Poetry Quotes

Poetry is the yearning of the soul to break free!

You're Times New Roman, but I'm more Comic Sans.

A man does not become a real man by showing his physical domination over women. A man becomes a real man by loving, respecting and protecting women.

A strange feeling of lonelinessAdrift near the blue canvasYou may stare long and listen deepYet not know whether sea-shore or sea-snore!

I am trying to both be happy and pay attention to the world around me. I do not know if it is possible to do both at the same time.

& besides, I don’tdesign my smiles to be nets because I’m not fishing

Truth is everywhere, and easily seen.Believing one’s eyesIs the difficulty.

If I could claw the words out of the back of my throat and give them, dripping of me, to you, we would talk of sticky hands, and the messes they make.

You were the devil. Dressed in everything. I wanted.

No one leaves home unless homes is the mouth of a shark.

I think you feel like, unless you're damagedyou're not deep enough or mysterious enoughor complicated enough to ever be appreciated by another.And that is deeply untrue.

It took me a long time to realise that mothers are women who carry youAnd not necessarily in their womb.

Lift up your eyes unto mine air and see the love floating there for I am Paradise and I am everywhere.

These poems are cupsthat I pour my love into.Here, Drink!

Tingling fingers, morning birds, rain splatters on window pane, journals of fading escapades and laughter...

The mind is a poetic meadow for reification, where dark and light things are created

We all have our state of mind- happy or sad, sources of both are so relatable.Despite showing someone’s faults & flaws we need to cherish them. cause, we all are into an e n d l e s s l o o p.

no one tells you rome is ending until you're the last one standing alone in a coliseum where a city had been.

That woman wants to hear all my wishes, For already a thousand years, And each my thought knows to read, Even if I don't utter it aloud.

Life provides the substance for poetry we just have to put it to paper

Do not forget about the thorns on the roseswhen you say that love is like a red red rose.

But the sun will rise the day after tomorrowA millennium without us silences our last echoTo tiny fragments even our plastics are reducedIn Eden Reincarnate all life but ours is renewed

Poetry is an attempt to penetrate the dense reality to find a place where the simplest things look as new as through the eyes of a child.

Desire is a powerful boat herding anchors and chains in the middle of the night.

I only live to love so manyFig trees but could neverSleep under one. One is tooLittle in one lifetime.

I can’t pinpoint the moment this all happened. The moment we broke. But we did.And it feels like acid in my throat.

It always felt as though there were a shaken beehive living in my chest. I could never rest.

I felt torn Between living and dying Between sleeping and surviving.

At times poems can be like riddles, too difficult to decipher or comprehend. But how else does one come to understand what can only be felt but not said?

Someone will remember us I sayEven in another time

I'm two days away from day after tomorrowCounting the hours to my upcoming sorrow Suddenly I lookinto the eyes of my childThen all sadness goneas I smile the way she smiled

And thenwe no longer distinguish far nor nearThey sleepdreamgather branchesfor this firethe cloud brewsagainst the powerless day —Long line of fugitivesbeneath the snow

I exaggerateThere is a lie in my truthLook! My soul is blue

The Veil of Consciousness is a thin sheath thatI wear to view the transparency of the life thatSurrounds me.

I crouch in cornersThe infection is widespreadLove epidemic

Does my soul sufferWhen my body breaks downWhen I feel mortalWhen my body is weakDoes the soul rejoiceThe end is near

No music in the raindropsNo clouds with silver liningTorrents of sorrowsHorror in streams

heopened me uplike a book& poured thepoetryback i

The mere ambition to write a poem is enough to kill it.

No Brasil não há outonomas as folhas caem- In Brazil there is no autumnbut the leaves fall

Poetry is not only to write but to express our feelings.

I have woken up…quite sloshedfrom night-mingled rainsa little drugged, by mountain fogsI have been kidnappedfor years....by a mere kiss.

Did you tell people that songs weren’t the same as a warm body, a soft mouth?

A town loved with bitter love.

I've been told by many the art of poetry's dead, I believe it's alive on pages they haven't read

I'm not worried about plagiarism, I don't care if every person between here and Hell's creation put their name on my work as long as it ends up in the eyes of someone that found peace in the words

Beneath her thinnest skin and light, a fuse leads way to dynamite.

When the last leaf falls, what will die within us?

Moonlight drifts from overA hundred thousand milesTo fall upon a cemeteryIt reads a hundred epitaphsAnd then smiles at a nest ofBaby owls

Poetry is not a mere expression of a poet's self, but an enchantment, a spell of the muse, the inspiration. Poetry is thus magic and magic is poetry.