Yearning Poems Novels & Stories

* I saw the beauty of the sky Colors so vibrant you'd think they never die * I saw the beauty of the waves Every splash telling a story of younger days * I saw the beauty of the rains Every drop falling freely like horses without reins * I saw the beauty of the night For only then were the stars alight * I saw the beauty in the flames of a fire Each one burning with a different desire * I saw the beauty of Gold Glistening with bitter stories untold * Oh I saw the beauty of dust and clay Simple reminders of our end someday.

I glanced at Khloe first and she motioned me to go on so I gripped the edges of the book and read every word on the paper: " Ocean soul sparkles and lingers Silent cries whispering to the air Golden mare gliding between my fingers Her vast agony is too much for me to bear How could I cease her pain away? Why is it my heart aching hearing her wail? 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 eterni

Emotions pour into the open sky, A symphony of heartache, a whispered sigh, Love's complexities, bittersweet, In the shadows, our souls do meet. I curl up in the cradle's embrace, Thoughts like constellations in space, A canvas of feelings, a universe to mend, Longing for a love that seems to transcend. The night winds whisper my name, Echoing my longing, my silent claim, My heart, a celestial light in the dark, Guiding me through love's intricate arc. In the night's quietude, I find release, My tears are a testimony, a plea for peace,

You may not know where you're going, but you know that so long as you spread your wings, the winds will carry you. The feelings that hurt most, the emotions that sting most, are those that are absurd - The longing for impossible things, precisely because they are impossible; nostalgia for what never was; the desire for what could have been; regret over not being someone else; dissatisfaction with the world’s existence. All these half-tones of the soul’s consciousness create in us a painful landscape, an eternal sunset of what we are.

"At the bustling sound of the frost early in the morning, I woke up from my sleep and it was still pitch black I sat by myself and gazed through my window at the moonlight that grows darker I worry the flowers I picked aside for my beloved will start to wither Under the stars in the long, long night Only the unfinished night seems to be passing. I see my beloved face from within those weeping willows. Even if I look and look at her, I don't seem to get enough. Even if she's standing under the bright moon in the dead of the night, the shadow of my beloved would come into my yard. A matchless beauty is left within my heart."

At dawn, Christina was startled awake by a commotion. She opened the door and saw, in the garden of the neighboring villa, a haggard woman clutching a man's shirt with trembling hands. Her voice tore through the morning air. "Dirk, I've loved you for ten whole years and bore you several children! When we got married, you promised to love me forever! It hasn't even been that long, and you dare to keep a mistress behind my back?" Despite the early hour, many people had already gathered by the lakeside for their morning walks. The scandalous scene unfolded before them, drawing more curious eyes with each passing second.

Mine instead cries out for green pastures by cool streams where only raucous birds break sweet silences. Yet evening falls vaulting grey towers over petulant spires and sour temples where I alone stand sentinel against encroaching night. These foreign fineries grate upon each sense reminding outcast heart yearning simpler hearths now lost to stern mortal law. Never can stolen moments satisfy what soul truly craves in chambered nautilus layers glimpsed solely by you my bright Persephone before cool shadows reclaim us to dutiful winter realms underground ... When at last the well-meaning emissaries retreated from what had become less diplomatic parley and more outright hostile confrontation am

The Abyss of Infinite Yearning had opened new depths within every soul. The Song now wound through existence like a living labyrinth of pleasure, each turn revealing fresher heights of connection and ecstasy. Forty thousand years after the first spark of love defied destruction, desire had become the endless maze in which all beings gladly lost themselves.

"Longing. The kind that's almost painful. Like wanting something you can't have so badly it rewires your entire existence." The air between us shifts. I can feel heat curl into the corners of my toes. I pull my legs closer to my body. "That sounds exhausting.” "It is." He leans forward slightly. "But it's also the most alive you can feel. Wanting something that much, even if you never get it." I get the feeling we’re not talking about poetry anymore. “So, what is it that you want so bad it makes you feel alive?" The words tumble out of my lips before I give myself the chance to second guess them.

That was the physical proximity I was subtly, in many, different unspoken ways, allowed on our first official date. I didn’t correct her that bhalobashi becomes bhalobashbo when you add chirodin to it; that it transcends from immediate present to an infinite future. Yearnings are treacherous lycanthropes – I don’t even recall how or when my yearning transformed from a mediaeval hope of keep-looking-into-her-eyes to a post-modern put-your-hand-around-her-waist.