Thoughtful Poems Novels & Stories

Miranda continued, "Not to mention Bob Frost's poem, 'Tea is a religion of the art of life,' and a verse by Emma Dickson, 'There is something in the nature of tea that leads us into a world of quiet contemplation of life.' "The poets of old have passed on, but we are still here. We gather here not just to enjoy the taste of tea but to find the reflections of life and the truth of existence within this activity. "Lastly, I leave you with this phrase, 'Life is like a cup of tea. It's all in how you make it.' May all of us learn to live life to the fullest! Thank you."

He said hugging tighter. "I'm sorry" I let out hoarsely, We sat down for a while watching the waves together with my head on his shoulder, until I decided to break the silence. "I can't hear your thoughts Adrian" I confessed. "What!?" He asked completely astonished. "You're the only human I've encountered that I couldn't read his thoughts, I've always found it easy to penetrate into anyone's mind and get his thoughts but I don't find yours easy " I explained further. "How's that possible?" he asked, face scrunched up in a curious glance.

It provoked a profound reflection on the limitations of human communication and the inherent complexity of thought. Thoughts were unique. Everyone was unique. With every new human thought, whether it is a moment of genius or simply an earnest reflection, each one has its essence. Athena found herself contemplating the significance of these unspoken thoughts, recognizing that within the confines of one's own mind, lies the most precious and intimate of ideas. With the passage resonating within her, Athena closed the book, gently placing it back on the nightstand. She carried the weight of those unspoken thoughts within her, understanding that there was beauty in their elusive nature.

“Now I just need to figure out what love poem speaks to me.” “The third poem it pretty easy too, since it has to be one you don’t understand and you won’t analyze it yourself, you can choose any poem,” Anna said and continued her search through the Poetry Anthology. She points to a poem called ‘Attention’ by Madlie de Wet and opens the Poetry Anthology to the poem. Attention By Madlie de Wet In a dark room, people everywhere I look from familiar faces to non-familiar faces Unseen, Unheard, Unloved

I'm waiting to tell you who the 'Poet,' he is unbelievably great but not in poetry. P - Philosophy O - Of E - Endless T - Thought Take care of yourselves, my readers !! Tell me what you like, tell me when I was wrong :-)

I made his cup as he instructed he liked it and made a mental note of it. I hope this lasts forever.

A thought, never mind the bluish pain of thinking as such is the bride of September afternoon, or, ideas driving the good news back into wreck again. Ink, or, the hand’s decision to turn the key in the ignition. Who is coming? When a thought arrives, is delivered, the art of return is returned, the mossy silvereyes through the shrubbery repeat the panic, the fatal vomit creeping in, leaving him with two choices on his palm. A thought, or, a fatal error?

The meaningless was the meaningful. All dissolved into this. The light that is. The love that is. The being that is. The ordinary cup of tea is this. The steam rising is this. The warmth in the palm is this. The sip on the tongue is this. The swallow in the throat is this. The quiet aftertaste is this. No drinker apart from drinking. No tea apart from tasting. Only this. The ordinary walk in the rain is this. The drop on the skin is this. The sound on the hood is this.

Encouraging them to keep the faith in God and also in family. After that, it was time for me to give the speech I'd spent hours preparing. I once again climbed the pulpit and started with a poem by Chinonso Chime titled "Immortal"; 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 hide it so well, I smile my mind run miles, I speak no words my energy’s thought… I’m troubled. Can you see? My eyes wonder every path, My mind has wondered about, I wonder……’ ‘No, no, no. I cannot do this to myself. The moment I allow this thoughts, this poem conversion of mine to go on, I will go deeper. I need to stop thinking’