Poemas Sobre A Vida Novels & Stories

I went first, blocking out everything as the words came to me; my poem was about my life and all the pain I'm going through. "I am fear and pain, I wonder if those are all I feel, I hear the voices in my head yelling, I see how those feelings eat us up inside, I want it all to end but that's just wishful thinking, I am fear and pain, I pretend that those feelings don't exist in me, I feel happiness once in a while, but the feelings ends before it even begins, I stare at a blank canvas, because that's what my life is empty, I worry that I will never get out of this hole I'm in, I cry everyday wishing it will all end. I am fear and pain. I recognize that life isn't fair. I believe it will impr

Whoever said life is not a bed of roses must have studied it critically from a broader view and successfully captured the raw factuality in a few words. Life is a chemistry set. Reactions waiting to be discovered, full of experiments and surprises. The mind must take what it is given and make best of it, never losing hope that more beauty will come.

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.

After Dunley had had a few drinks down his gullet, inspiration struck him right away, prompting him to recite a poem loudly on the spot. "From our ranks the storm and cloud unfurled; one step taken into the martial world, and time like wind drives every boy to man. Empire and power? A laugh, a passing plan. For life itself is but a drunken blur, a fleeting dream no heart can hold for sure.

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

His lamentations were enough for her to hear. After all the bitter winters and healing autumns that life has brought to them, their sufferings have not ever sprouted. So the day has come for her. The most doleful day that she is only alive, being hugged and kissed, in the most cherished memories of the people who remembers her. But in reality, she is no longer… Shanta has already been erased from the world and from the minds of these people who once became a part of her life. Because three years ago, she was declared dead. And now, she wanders like a restless soul.

What about that life that was given to them to be lived as they pleased but preferred to look into other people’s lives to see what theirs are lacking? Life is not only a process we have to live because, first of all, “have to” it’s not the phrase we should use when we refer to life. Life is a pleasure, life is seeing that hopeless world turning into a world full of magic, of colors, of wishes, of love.

Aarif said holding her hand in his and looking at Shayari who stared at him silently Shayari wanted to jerk his hand off but she did not because it would leave a negative impact. Shayari only nodded her head in response and Aarif smiled a bit and left from there. Wo zehar hai kya Jo kisi ki Jaan na le jaye Aur wo Ishq hi kya Jo kisi ko Dard na de jaye ~Ankita Ghosh (what kind of poison is it if it does not take anyone's life? And What kind of love is it that does not give pain to anyone ) Shayari recited the Shayari (a kind of poem) she read somewhere a long time back.

A tribute: Lady Bana’s Poem: “Life is a thread we weave in storms, Stitching dreams through quiet forms. We rise, we fall, we burn, we freeze, We beg for time, but Time won't cease. Death is not the end, my friend, Just a bend where echoes blend. You go where silence drinks the light, Beyond our reach, beyond our sight. But I, who stay, must wear the pain, A sword of loss, a crown of rain. Farewell, my sword, my foolish warrior, The game is now on, and I must fight to avenge.”

The most astonishing thing was that every title tried to minister to me so much more that I was confused. There is a poem titled 'HOPE', there was 'VAGUE AS AIR', 'DEATH AND IT'S PEACE' and other incredible poems all written by Trevor. I read each poem and felt as if he was talking to me directly. His choice of words, sentence construction and presentation of life scenarios embedded in words is just beautiful. Now this guy was not just a devilishly handsome man with a great sense of humor but a writing god. Then I came across the piece I termed my best. I read it over and over again muttering each line. The poem is titled 'SPEAK TO YOURSELF' and it reads thus...