am the swift uprising rush Oh quiet birds in circled flight. I am the soft stars that shine at night. Do not stand at my grave and cry, I am not there; I did not die. After the poem, I went on to give a speech about the people I had once called my family. As I spoke, my mind was invaded with several memories of our time together. I could almost see, hear, touch and feel their presence as I went off track.

"Your piece is called the Phoenix. Tell us what inspired it." The notebook man's pen hovered. I had known this question was coming. Had rehearsed it in the mirror, on the subway, in my head at three in the morning. Every version I had prepared dissolved the moment it became real and I just sat there for one and decided to just say it from the heart. "I lost almost everything I thought defined me," I began in a soft, steady voice.

"Something I don't know?" "I was a poet once. at university. angry, awful poetry. I chuckled. "Seriously?" "Really. It's all over my notebooks. awful things about being alone, controlling others, and isolating oneself. "Will I ever be able to read it?" Not at all. It's humiliating. "So why share it with me?" Because you requested information that you were unaware of. Additionally, I want you to know who I am, even the awkward ones. We spoke for hours. about early life. regarding dreams. Regarding hopes, concerns, and all in between.

"This is regarding the poem you wrote for the 'The Pen Is Mightier Than the Sword' contest in grade 8." Bile rose in my throat as memories flooded back. I had poured my heart into that poem. The theme that year had been personal growth, empathy, and anger. I did not want to be reminded of my mother because she had been the subject matter of the poem in question. But hearing Cupid's inquisition about the poem caused a sense of unease to wash over me. How did they even know about that poem? And why were they bringing it up now?

“Although you appear nothing more than a spec in the night. Even then, you pierce the dark with light. To them it didn’t matter, but to me it shone so bright. Your gravity brought in the ocean’s tide. “Some say you’re a myth, some say you’re made of cheese. Caught in your embrace, weakness buckled my knees. Your presence may never light up a room, but even then You light my darkest nights like the brightest moon.” "How could an inconsequential existence such as mine ever cross a mind as developed as yours. So I am just going to hide in the shadows, As your light illuminate me forever more..."