Poem Hunter: Poems - Poets - Poetry

All that Remains of Me

All that remains of me
Will be nothing less of a man

If you are nothing less of a woman
Who can cuddle me and let me sleep with my tightembrace,
Who hums softly and make the nights safe from its dark moors and landings.

Who turn to be this soft human pillow to be straddled to in the night till morning

All the prevalent memories of a complete home, sanctuary and a beautiful attractive world.

Maybe if the world would suffer on a major earthwake tommorow,
We would come unscaped among the wreakages

As if nature would not provoke these scenarious,
As ifi would rather die in your arms and ignore all the possibilities of an Armagedon,

And stay calm until the last breath of air escape my fatigue body.

Fragile in the unweavering gaze of your caring eyes.
Apalpable breathing body you can still touch and kiss and thank the Gods it was a just a bad dream

A preciousremainder of how sad it will be if there was not a You
...

These fine days have been my ruin.
On this kind of day I resigned
My job in 'Pious Foundations'
On this kind of day I started to smoke
On this kind of day I fell in love
On this kind of day I forgot
To bring home bread and salt
On this kind of day I had a relapse
Into my versifying disease.
These fine days have been my ruin.

...

Silent yet fierce, a whisper in your mind,
A force unseen, both gentle and unkind.
It breathes your courage or dims your light,
A shadow that lingers in the quiet night.

A faithful friend or a cunning foe,
It shapes the seeds of dreams you sow.
A tender guide or a cage of fears,
The choice is yours through passing years.


...

Take this kiss upon the brow!
And, in parting from you now,
Thus much let me avow-
You are not wrong, who deem
That my days have been a dream;
Yet if hope has flown away
In a night, or in a day,
In a vision, or in none,
Is it therefore the less gone?
All that we see or seem
Is but a dream within a dream.

I stand amid the roar
Of a surf-tormented shore,
And I hold within my hand
Grains of the golden sand-
How few! yet how they creep
Through my fingers to the deep,
While I weep- while I weep!
O God! can I not grasp
Them with a tighter clasp?
O God! can I not save
One from the pitiless wave?
Is all that we see or seem
But a dream within a dream?
...

Say not of beauty she is good,
Or aught but beautiful,
Or sleek to doves' wings of the wood
Her wild wings of a gull.

Call her not wicked; that word's touch
Consumes her like a curse;
But love her not too much, too much,
For that is even worse.


...

I looked for a place
Where i could show the world
What i got, but i couldn't find

Out of blue, a ray of light shined
In my life and that was you
Poem hunter

I would like to thank you for
The opportunity given to me

...

THAT which eludes this verse and any verse,
Unheard by sharpest ear, unform'd in clearest eye or cunningest mind,
Nor lore nor fame, nor happiness nor wealth,
And yet the pulse of every heart and life throughout the world
incessantly,
Which you and I and all pursuing ever ever miss,
Open but still a secret, the real of the real, an illusion,
Costless, vouchsafed to each, yet never man the owner,
Which poets vainly seek to put in rhyme, historians in prose,
Which sculptor never chisel'd yet, nor painter painted,
Which vocalist never sung, nor orator nor actor ever utter'd, 10
Invoking here and now I challenge for my song.

Indifferently, 'mid public, private haunts, in solitude,
Behind the mountain and the wood,
Companion of the city's busiest streets, through the assemblage,
It and its radiations constantly glide.

In looks of fair unconscious babes,
Or strangely in the coffin'd dead,
Or show of breaking dawn or stars by night,
As some dissolving delicate film of dreams,
Hiding yet lingering. 20

Two little breaths of words comprising it.
Two words, yet all from first to last comprised in it.

How ardently for it!
How many ships have sail'd and sunk for it!
How many travelers started from their homes and ne'er return'd!

...

The Spring blew trumpets of color;
Her Green sang in my brain --
I heard a blind man groping
"Tap -- tap" with his cane;

I pitied him in his blindness;
But can I boast, "I see"?
Perhaps there walks a spirit
Close by, who pities me, --


...

A beautiful thing for to one
To experience, feel and show
Cause it bonds friends, relatives
And lovers.

To fall in love is like putting
Others before yourself
Because it's about the people
You love


...