poetry-quotes

I was coming together...limb by limb, after being brokenfor an infinity.

The most beautiful, amazing and inevitable fact about life- Everything has a natural healing process.

A mask you ask? Optional I find!Masks lend appeal of a mysterious kind.

I want to have a romance so grand,it would have made Shakespeare fumble for words.

After all these years, all I know is, I need not to do anything as a part of remorse.All I need is to write.Because,'Poetry forgives.

All she captures is a moment and what she calls it is a memory,Sometimes, it is assumptions that we use; all we need is a theory,Because you don__ know what is there in the future,And all you need is a vision to make a perfect picture.I feel that I have known you for a century,And whatever she calls is a memory.

His pen spoke more to her than he ever did_.In the war of words, some are unwritten and some are unspoken.

Chimerical words, the words were written,Some are wasted; some are still on the page,Tattered words, the words were written,Some are young, some are aged,Gloomy words, the words were written,Some are unspoken, some are told,Words were hurt, though they can heal,Words are breathless, though can feel,Words won hearts, words shattered hearts,Words lost battles, words won wars,Wars within, words had scars.

How might I get over this? How would I be able to overlook the way he used to be with me? How could I overlook that his fingers touched my indiscernible soul before it twisted my nipples? How might I overlook his essence that still is in my garments? Despite everything, I still hear you saying that you love me. Though I know you don't.

I learned from Whitman that the poem is a temple -- or a green field -- a place to enter, and in which to feel. Only in a secondary way is it an intellectual thing -- an artifact, a moment of seemly and robust wordiness --wonderful as that part of it is. I learned that the poem was made not just to exist, but to speak --to be company. It was everything that was needed, when everything was needed.

Is it not enough to dip your tongue into my soul and write poetry?

Remind your bones that that dance inside something worthy

You see it dying, you feel helpless while it fades,You tend to lose hope lest you forget, a ripple is all, and that's all it takes...#MyExperiencewith498A

Aim high flyReach deep rootsStretch out growBeyond and belowAbove and behindAll about and inThe awesomenessSings

Each form is inadequate, like a graft to be rejected by its intractable and unrelenting host and thus can only serve a brief and momentary purpose coherent to a context rooted in contiguous reason. This unbridled brash Spirit is, to itself, burdensome, yet dynamic, for it sees no flaw in working within the confines of a closed system to achieve ends that extend beyond it. This Spirit is, in fact, self-deceptive for to achieve such ends, it becomes necessary to bound manipulable fragments of the Self with a twine by which these parts can be joined indissolubly and maneuvered adroitly with the skill of a marionettist.

i have known yousince the beginningof timethe one i have loved alwaysin spirit.only just discoveredin person.

...across the snowy field the barn light gleams - it's the loneliness of November twilight...

......and not out of fear or loneliness, but only to find myself again... for we have come too far my Life, to turn back now...