Genre Poetry. Page - 161
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Bis zur bitteren Neige, ausgeleert den Essigtrunk, eines parallelen Lebens. Die nebenherlaufenden Wege, an deren Ende, die zu leerenden Kelche uns erwarten. Gefüllt mit süssem Nektar des Lebens, oder dem sauren Gift des Todes. Nicht ein Kelch, der vorüber geht.
Poetry often comes to me out of the blue. Anything can latch on to me and say 'make me into a poem', so here is one I thought up the other day. It was the weather that stirred me.
The winter season brings us cold weather and beautiful white snow, in most parts of the world. The various shapes and sizes are so amazing that it makes snow very unique. On the other hand this fluffy, cold, white stuff can have positive and negative outcomes.
A very short poem that means a thousand words that means much, much more than a thousand words to me. Something that I try to think about everyday.
this poems allways speaking a new of something about with a life... 'Life is this' a new poety art of the life... life is what...? asking sombudy for me that time... i was think to speak a... words with words for this poems. it allways my self ++otteriselvakumar
A cup of hot coffee Is like your fiery eyes, Filled with intimate passion A love with intense emotion. A cup of hot coffee Is like your flaming heart, Pleading with blazing devotion A vow full of inspiration. A cup of hot coffee Is like your fervid embrace, Soothing as ardent kisses A flare to come to my senses ...
Someone who thought love is kind, patient, gentle and faithful until she met her dearest stepmother who by surprise had to take in a vulnerable child
