Waking poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best waking poems ever written. Read all poems about waking.
In visions of the dark night
I have dreamed of joy departed-
But a waking dream of life and light
Hath left me broken-hearted.
I am: yet what I am none cares or knows,
My friends forsake me like a memory lost;
I am the self-consumer of my woes,
They rise and vanish in oblivious host,
Oh! that my young life were a lasting dream!
My spirit not awakening, till the beam
Of an Eternity should bring the morrow.
Yes! tho' that long dream were of hopeless sorrow,
My heart aches, and a drowsy numbness pains
My sense, as though of hemlock I had drunk,
Or emptied some dull opiate to the drains
One minute past, and Lethe-wards had sunk:
«Let this fluffy snow fall upon our
Dreams and make them shine! »
Your lungs fill & spread themselves,
wings of pink blood, and your bones
empty themselves and become hollow.
When you breathe in you’ll lift like a balloon
'And ask ye why these sad tears stream?'
‘Te somnia nostra reducunt.’
Under his helmet, up against his pack,
After so many days of work and waking,
Sleep took him by the brow and laid him back.
A dark unfathomed tide
Of interminable pride -
A mystery, and a dream,
Should my early life seem;
All all and all the dry worlds lever,
Stage of the ice, the solid ocean,
All from the oil, the pound of lava.
City of spring, the governed flower,
I wonder, by my truth, what thou and I
Did, till we loved; were we not weaned till then,
But sucked on country pleasures, childishly?
Or snorted we in the Seven Sleepers' den?
When music sounds, gone is the earth I know,
And all her lovely things even lovelier grow;
Her flowers in vision flame, her forest trees
Lift burdened branches, stilled with ecstasies.
Farewell!--God knows when we shall meet again.
I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins
These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.
The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,
And sunset, and the colours of the earth.
How he sleepeth! having drunken
Weary childhood's mandragore,
From his pretty eyes have sunken
Pleasures, to make room for more- -
When the morning was waking over the war
He put on his clothes and stepped out and he died,
The locks yawned loose and a blast blew them wide,
He dropped where he loved on the burst pavement stone
A BOAT beneath a sunny sky,
Lingering onward dreamily
In an evening of July --
Children three that nestle near,
In May my heart was breaking-
Oh, wide the wound, and deep!
And bitter it beat at waking,
And sore it split in sleep.
If your eyes were not the color of the moon,
of a day full [here, interrupted by the baby waking -- continued about 26
hours later ]
of a day full of clay, and work, and fire,
A darting fear—a pomp—a tear—
A waking on a morn
Sitting in silence bereft of the open storm that billows around my waking heart. The ice catches my tongue as the falling water soothes my soul. I am not lost within my depth. And the torrent is but a wilderness to tame. I am the receiver. The patient, silent observer. My mind is the storm. I am the stillness. My thoughts the wilderness.
There are no words I could
Think of to drown out your cries,
Have you ever loved someone to death that you'd wish for a quick death.
Cold nights numb and silent
writing in dreams can achieve seamless perfection glorious
to write a poem perfect in a dream is an energizing bliss
but to remember the poem upon waking is not a near miss
every waking hour serving four boys punctuated, at five reads discusses with senior the soulmate, recapping as well as designing the day ahead, sends off brimming love mind and body content, back in bed to sleep or resort to self analyze, if star of the house stirs magnifies routine, opens eyes snuggles close to mother intention verbalize, bubbling baby at all times demands attention, noise rouse next one hastens to join group, middle child critical beguiles her breath away, in this room first born last to get up, siblings call out for him insistent cry, blessed daughter celebrate you're blooming leader, thrive in every sense energized as they clamor
In my waking dream
I am Barack Obama.
leading us all
From the Land of the Pharoahs.
DREAM THAT BECAME A REALITY
I dreamed always waking
Up every single morning
RARe 2nd Stanza - Morning Waking
March 16, 2020
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