Novel & Cerita Spoken Poetry About Love

Ericka’s father asked furiously. “I’m sorry dad. Kurt and I aren’t just meant to be. He has someone he really truly loved and I have mine as well. I know I have disappointed you but I’d rather live a poor and uncomfortable life rather than be with the wrong one. Love is not someone you can force on someone. You might hate me or even disown me, but at least I know that I’m happy…” Ericka turned her heartfelt words directly at her parents. “Ericka…” Kurt said weakly.

Making love with her was the most genuine and pure love I ever had. "As much as I want to have you now, I have to consider your condition, so I will only let myself be happy with just kissing," I told her, laughing. "And that made me even more thankful. You are so understanding," she replied. "Of course, as I already said, I love you more than I want you," I reminded her. "I don't want to have you only to have to lose you sooner. I never felt this kind of love before, and you made me feel it. You made me experience a relationship that is bound by real love, and lust was not necessary. Just pure love, and I like it."

A thousand dawns where dreams have just begun. Your smile, a whisper of the morning breeze, It wraps me in warmth and sets my heart at ease. Each word you speak is poetry untold. A melody of love, a bold story. With every glance, a symphony you play, Turning ordinary moments into a ballet. Your laughter is the rain on a thirsty earth. A gentle touch proves your priceless worth. In your embrace, I find my heart’s true home. A safe haven where my spirit can roam. The stars have etched our love across the night.

…… One word is too often profaned For me to profane it, One feeling too falsely distain'd For thee to distain it; One hope is too like despair For prudence to smother, And pity from thee more dear Than that from another. I can not give what men call love: But wilt thou accept not The worship the heart lifts above And the heavens reject not, And the desire of the moth for the star, Of the nigth for the morrow The devotion to something afar From the sphere of our sorrow. (by Shelley)

IRIS I’m thinking about love when the shears betray me. Not in the abstract way poets write about it, all grand declarations and pretty suffering, but in the quiet, astonishingly ordinary way that love has begun to inhabit my life since Daddy spoke the words aloud last night. I love you, baby girl. Five words, softly given in firelight, without performance or fear, and somehow they’ve followed me into the studio this morning like music I can’t stop hearing.

Even when he stepped right on Jessy's hand and she cried out in pain, he never glanced at her. I watched him move and suddenly felt something tragic rise in my chest. This was the only time he ever looked at me while Jessy screamed. I longed for a love that chose me all these years… but I no longer want it. "Watch your words, Elsa! "We've been married for years. How can you just throw out the word like it means nothing? Aren't you afraid I might really agree to it?" His voice carried anger, but I smiled calmly. "What is there to be afraid of? All I'm concerned about is you not letting go."

Mary whispered wickedly to her. This time Jane held the phone firmly so that Mary couldn't snatch it back. 'To Jane I will love thee in the winter, When the ice and snow lie deep. I will love thee in the spring, When the budding willows weep. I will love thee in the summer, When the sun burns hot and bold. I will love thee in the fall, When the aspen leaves turn gold. I will love thee all year long. Love eternal is my song.' One season of love from Lucy was terrible enough. Her eternal love was something no one could be expected to bear. Lucy needed to stop writing all these crazy love poems!

Let us think of it as fever dream coming alive in the doorway, or as rain on the doorstep. But there’s neither a hole nor more holes to see now, like some days wanting, wanting God’s love to caress the words we can’t afford to say. A shape, a modern shape speaking to me in the face. Sometimes I’d like to say it’s this shape that speaks the language of love, the strange interlude in a movie that keeps repeating, repeating in the shore that shifts the character of our inner flowering shapes.

He gave me a sly smirk. "Giving away more trade secrets, are you?" I teased back. " You know Lucy. There was a time. I really did love you. I thought you were all I needed in life. As we got closer, that infatuation turned into a love and respect I can not duplicate. You are my family. My sister, my mother, my own heartbeat sometimes. You'll always be those things to me. When I found Lanie, I found the other piece of my heart. She will never replace you, but she is where I need to be. I know you are worried about being apart. We are all each other had for close to 10 years." As he spoke, I felt myself begin to fall apart. Sobbing uncontrollably, I knew he was right, and I was just afraid.

“I thought you’d like it. It reminds me of us, actually.” “How so?” “The way the poet talks about love that transcends normal boundaries. Love that’s deeper and more consuming than anything else in the world.” My arms tightened around her involuntarily. “That does sound familiar.” “Sometimes I wonder if other people love the way we do,” she said thoughtfully. “If other couples feel this… intensity.” “They don’t,” I said with certainty. “How do you know?” “Because if they did, they’d understand. They wouldn’t look at us like we’re strange or inappropriate. They wouldn’t whisper about us behind our backs.”