Poetry Quotes

linear brains can't curve a thought.

The spoken word is ephemeral. The written word, eternal. A symphony, timeless.

LEFTISTS EAT THEIR CHILDREN: The poets, artists, and radicals are murdered first once the "revolution" actually comes about.

Poetry is a storm asking peace to dance with her.

I love the pleasure of reading poetry.

Sit here, so I may writeyou into a poem and make you eternal.

Is the healing process the writing or the reading of that writing?What are we all healing from? Ourselves?What are we all healing towards? Ourselves?

We were not meant to read stories anymore. We were too busy writing our own.

I can't remember the poemThat pierced through my heartIt was the saddest I heardOf all truths ever spokenIt left a scar in meA wound that doesn't healBut the words are forgottenSo is a big part of me

I read for pleasureIn search of fictional worldsTo enrich my truths

Leave me alone, Do me a favor, abandon me, I want to think about, You me and the idea of forever.

at home the bookshelves connected heaven and earth.

Let the wet earth embrace you firmly, soundly. She needs to be revived, she needs to beat like a heart full of adrenaline inside a chest.

I want topeel away all the labelsI had once given to othersand place themupon the fabricof my own identity.They have reflected back to me, everything that I refuseto See in myself.

With natural law there is no flaw, we must act in truth and be smart.”Grampa Foster, Meet the Little People…An Enchanting Adventure

Your spiritual heart imbibes in the primordial light and, as you dance towards infinity, you begin to see all things are held together by the power of love.

The hardest part about walking away from someone is the part where you realize that, no matter how slowly you go, they will never run after you.

If an Artist falls in love with you, you will live forever.

If I was meant to be controlled, I would have come with a remote.

If ur laptop doesnt smell like fire then ur losing.

I'm the G when you spell OG

We didn't do anything illegal, All we ever did was be black.. #BlackLivesMatter

Writing on architecture is not like history or poetry.

The history of man is a must read poetry.

They say that history is going on somewhere.They say it won't stop. I have heldOne picture still for a long time and waited.

To reduce poetry to its reflections of historical events and movements would be like reducing the poet's words to their logical or grammatical connotations.

I know history. There are many names in historybut none of them are ours.

When it was all overthe centuries startedto roll by and history was writtenby thosewith no storiesmisery turned into myth and figures of speech played catalyst to happiness

you're going to love your way out of this.out of the hurt.out of the pain.you're going to love your way out of itand be free.

Worry notif you are in darknessand the void sucks you in further.This is not the place we go to die.It’s where we are bornand our stories begin.

Let borders become sunlight so we traverse this Earth as one nation and drive the darkness out.

What we call life is only talk of nature.

Blessed be, it's finally Spring. In joy and delight the birds sing, Ravished upon the entire earth, The new rebirth, Helas, the joy it brings!

Sun shines above making diamonds of lightTink-tinkling, tap dancing and bright.from Atlantic Ocean, My Old Friend by Mommy Moo Moo

Sun shines above making diamonds of lightTink-tinkling, tap dancing and bright.

Sun shines above making diamonds of lightTink-tinkling, tap dancing, and bright.

Not in all ways (of course), but the animals you know have power: they have abilities humans lack, could be dangerous, could bring life, mean things that mean things.

Pinecones. Little works of art. Prickly. Reminders of fall. Similar to pineapples. A sign of welcome.

There’s a land—oh, it beckons and beckons, And I want to go back—and I will.

We may be just a drop in the ocean, but even the ocean envies the depth of our love.

Why does everyone see me as a sink when I am an ocean?

A poem is a ‘line’ between any two points in creation.

God writes love and speaks poetry.

O lead me onward to the loneliest shade, The darkest place that quiet ever made, Where kingcups grow most beauteous to behold And shut up green and open into gold.

...O if we but knew what to do When we delve or hew— Hack and rack the growing green! Since country is so tender To touch, her being só slender,

I ‘am shaggy as rivers, forests and mountains My eyes see the universe natural and super My mind is of many cuts Non-identical I have fought demons Half-horse, half alligator I ‘am victorious, I bled

with each measured step, we knowthis earth is only as solidas we are.

Life without love is like a bird without feathers. Life without love is like a butterfly without wings it's the saddest of things."In this life I can live without many things love is not on that list

Not knowing the name of the tree, I stood in the floodof its sweet scent.

Ripe summer's sweetness drippedin pearls from every treeand into my opened hearta little drop ran down.