love poems
Love poems for hopeless romantics; I'm the poet and you're my muse.
On the Flip Side of the Mirror
A surge of sense.s Silences seconds— Close your eyes And the air thickens With a cocktail of scents That trigger every last nerve ending Like an old symphony Your body almost remembers. Life, at the end of a racetrack Where first place feels like a punishment— Awareness loses To convenience That stretches itself one morning And finds every damn piece of furniture Moved. Protests? Pointless. Fingers now bend in rebellious directions. Thyroid keeps demanding pills Three times a day, Stomach files complaints Unless the menu is monk-approved. Cuss words— Once sharp like knives— Now sound like cheap echoes. Rules? They fight back With scribbled receipts, Faded travel plans, And three damn cars Nobody makes or fixes anymore. Hey— Remind the room These creaky knees still pack enough torque To knock some sense in. Let them Play smart. I’ll return their sweet suggestions With whichever finger Gets the best lift. Forward is forward— No matter the pace. Make Them Wait. Let them learn What this relentless chase For programmed praise Does to bone, breath, and being. Give them a test at the end—three hours, no cheat sheet. Laugh hard— Behind the book You now can’t read Without your bifocals. Once, I might have whispered— “Hold fire. Wait it out.” But now? The world spills Over with nonsense. The hourglass is bare. No witnesses needed. Only a season of reckoning
By Rakibul Islam2 years ago in Poets
My Best Poem
They ask me if I still write— if the words still come like they used to, in the quiet moments between coffee and sunset, between heartbreak and healing. I tell them: I haven’t written much lately. But oh— look at her. She is every line I ever dreamed of writing. A stanza wrapped in softness, tiny fingers curled like quotation marks around my heart. Her laugh, a rhythm I never could capture— and yet, here it is, dancing through the room like a chorus I never want to end. She speaks, and the world rewrites itself in gentler language. She is my metaphor for hope, my simile for joy. A poem not inked on paper, but breathing, becoming, being. No verse I’ve written could match the way she looks at me— as if I am both author and reader, the hands that held the pen and the arms that now hold her. So when they ask me, what’s your greatest work? I just smile and say: Her.
By Carolina Borges2 years ago in Poets
🧠💘 Love or Logic? This Poem Reveals the Painful Truth
✍️ Poet's Note This poem dives deep into the unseen war between the heart and mind—two eternal forces shaping our emotions, decisions, and destiny. Inspired by real emotions and timeless struggles, it speaks to anyone who has ever stood at the crossroads of logic and love.
By PRABAL TR PRO2 years ago in Poets
