Yearning Poetry Novels & Stories

Soon after he entered his chamber, Danyel wrote a poem; pouring all his emotions into the paper and using his brilliant skills at poetry. ~ Why does it feel like raining? While I still see stars, Is this my heart who’s singing? The beat was never so fast, What was it she did to my mind? I feel the emotions dance, Thousands of answers to find, But I won’t lose this chance, Obvious- that I love her, But isn’t all these too soon? I’d live to eternity with her, Who is as beautiful as the moon~

The urgency in her voice echoed the hunger in her heart, pleading for the release that hovered just beyond her grasp. The intensity of their connection ignited a deeper yearning within her, and she craved the sweet release that seemed to dance just out of reach. The sensation of him filling her completely was intoxicating, a drug that left her wanting more with each passing moment. The rhythm of their bodies created a seductive melody, each thrust a note in the symphony of their desire, playing to the tempo of their racing hearts. As she locked eyes with her reflection, she saw the raw, unabashed longing mirrored back at her—a beautiful, desperate woman lost in the depths of her pleasure, ye

Toward the structures that deserved it. Away from themselves. The evening came. They went back inside. To the table. To the thirty-five pages. To the work. To the room that was large enough to hold nineteen years and twelve years and six years and three years and all the years that were still coming the uncounted ones, the unwalked ones, carried by people not yet arrived who would arrive because the room was there. Because the table was set. Because the water had found its level.

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.

You know, I’d like to brush your hair when things go ugly, as in when a tsunami hits the seawall and there’s no one to fix your hair out of fear. I will celebrate your eyes’ uncalculated blink as it might change the season from tinder-parched mornings to being 84 and still writing you poems. You know, I’d like to see you cry, laugh at people off to work, because you’re edged to clear the skies of jinx and throat-clogged pretensions. The paddling mallards, oh, I want to count

A woman who has been wanted. Not admired from a distance. Not pursued for convenience. Not tolerated. Wanted with focus. With patience. With the kind of attention that does not ask what it can take, only what it can give. My throat tightens again. I grip the edge of the sink until my knuckles pale. I have written longing for years. I have put it in books, dressed it in metaphor and dialogue and slow-burn tension. I have made it beautiful on the page because beauty is safer than truth.

That very summit looked so far away. The wind howled through the lower branches of the majestic trees and through half opened tents. Men gathered around fires, sat and sang songs: Green green grass & willows; Weaving my sorrow. My yearning for thee. My yearning for thee. My yearning for thee. Quietly waiting for your return. Quietly waiting for your return. Tell me, my dear. Won't you come home? Won't you come home? Your homeland is longing for thee. Your homeland is longing for thee.

He wore a scowl on his face. “There is nothing to be confused about. It is not something that can be studied. It's a feeling. A strong, intense emotion that you seize from your heart and not from your brain.” “Just as you feel for your husband and daughter.” He calculated her words and came to a definite conclusion. “I am not sure what you are talking about.” When she realized where the conversation was going, she decided she didn't want to be a part of it, at least not in front of Lander and Rachel.

🍆👑Chapter 1👑🍆 I have never desired a woman. Not once in my thirty-two years have I looked at the soft curves of a lady’s body and felt true hunger. Breasts, wide hips, the sweet scent between a woman’s thighs, they do nothing for me. I have fucked women before, of course. A king must produce heirs, after all. But every time I buried myself in a warm, wet pussy, my mind wandered somewhere else. I finished the job out of duty, never out of real need.

He comes closer and bends down a little to bring his face to my face. "What are those things according to you?" He wants to know a simple thing. "love-making contains yearning sex contains craving and fuck contains desiring." He slightly smiles and makes me sit on the chair again. "Can you explain please?" I nod in approval. "Making love is when we love someone deeply and want the person to be intertwined with us. We want to form into one from two. No gap, no distance, only the feelings being curled. Inhaling the breath of the person for whom we are inhaling after falling for the person. That's why I named it Yearning." He is looking at me inklessly.