Life, Love, and Roetry
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Add to list. Love After Love The time will come when, with elation you will greet yourself arriving at your own door, in your own mirror and each will smile at the other's welcome, and say, sit here.
You will love again the stranger who was your self. Give wine.
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Give bread. Give back your heart to itself, to the stranger who has loved you all your life, whom you ignored for another, who knows you by heart. Take down the love letters from the bookshelf, the photographs, the desperate notes, peel your own image from the mirror.
Feast on your life. Victoria Leigh M - this poem is great and honoring yourself is a big ordeal in this life especially after a break up we try to look for ourselves again with out the presents of that one person. Bida - a deep poem by a great poet Keep writing. Michelle LG - So beautiful, we can all learn to take care of ourselves with more empathy and celebrate our own lives.
Ancestor - A wwwn Almost teared. Shall I write of you? Should I tell the truth? Is your truth known?
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Are you ready? Is the terror gone? Are we there yet? Have we reached his presence? When will they let us alone to serve in the presence of our God With a pure heart and a true spirit? When will they let us alone? When will they stop to twist the truth? When will they stop the lies Watchman what time is it? Is terror gone yet? Does a man go into desolation because he loves his God Or will his God find him and heal him of his affliction.
Now I use those same words. Tongues September 12, I guess this is my story.
The story of us. If metal can be polished to a mirror-like finish, what polishing might the mirror of the heart require? Between the mirror and the heart is this single difference: the heart conceals secrets, while the mirror does not.
This is love: to fly toward a secret sky, to cause a hundred veils to fall each moment. First, to let go of live. In the end, to take a step without feet; to regard this world as invisible, and to disregard what appears to be the self. Heart, I said, what a gift it has been to enter this circle of lovers, to see beyond seeing itself, to reach and feel within the breast.
Love is reckless; not reason. Reason seeks a profit. Love comes on strong, consuming herself, unabashed. Yet, in the midst of suffering, Love proceeds like a millstone, hard surfaced and straightforward.
The 15 Best Love Poem Books of All Time
Having died of self-interest, she risks everything and asks for nothing. Love gambles away every gift God bestows. Without cause God gave us Being; without cause, give it back again. Mathnawi VI, I am a sculptor, a molder of form.
In every moment I shape an idol. But then, in front of you, I melt them down I can rouse a hundred forms and fill them with spirit, but when I look into your face, I want to throw them in the fire. My souls spills into yours and is blended. Because my soul has absorbed your fragrance, I cherish it. Every drop of blood I spill informs the earth, I merge with my Beloved when I participate in love. In this house of mud and water, my heart has fallen to ruins. Enter this house, my Love, or let me leave.
Passion makes the old medicine new: Passion lops off the bough of weariness. Passion is the elixir that renews: how can there be weariness when passion is present? The beauty of the heart is the lasting beauty: its lips give to drink of the water of life. Truly it is the water, that which pours, and the one who drinks. All three become one when your talisman is shattered. Mathnawi II, That one is the lord of states of feeling, dependent on none; month and year are slaves to that moon. Mathnawi III, The springtime of Lovers has come, that this dust bowl may become a garden; the proclamation of heaven has come, that the bird of the soul may rise in flight.
The sea becomes full of pearls, the salt marsh becomes sweet as kauthar, the stone becomes a ruby from the mine, the body becomes wholly soul. The intellectual is always showing off, the lover is always getting lost. The intellectual runs away. Intellectuals plan their repose; lovers are ashamed to rest.
Poems about Love
The lover is always alone. The man who goes to the trouble of giving advice to a lover get nothing. Love is like musk. It attracts attention. Love is a tree, and the lovers are its shade.