Best 227 quotes in «love poem quotes» category

The sun still lives his silent vows to the moon, by bowing to kiss her feet whenever she walks in the room.

The truth is sometimes you can both do better.

The was her magic, she could still see the sunset even on those darkest days.

THE WEATHER OF LOVE Love Has a way of wilting Or blossoming At the strangest, Most unpredictable hour. This is how love is, An uncontrollable beast In the form of a flower. The sun does not always shine on it. Nor does the rain always pour on it Nor should it always get beaten by a storm. Love does not always emit the sweetest scents, And sometimes it can sting with its thorns. Water it. Give it plenty of sunlight. Nurture it, And the flower of love will Outlive you. Neglect it or keep dissecting it, And its petals will quickly curl up and die. This is how love is, Perfection is a delusional vision. So love the person who loves you Unconditionally, And abandon the one Who only loves you Under favorable Conditions.

The world is made up of too many girls wondering if they are pretty and too many boys too shy to tell them.

They say that love has never been immortal. That it is only the songs, books, and movies which instill this thought in our mind. But tell me then why does my heart yearn to just have a glimpse of you every moment of my life? Why do I keep missing you? Why do I feel restless untill I have spoken to you? Why do I keep thinking about you every night lying there in my bed? Why do I feel incomplete without you in my life?

They way I walk now you’d have a hard time recognising me, on these streets where I once imagined walking with you. Hand in hand, like we always did, and it never mattered where we were going because it was all just fine. I was always fine. But they rest restlessly in my pockets now, in a new town, on these new streets, and it’s heavy to stay standing for my body is half the size when you’re gone and these buildings are tall and old and beautiful and I wonder what secrets they hold. How to stand so proud after so many years because I’m still young but I feel worn and I get through the days on too much caffeine and mood altering chemicals to stay awake long enough to make the poetry come alive. I fall asleep on the floor with the music still playing when my neighbour leaves for the office and I’m jealous. I wonder what it’s like to go outside and know where to go, know where you want to end up and just simply go there. I’ve been making lists of things I want to do, where to go and who to be, now that you’re gone, and it’s nice and all, it’s just … I’d rather write it with you, and go there with you. Be things with you. There were days when I still put on make up in case you’d come back, but I wear the same clothes and shower in the rain, eat when I can and sleep when I can, which is rare and not often, so if you’d see me now on these streets where I once imagined walking with you you’d have a hard time recognising me. It takes a lot to run away.

They want to know who I write these poems for. Tell them it's for all lovers because I don’t see a difference between our love and their love.

. . . they will say: "The one you love, is not a woman for you, Why do you love her? I think you could find one more beautiful, more serious, more deep, more other . . .

Thinking of you is a poison I drink often.

Think the tree that bears nutrition: though the fruits are picked, the plant maintains fruition. So give all the love you have. Do not hold any in reserve. What is given is not lost; it shall return.

This Moment This straining, messy, awful, moment in time Is perfect. Push aside your agenda for a second and you’ll find perfection bursting out of its confines. This moment brings truth, illuminates weaknesses, and builds power and wisdom to make us stronger. There are numerous signs, here and now, that teach so profoundly, that validate the strengths we hold inside, that let us know who we really love and what we need to say. If we can make ourselves look at these signs, at the whole picture, at how it fits together, at where our path is leading, we might discover how to turn our direction, So this moment can rise up riding a cloud of joy, and heal.

Throne of my lonely niche, my wealth, my love, my moonlight. My most sincere friend, my confidant, my very existence, my Sultan, my one and only love. The most beautiful among the beautiful… My springtime, my merry faced love, my daytime, my sweetheart, laughing leaf… My plants, my sweet, my rose, the one only who does not distress me in this world… My Constantinople, my Caraman, the earth of my Anatolia My Badakhshan, my Baghdad and Khorasan My woman of the beautiful hair, my love of the slanted brow, my love of eyes full of mischief… I’ll sing your praises always I, lover of the tormented heart, Muhibbi of the eyes full of tears, I am happy.

To a poet every curve of her was a well place word.

To live with you is to live. To live without you is to die.

