Deep Poetry

The past is a finer place to live, There are miracles, fit to give A martyr goose-flesh, A pope a stroke; And willy-nilly, all things betoken The past is a finer place to go, To visit, or to watch the show You'll see yourself, As you were then; Hells-bells, you weren't broken. Sign in to see full entry.

The face of an old woman So sore with life's tyrant Could be in her country the one Most adored when she was young The luminescence of a candle light So fainted in the bright day light Becomes useful in moonless night With no electricity near the sight. Sign in to see full entry.

Every fire that burnt in the hearts Of all true lovers Burns in me now for you. Is there a God or mere mortal that lives And breathes that can extinguish extreme passion? It would be akin to washing the sun away No light, then no life. So it is my eternal flame forever burning My soul The torture of love flown Knives in my heart Euphoric relief! Compared to your memory Burning longer than a star. Sign in to see full entry.

What's time to who has left this mortal sheath? conformity in never-never land? what feelings are retained by long lost leaf? what norms, what pressures man can understand? Why should soul rise or fall, from body free when lust and longings fade beyond recall? What memories outlast eternity apart from those of worms which blindly crawl? The dreams of pearly gates free from regret complete with pets may comfort for a spell, but what is 'best' when appetites would whet thirst for a second innings... Sign in to see full entry.

Paradise is Beyond the boundaries Of our spirits bodies and minds Incomprehensible In this space and time Please understand Heaven came to earth In the form of a man We received him not Incomprehensible In this space and time Please try and understand Paradise is Beyond the boundaries Of our spirits bodies and minds Incomprehensible In this space and time Love your fellow man And Paradise will find you In its own time Sign in to see full entry.

Memories are precious. They allow us to function every day. We rely on them to keep us up to date. We share them with many others. We embrace them - trying to hold on forever. But then, they become fragile like all else, and begin to fail, leaving us vulnerable in these human shells. But they are fun while they last. Cheers to 'memories'! May they long live. Sign in to see full entry.

you say 'i love you' there's no doubt, yet for me you never care about. you avow to be mine, yet for me you never have time. you say i rule your mind, yet you are always busy, i find. i believe in love and in you, yet i have fears though few. you say you will turn my wishes true, yet you never give me chance to gab with you. next time' i will be there'you say, yet you never turn up on time till day. i know you will never keep your words, yet i believe you even if it hurts. Sign in to see full entry.

when i cried a lot, & pleaded to hurt me not, even then my life is shattered, my dreams are scattered. now day & night my heart cry, coz to shed tear, i have tear less eye the crying have made them dry there is no tear left in my eye Sign in to see full entry.

They flew side by side, wingtip to wingtip, In circles around the roses at the foot of my patio As the rain and thunder clouds stormed horrendously above... In a show of affection, they were still wingtip to wingtip, Dancing aimlessly in beautiful circles round the dying roses, The same roses that lay at the foot of the patio by love... Love that had been tendered through my hands, Love that my hands wished could be loved By the same love that have made butterflies to dance round my roses... But... Sign in to see full entry.

Vague is safety sugarcoated. Varnished by our infatuation to anything more occult than our daily bread. As fuchsia is more french and less fundamental than pink, so is vague is to literal, but to the sharp observer is a matter-of-fact! Sign in to see full entry.