Poetry About Innocence Novels & Stories

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 in my heart lives my very innocent mother. The world is mad that to commemorate God, they go to temples and on pilgrimages... For me, it becomes a shrine, when I see my mother... For many lives, you're my worship, O mother For many lives, you're my feeling, O mother... The truth is found in the heart only, but I know that in my heart lives, my very innocent mother... What have I learned from my mother since childhood when I tell this to the world... When you too are proud of me,

It was surprising our Alpha and Luna had let her move there, considering she was very much human. Mrs. Juniper absolutely adored poetry, mostly the classics. I’d never forget the endless headaches I suffered trying to decipher what Shakespeare, Robert Frost, and Alfred Tennyson were trying to convey. Why poets had to make such simple lessons so confusing was beyond me. Why did they have to use pretty words to convey truth? ‘This doesn’t seem to be so hard.’ Rayna countered, murmuring the words to the poem in my head. ‘It mentions beasts twice, which has to be the bulls, right?’

Talia's POV: Sleep is the most innocent thing someone can do. No matter who you are, whether you're a murderer or a little child. When you sleep you are the most vulnerable you can be. When you sleep, you're innocent for some hours. He took away my innocence, he took away my sleep.

Insecure shoes often obscuring the walls, the sonata of chemicals likens heads to garage tires you’ve spared for cool household principles. I bet you look down, look down so hard to catch the open light unfurling, like a beef falafel surprising schoolchildren from Bandra, Mumbai I earn a living by re-counting poetic lines and make them smell of cardamom. Carton-shroud livelihood makes a statement. To live comfortably is to fall in love with euphoria: 100%. Sweetheart of lies—

She looked happy and relaxed something Miho had long forgotten existed and on top of that she was really beautiful. Was this what Lee meant when he said mother was perfection? Miho thought to herself. Miho found herself digging on the memories of her rehearsing for her play in front of Lee. By then she was ten years old. “Go on” Lee had said while lying on the couch horizontal with a piece of paper which had all Miho’s lines on his hands. “Let the princess goat...” Miho had said. “It’s go not goat” Lee had said looking at the piece of paper.

Parang hinahayaan niya lang akong mataranta at mas lalong nakakagulo 'yon kasi sa pagitan ng tawanan ng mga kaibigan namin, sa pagitan ng ingay ng bus at ng maagang araw na unti-unting sumisilip sa mga bintana naramdaman kong may mga pusong hindi talaga marunong maging simple. Some loves arrive in quiet prayers, Some burn like smoke in hidden airs. One feels like peace, one dares affairs, One heals the wounds, one leaves you tears. And maybe hearts were never meant for fairness, Maybe mine was built for... illicit affairs. ────────────────────────────────────────────────────

Now, about twenty-five years later, Vicky was emmencely grateful to have turned his passion into a profession, and he continued to find happiness in it. As Vicky played with the puppies, lost in the joy of the moment, he unknowingly embodied the truth of Wordsworth's timeless words: 'The meanest flower that blows can give thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears.' -In this fleeting instant, surrounded by the beauty of nature and the simplicity of childhood wonder, Vicky found a sense of peace and contentment that would stay with him forever. Ref: William Wordsworth, "Lines Written in Early Spring" (1798)

somewhere i have never travelled, gladly beyond any experience, your eyes have their silence: in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me, or which i cannot touch because they are too near your slightest look easily will unclose me though i have closed myself as fingers, you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens (touching skillfully, mysteriously) her first rose or if your wish be to close me, i and my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly, as when the heart of this flower imagines the snow carefully everywhere descending; .....

Eyes that once held the gift of innocence and youth but gave it away for a moment of revenge, eyes that no longer cry over the silly haunting of a love that never really was or mourn the loss of the soul they once framed. I am my own creation, that is to say, I am what I created. Jealousy is the bamboo of the emotional world, growing in leaps and bounds overnight, twisting and turning itself into a tangle of half-lied truths and honest lies. A wall of ill-content and self-induced delusions with no beginning and no end: only a blinding structure of martyred torture no war machine could ever destroy. Innocence has no place here.