Yearning Poetry Novels & Stories

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.

“You’ve been mine for the past 20 years, and you’ll be mine in the future as well. I won’t let anyone else have you—you’re mine!” “Wendy, how shameless can you be?” Jessica pushed her way to the front and slapped Wendy hard. “James is a person! He’s not an object, and he doesn’t belong to anyone!” “He is James. He can be with whoever he wants, and the word ‘let’ doesn’t apply here!” Wendy had been stretched thin, dealing with the company’s mess during the day and visiting Sean at the hospital at night. She was utterly exhausted. The slap from Jessica sent her stumbling to the ground.

My heart screamed, my pulse roared, and my mind was spinning in a dizzying mix of desire and fear. “Jade,” he murmured, low, throaty, possessive, “I’ve wanted you from the moment I saw you. I’ve wanted you like this, like you’re about to combust under my touch. And I’m not leaving until you give in… until I know you feel the same fire.” My glasses slid down my nose again, and I pushed them up automatically, though I barely registered it. His hands brushed against mine, lingering, sending shivers up my spine. He was every dangerous fantasy I’d ever imagined. Every late-night craving. Every forbidden thought.

"Longing." *

"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.

Had the bond of mates been forgotten by him? The urge to release him battled with the surge of longing within me. I yearned for his embrace, for the simple comfort of his presence to lull me into slumber. After all, he was my mate, the missing piece in the puzzle of my soul."But I need you," the words tumbled out, raw and unguarded, exposing the yearning etched deep within my soul. Yet, he remained silent, his back to me, a silent sentinel poised to depart. My hand reached out, grasping for him, for an answer, for anything. "Why must you go?" My plea hung in the air, fragile as a spider's web.

' "Wind and willow, come take me back to where the worlds meet, and bring me fractured to the sea, let my soul carry me to places and shores where my eyes will never see. Tarry me there and everwhere, let my soul search forever, never resting, always yearning, broken and dreaming of the things I'll never have. Rain and snow, wash from me the powers within me and keep me ever wanting, always needing something more, for my soul is lost in yonder waters. Darkness over light, never ceasing and always growing, take me further into your embrace, hiding and holding all dear to me, broken like shards of glass. Never gather unto me, powers and pleasures of this world. Hide from me the treasures of m

It fades into the background even, as we look at each other, laughing. Zane Orion POV: I know she is watching me nervously as I read her collection of three poems published by an online literary magazine called Raven. It is for their summer publication. Alex wrote three poems that captured the spirit of summer through the point of view of a fifteen year old both dreading and yearning to resume senior high-school. The three poems follows a centre theme and the last one kind of leaves the imagined protagonist in the middle of their conflicting feelings.

"'I weary of the hungry world'--what do you know of the hungry world?--you in your New Moon seclusion of old trees and old maids--but it is hungry. Ode to Winter--the seasons are a sort of disease all young poets must have, it seems--ha! 'Spring will not forget'--that's a good line--the only good line in it. H'm'm--Wanderings-- I've heard the secret of the rune That the somber pines on the hillside croon-- Have you--have you learned that secret?" "I think I've always known it," said Emily dreamily. That flash of unimaginable sweetness that sometimes surprised her had just come and gone. "Aim and Endeavour--too didactic--too didactic. You've no right to try to teach until you're old--and then

A call from home came through. "Adam, dinner's ready. Could you pick up some yam on your way back?" "Sure, Mom." My steps grew lighter, my pace quickened, and I jogged into the subway station. It felt as if I could already smell the aroma of dinner waiting at home. After taking so many detours for over a decade, I finally reached the end of my dream path. Now… I truly had a home.