To My Wife You are like a young white hen. Her feathers ruffle in the wind, her neck curves down to drink, and she rummages in the earth: but, in walking, she has your slow, queenly step, haughty and proud. She is better than the male. She is like the females of all the serene animals who draw near to God. Here, if my eye, if my judgment doesn’t deceive me, among these, you find your equals, and in no other woman. When evening lulls the little hens to sleep, they make sounds that call to mind those mild, sweet voices with which you argue with your pains, and don’t know that your voice has the soft, sad music of the henyard. You are like a pregnant heifer, still free, and without heaviness, merry, in fact; who, if someone strokes her, turns her neck, where a tender pink tinges her flesh. If you meet up with her, and hear her bellow, so mournful is this sound that you tear at the earth to give her a present. In the same way, I offer my gift to you when you are sad. You are like a tall, thin female dog, that always has so much sweetness in her eyes and ferociousness in her heart. At your feet, she seems a saint who burns with an indomitable fervor and in this way looks at you as her God and Lord. When you are at home, or going down the street, to anyone who tries, uninvited, to approach you, she uncovers her shining white teeth. And her love suffers from jealousy. You are like the fearful rabbit. Within her narrow cage, she stands upright to look at you, and extends her long, still ear; she deprives herself of the husks and roots that you bring her, and cowers, seeking the darkest corners. Who might take away this food? Who might take away the fur which she tears from her back to add to the nest where she will give birth? Who would ever make you suffer? You are like the swallow which returns in the spring. But each autumn will depart— you don’t have this art. You have this of the swallow: the light movements; that which, to me, seemed and was old, you proclaim another spring. You are like the provident ant. She whom the grandmother speaks of to the child as they go out in the countryside. And thus I find you in the bumble bee and in all the females of all the serene animals who draw near to God. And in no other woman.

Too many times, I confused my melancholy for loneliness and sought comfort in the wrong arms. Too many times, I surrendered myself to my own illusions, trying to find something that I didn’t understand. Always searching for an elusive affection, desire so pervading it was painful in its insatiability. Every time I held it close, it slipped through my fingers, my body resting in the depth of others only to find myself shivering in shallow water. When you wrapped yourself around me, I knew it was different. A subtlety I had never known, in your embrace. Our restless, wandering souls came together, ideas and passions transforming into redamancy. I know it now – that elusive something I had always wanted – with you, every day, in every kiss, the way you touch me, in dark and light, in the illumination of all of the little things, with hundreds of no matter whats and the taste of forever.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines. To think that I do not have her. To feel that I have lost her. To hear the immense night, still more immense without her, And the verse falls to the snow like dew to the pasture.

Tonight my heart weeps on behalf of my eyes a reluctant delegation of tears like condensation on a window on the verge of falling Tonight I am a ruin a castle made of sand The tide has come to reclaim me I am a mirage in a ghost's memory already gone if I was ever here Tonight I am the blood of the rose squeezed and pressed in a child's hand I am the moon without the sun My light is dimming and the moths have taken up residence in my stomach where the butterflies once lived It is dark and they are hungry Tomorrow I will keep planting flowers in my soul Winter will pass They will bloom and the butterflies will return

Trick Candle Torches feeding on the dark between the stars a river of ice and fire converge in her chest a kiss like a hot spring, a tongue of embers breath of ash with sparking lips words that crash like the tide and a judge’s hammer a touch like a bed of poppies and spiderwebs hips like the curve of an hourglass and sex pure sex manifested in the flesh a body to take a bullet for I am drunk and drugged, dashed upon the shore of her soul a soul to set the angels and demons to war I am stranded in no man’s land in between her ribs like a madman guardian searching for her womb seeking death or rebirth those bittersweet twins one a flicker the other a trick candle I crawl towards the light

Two gentle hearts live together One is yours and another one is also yours Yes! I have given you mine For this reason, sometimes I may seem heartless From the poem: Arithmetic

Up past the old lime kiln built into the side of a hill we take a hard right at a clearing lined by brittle apple trees still willing to bear fruit. I snap sticks beneath my feet and steal pictures of the view while you reach for something sweet, as much as it bows to you.

