inspirational
Inspirational poetry is just the thing to lift your spirits or rejuvenate your creativity.
Hopelessly Confused
Take a minute and search within your heart. Your heart, not your mind. Your feelings, feel the devotion tug at your heart strings. Feel the craving and swelling of appreciation. You feel it, the light tremor of the skipping beat, the feeling of light love. You feel it, some describe it as butterflies, that turning of your stomach. The gentle push your heart gives. The push to reveal that it's pushing you, baby steps, to your other half. The patience, the many times it's felt as if it were broken, and still, it builds with time, builds with knowledge and experience. You shut down, but your heart, a miracle worker and your life's battery, you feel it, don't you? Feel the tremor, the little hum it gives off. It takes its time, waiting here for you. It aches and it still fights for you. With every gasp, you take with all those nights you hold yourself trying to convince yourself it was going to be okay. But your heart, stays together, it's little miracle working. You rise up, you feel it as you lift your head and meet a smile and a lingering look. You feel it, don't you? There, it's the butterflies, and you feel the tug. Like a bee to its pollen, the sudden craving. Then there, you'll find your heart beating alongside rhythmically to what you discover your other half. The gentle ease, and you find your heart growing tender. You've found it, the reason of that gentle tug, those beautiful butterflies dance alongside with your joined hearts. Hear the hum, the gentle beat. Because one day, together, they will rise in song towards nature and together, rise to the sky above. Then, you will hear the music they make, make your own and you too will join the choir above.
Marilyn RaePublished 7 years ago in PoetsBeing Human
It becomes hard to find happiness, When joy resides in things, B'Coz then happiness only possessions bring, Kindness and peace being searched in books,
Old House
Old house with all your memories, of years fleeting by you. Sheltered, all the children as they laughed, loved and cried. I loved your winter warmth, old house, and your summer shade. The feather beds, the kitchen stove, the quilts that mama made. We always loved your every room, run down as they would be, the front porch swing, the picket fence so sweet now in my memory.
Roxi RileyPublished 7 years ago in PoetsRelationships
Grass is green where it is watered, Relationship is strong when it is nurtured, Nurtured with love, Nurtured with care, Nurtured with hope,
I Never Was Great With Words
I never was great with words, tripping over my tongue with every clumsy breath. Yet you listened as though I was a jazz singer,
Kendall WisniewskiPublished 7 years ago in PoetsLily
The image of innocence, precious and pure Gracious like a soaring swan, elegant and sure. Like A single blossom, sat Enthroned on a bough
Natlie PittPublished 7 years ago in PoetsDrive
I gotta go, I gotta get outta here, Away from these city lights, That are holding me like a leash, Tying me down, And the wheels are going, the wheels are rolling,
Human Soul
Tried to run away, but to no avail Pushed right back, into this poetry lane I stand in the valley, of flowing rainbow-colored river
Harydo NeonPublished 7 years ago in PoetsWith Each Breathing Desire
Incense blazing trails of clear white answers; guidance. She takes in the scent of everyday lies and confusion — left dry, drained and looking blankly into a future forward. Another night passes, replenished from worldly toxicity; she does wonder, from every time from beyond and under: 'Will I survive another chain of flesh or is this a blessing in disguise that's about to be uncovered?' — questions only the clouds would answer.
Philip von GravePublished 7 years ago in PoetsThe Emerald Kingdom of Sobriety
The only way to recover from an addiction is to avoid those who trigger it. Avoid your old drug buddies. Avoid areas of town you get your fix.
Amanda ZylstraPublished 7 years ago in PoetsTo an Old Woman
Almost unnoticed. And the dressing, eating all are finely wrapped and placed aside, the chore complete, though less a chore
Edward MyersPublished 7 years ago in PoetsSummertime
I Feel the Sun beating down on me. The warm sand beneath my feet Creeping between my toes. I hear the waves slapping at the shore.
A.C. ZempleniPublished 7 years ago in Poets