Short Poems That Are Deep Novels & Stories

She described her thoughts on it in relation to nature and destruction and decided to share another piece of hers she was proud of. She turned her laptop to face Remus and he read the poem. Degradation Filthy, but, yet alive The dust rises around Growing and spreading Like parasites clinging to what little there is The dust rises around Its legs dug into the ground Like parasites clinging to what little there is Sucking the life force around them Its legs dug into the ground The roots spread out deep below Sucking the life force around them Leaving nothing behind The roots spread out deep below Running its lines and taking over Leaving nothing behind

I left the clothes on Travis's desk and took a photo to send him. I wrote: "I picked this out specially yesterday. Hope you like it." Thinking that sounded too formal, I added a cute emoji - an adorable kitten with big, pleading eyes. After that, I went about my day. It wasn't until noon that Travis replied, "You certainly got people talking about me today." Got people talking? I knew I had good taste, but surely one piece of clothing couldn't create that much buzz.

Jasper said thoughtfully. "Sounds good. I remember a famous poem 'Far From The Madding City'. The poem was about arriving at a paradise after passing through a narrow cave. The people there grew their own crops and lived a peaceful life." "How could you still remember these things?" Jasper was curious. He remembered that he had read this when he was a child, but he had almost forgotten all of it. "I like these romantic poems, especially the ones by Robert Frost, Emily Dickinson, and Elizabeth Barrett Browning," Stella chatted casually.

she says before walking out. I’m not family. Nothing is going on with King and me. Sighing, I walk to the class and sit down. I stop when I see the paper, the sketch, and the poem on it. The sketch is of an eye, with the reflection of a person walking in it. I begin to read the poem. A hundred words Doesn't speak enough A thousands stories Doesn't tell enough A single look, tells so much A lifetime of stories A lifetime of pain Emotions hidden within

Then I remember I don’t bowl. Scott Dear Sarah, I’ve done it. I’m reading a poem that I know I should have read years ago, but it’s just so damn long. There’s a bit of Italian at the beginning that basically translates to, “Listen up,” and then there’s this: Let us go then, you and I, When the evening is spread out against the sky Like a patient etherized upon a table; Let us go, through certain half-deserted streets, The muttering retreats

The heading of the poem was ' Waiting for too long' it went like this- " How long should I wait For the suspense is becoming too long And the feeling is so wrong They say I should wait for the right time Until the good things come For the good things come to those who wait What exactly should I wait for? For I'm afraid it would be the longest wait of my life But I'm going to wait anyway I guess it is worth a wait I ' ll wait for my life to turn out for the best As I would be walking away from the worst Breaking free from my old nest

But as seconds passed and my body and soul decided to give up I just looked up at the stars and asked "Why can a single match make an explosion Why can a single drop pollute and entire ocean Why can a single matchstick made from a tree has the power to burn it down to ashes And why does everything has to end when it has just started." These 15 minutes of my life changed e 12614400 minutes of my life till now This very minute was going to end my very existence. And now with only few seconds left I want to ask moon goddess

that's literally just milk and cereal in separate bowls. "Revolutionary," he deadpans. In the poetry section, he stops and pulls down a slim volume with a worn cover. Flips through it slowly until he finds what he's looking for. "Listen to this." His voice drops lower, intimate in the quiet space. He reads a poem about two people finding each other again after years apart, about second chances and choosing love despite fear. The words are simple but devastating, made more so by the way he reads them—slow and deliberate, like each line matters.

Eager to shelter her full to make her day The sole reason why I shadow her trail Touching her plump lips awakens my spirit Her beautiful voice brings essence to my ear Caressing her smooth skin under the moonlit Change the darkness of my night to disappear Needs of her presence are greater than seas The carnal of my longing far superior than eternity Abysmal feelings began, only craving to be ceased How could I conceal my feelings larger as infinity? " Once I was done reading the poem, I looked at Khloe, my eyes were already glistening with tears. The poem contained profound feelings in it. Each line pricked my heart as if the author was dying inside for seeing a person she cares about in so

He sat feeling uncomfortable, he wondered what Sarah was up to. "Ryan, Incase I die, do not weep by my grave." "How...like what do you mean?" He looked at her perplexed. "Do not stand at my grave and weep I am not there; I do 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 uplifting rush Of quiet birds in circled flight.