Poem Hunter: Poems - Poets - Poetry

A time will come for a moment of truth
A journey of discovery that starts in youth
Many will try to change your ways
But the thing you love always stays
Finding your mark is a powerful thing
The skies the limit to what it could bring
Our true calling whispering in quiet
Telling us to go after it and we can't deny it
Searching for meaning to rest our soul
Being honest with ourselves to make us whole
The finer things are not part of the mission
Staying true to our passions is part of our commission
Facing each day with the happiness that it brings
Touching the hearts of others makes it everything
We bare our soul on a world stage
Expressing our naked visions outside the cage
It's easy to conform to the flock
But you can set yourself free if you knock
...

There is heard a hymn when the panes are dim,
And never before or again,
When the nights are strong with a darkness long,
And the dark is alive with rain.

Never we know but in sleet and in snow,
The place where the great fires are,
That the midst of the earth is a raging mirth
And the heart of the earth a star.


...

The way your heart fills
for me
The way my heart beats
for you
And at the end
When we meet
the heaven comes to the shore of earth
We get the comfort
out of everyone
Our lives entail a story of our

...

Ah, well can I the day recall, when first
The conflict fierce of love I felt, and said:
If _this_ be love, how hard it is to bear!

With eyes still fixed intent upon the ground,
I saw but _her_, whose artless innocence,
Triumphant took possession of this heart.

Ah, Love, how badly hast thou governed me!
Why should affection so sincere and pure,
Bring with it such desire, such suffering?

Why not serene, and full, and free from guile
But sorrow-laden, and lamenting sore,
Should joy so great into my heart descend?

O tell me, tender heart, that sufferest so,
Why with that thought such anguish should be blent,
Compared with which, all other thoughts were naught?

That thought, that ever present in the day,
That in the night more vivid still appeared,
When all things round in sweet sleep seemed to rest:

Thou, restless, both with joy and misery
Didst with thy constant throbbings weary so
My breast, as panting in my bed I lay.

And when worn out with grief and weariness,
In sleep my eyes I closed, ah, no relief

...

I take my wine jug out among the flowers
to drink alone, without friends.

I raise my cup to entice the moon.
That, and my shadow, makes us three.

But the moon doesn't drink,
and my shadow silently follows.

I will travel with moon and shadow,

...

How does Freedom looks like?

Is it a kind of sunlight..

breaking all the fogs of mind

taking out it's immense warmth out of life!

How does Freedom shapes us all?


...

How lovely the elder brother’s
Life all laced in the other’s,
Lóve-laced!—what once I well
Witnessed; so fortune fell.
When Shrovetide, two years gone,
Our boys’ plays brought on
Part was picked for John,
Young Jóhn: then fear, then joy
Ran revel in the elder boy.
Their night was come now; all
Our company thronged the hall;
Henry, by the wall,
Beckoned me beside him:
I came where called, and eyed him
By meanwhiles; making my play
Turn most on tender byplay.
For, wrung all on love’s rack,
My lad, and lost in Jack,
Smiled, blushed, and bit his lip;
Or drove, with a diver’s dip,
Clutched hands down through clasped knees—
Truth’s tokens tricks like these,
Old telltales, with what stress
He hung on the imp’s success.
Now the other was bráss-bóld:
Hé had no work to hold
His heart up at the strain;
Nay, roguish ran the vein.
Two tedious acts were past;
Jack’s call and cue at last;

...

I wish you were here, dear,
I wish you were here.
I wish you sat on the sofa
and I sat near.
The handkerchief could be yours,
the tear could be mine, chin-bound.
Though it could be, of course,
the other way around.

I wish you were here, dear,

...

The mother still waits in the perfect haven
not restless, not grieving,
but attentive, as only mothers ever are.
She watches the world below
the way soil remembers rain.
Her fragments remain scattered,
most resting quietly in her children,
doing what fragments do best—
protecting, warning, enduring.
But one fragment remains restless.

...