Violinists wear the imprint on their necks with pride For they are the players of harmony. Pilgrims, too, wear the imprint on their foreheads with pride For they are the conductors of unity. And Lovers? Why, they are made humble by the imprint on their hearts For they are merely the instruments of rhapsody.

Wayward has been my heart Drifter have I been all my life And then one day We bump into each other Souls looking for a harbor in the vast ocean Though I see the raging storm In your eyes You know and so do I know That I will stay by your side!

We all live but a hundred years. When I am with you, I live it in a matter of days.

We all wear scars, find someone who makes yours feel beautiful.

We are just a few atoms In the vast universe, stardust, Yet who can measure the sum Of two lovers and what's between us

We are the eyes of the world - I knock on your heart, We do not need a key. Our lips, they flow like an endless river; And wake up and dream on the edge of the era.

We just want the world to love the little monsters that we are.

We ran our brokenness against each other, in pure abandon. I knew you weren’t in it for the long run. I could feel it in the yearning of our bodies, the way our skin merged with desperation over and over, the way we held on too tight. I knew you weren’t the answer to my loneliness or the cure for all that ailed me, but you changed my life. You helped me realize that I could love again. And for that I am thankful. So thankful.

We Were Lonely My Valentine. along a pavement of loneliness you towards me and I towards you unknown celestial bodies eclipse at night we pass and our gravity of loneliness brings us together so close to touch but not close enough your presence draws my heart and I feel you can’t pull away from gravity we stargaze our loneliness orbits and companionship to fill the black void we touch and our solitude evaporates into the stratosphere and the night is secluded I take you as a lover and you take me as yours we enter the expanding universe at its core the night to linger in our arms we feel humanity as humans share we need each other as strangers share we feel included and wanted for one night only we are true lovers one last kiss my valentine celestial bodies continue on their extraterrestrial journeys as I walk in the breaking dawn along the pavement of loneliness I know loneliness can be confined

We will tire each other out, making our homes in one another’s arms.

What happens when I love, you ask, does the world start making sense? No, my dear, it does not. But it won’t matter to you then.

What is the finding of love, but a voice answering a voice?

What is this love that makes me see beauty, and makes every beautiful thing bring you back to me? What is this love that makes me declare 'I love you' even though I uttered it only a moment ago? What is this love that keeps growing even when my chest is sore and it hurts to love you any more? Tell me: How am I to find what this love is when it was the one to find you, me, this verse, and this universe?

When did you first fall in love?" "I think, I first fell in love when I was in fifth grade with this boy who kept his glass ruler in the sunlight and made rainbows on my desk with it.

Whenever you keep score in love, you lose.

When I'm with you, I feel exposed. Naked. When I'm naked with you, I feel clothed. Sheltered.

When you are here, God is near.

When your heart starts to feel full again. I love FREE refills, and if a restaurant tries to double charge me, I refuse to write a love poem on their Yelp page. -Karen Quan and Jarod Kintz

Where were you when I undressed and told the tales of my day? Where were you when I was silent with God in prandial pray? Where were you when I recited love poems as I lay? Where were you?

Where you are There is my sun And my heart It will beat Forever for you

Why didn't you write all this time? Did you not remember us in a song? A dance? In the skies littered with stars? Did you not get drunk? Why didn’t you write all this time? Did you not remember us in a film? A book? In idyllic dusks and dawns? Did you not get high? It is good that you didn't. For all is well. I am drunk and dazed. I have already forgotten you and your bewitching ways.

Why this candle? Why this cake? The day of my birth is not today. I was born when you said, 'Hey.

Would it be enough to rock on a stormless sea with each our separate memories tuned to the state of the sinking sun?

You are a book of poems I read you slowly without the need for speed Savoring every line like a brief forever Every page of you another way to see reality And when I reach the end I weep that it is done (unless I start over)

You are enough, a thousand times enough.

You are there in my breaths and in the spaces between my breaths.

You are the remedy of intensity i need in my life, to spin me out of the miserable monotony of working on life's daily assembly lines.

You burn like a candle inside my soul, showing me a way through this darkness.