Yearning Poem Novels & Stories

Still unsigned. She didn’t even wait to go inside. Standing on her apartment steps in the warm afternoon sun, she unfolded it with trembling fingers. You look for freedom in places you once felt safe— in clinics, in crowds, in borrowed laughter. But have you ever asked the wind why it returns to the sea? Or the stars why they wait for the dark? You are not a girl meant for cages. Not for golden rings or glass castles. You are wildfire beneath silk. You are every unspoken dream I never dared to write—until now.

Every second that passed without touching her, without feeling her, struck at the core of me. Even in sickness, a man craves what he needs. Even in desperation, the body remembers desire. Job suffered every loss imaginable, yet he never stopped longing for restoration—of health, of family, of life. David, hunted and broken, still wrote psalms of yearning. Even Christ in the garden asked for the cup to pass, but submitted to what was necessary. Need and duty could exist in the same breath. They did in me now. “Fine,” she said finally.

as if the entire conversation has already been forgotten. Maybe it has been for them, but that billow of fresh air has reignited a spark inside of me, and that yearning is back. The yearning to run free over open, virgin territory. Inside of me, my wolf longs to go. “Head west, young woman,” she breathes. And I promise, “One day, I will.”

Even the bailiffs stood stunned. Aidan’s voice suddenly rose, exploding through the courtroom, "And when I had a fever of 104 degrees, my dearest father threw me out onto the street in the middle of winter like I was garbage!" Soft sobs began rippling through the gallery. Ellie was already shaking from crying, her makeup smeared across her face. "I hate you." Aidan suddenly turned toward our mother, his gaze sharp as a poisoned arrow. "That day in court, you could have chosen me. Why him? Why?!"

… On the day I finally boarded my flight, everyone understood what I meant. Many people came to see me off. Samantha was there too. She held my hand and cried as if she could not bear to let go. She asked, "Caleb, are you really only going overseas for three years? What if you leave and never come back?" I looked at her gently, keeping my voice soft and slow. "If you truly love me, can't you wait just three years? If you can't wait, then maybe we should just—"

His hands were soft and sensual as he brushed my cheek. I shut my eyes and waited for him to turn me round again. He was gone! That was okay. Tomorrow would be another day. I began singing to myself. My vulva, the horn, The Boat of Heaven, Is full of eagerness like the young moon. My untilled land lies fallow. As for me, Inanna, Who will plow my vulva? Who will plow my high field? Who will plow my wet ground? As for me, the young woman,

Did me no scathe And now I had slept on the wrath Of the build that homed my memories They soothed my calvaries Like a balm of a new mother’s lullaby And I hinted at all the sighs That shed a tear or two in play They’d have to suffer a greater delay For there was no angels and no heaven to pave Their way into this darkened mist I am the walking wish Of every lover that Prayed for one more day Of life that would flicker and die With the day’s end And I resent The land that laid me still And now was the time to fill my tray

Raisa wrote a poem entitled in the quiet, she then reread her work. In a lonely corner of the silent night, I hug your shadow in this loneliness. The longing that slices the heart, Flowed with tears that did not stop. In every beat of my heart, There is your name that echoes sadly. The hope that used to strengthen, Now only a painful memory. I walk in empty hallways, Without direction, without light. All the promises you once made, Are now just shadows that disappear slowly. Time passes slowly and cruelly, Leaving deep wounds.

I blushed relentlessly at his teasing words. "Okay, okay," I raised my hand in surrender. Afterward, I recited a poem I'd written about a firefly yearning for the sun. The poem spoke of longing for something beyond one's reach, and I had no idea why I chose that of all the other options. When I finished, silence descended upon us. I found myself holding my breath, awaiting his review.

Rolling gently up to repeatedly break upon Magical banks girdling Nivians lakeshore. For what be this odd muse That upon my aging senses does so readilyEnthuse...And to my inner soul so inextricably Implore? Ahhh...But this much I may be allowed to Say, Before darkly gathering skies extinguish Over weak flames of the last spluttering Ray, Perhaps it is our inner voice That seeks out the solitudes of Tranquilities choice - To witness and record and dutifully store... Those rare and fleeting moments We all too briefly adore.