25 Quotes About Poetry Of Life

Poetry is a powerful medium that can be used to convey a variety of themes and emotions. It can range from inspiring to depressing, but it is most effective when it tells a story that resonates with the reader. The below quotes are some of the best poems about life.

Dreaming is the poetry of Life, and we must be...
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Dreaming is the poetry of Life, and we must be forgiven if we indulge in it a little. John Galsworthy
Friendship is a poetry of life that is written in...
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Friendship is a poetry of life that is written in two hearts. Debasish Mridha
This is where I belong, burning in these flames. For...
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This is where I belong, burning in these flames. For everything I have done wrong, I know I am to blame. Atarah L. Poling
Within my reflection I see tears, for what I see...
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Within my reflection I see tears, for what I see is the truth, are my greatest fears. Atarah L. Poling
Poetry is the whispering of a truth by the shouting...
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Poetry is the whispering of a truth by the shouting of the best possible lies Oscar Sparrow
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Love. It’s the complex chemistry of a blind heart and a distracted mind. Love is a shapeshifter. Love walks along the same path as hate. Love makes us whole. Love makes us weak. Love drives us to insanity. Love can be a curse. Love is a miracle. Julie Anderson
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You resting your head tenderly on my shoulders while we sit below the old Oak tree. And we smile at each other and gaze lovingly at the fascinating sunset over the hills. This moment makes me feel completely alive as if we have reached not just cloud nine or ten but also cloud infinity! Avijeet Das
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A storm-filled life replete with piercing and unearthly sounds ravages the soul of any thoughtful person. In contrast, the genteel wind of restoration moves silently, invisibly. Renewal is a spiritual process, the communal melody that sustains us. Inexpressible braids of tenderness whispering reciprocating chords of love for family, friends, humankind, and nature plaits interweaved layers of blissful atmosphere, which copious heart song brings spiritual rejuvenation. For when we love in a charitable and bountiful manner without reservation, liberated from petty jealously, and free of the toxic blot of discrimination, we become the ineluctable wind that vivifies the lives of other people. The mellifluous changes in heaven, earth, and our journey through the travails of time, while worshiping the trove of fathomless joys of life, constitute the seeds of universal poetry. Kilroy J. Oldster
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A poet warrior realizes both the brutality and the beauty in life, and apprehends that the suffering we tragically endure is partly what makes us human. What also makes us human is the ability to love, the ability to stand in nature’s presence, and to nurture this earthly paradise to tend to our family’s needs. Kilroy J. Oldster
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And I know few would believe me but belief is what drives a man, If all of us long for the Golden Age, then we all can, Bring the days filled with peace, prosperity, generosity, love and fearless nigh', We all must believe something to survive, I believe in the serene age lost in seasons gone by. Adhish Mazumder
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All I ever really wanted to do was arouse souls through my writing and enjoy my journey to becoming one with myself and with the world. Terry A. ONeal
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Ultimately not one amongst us Will ever be denied that, The glimmer of a chance to shine. Scott Hastie
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Perfection"Every oak will lose a leaf to the wind. Every star-thistle has a thorn. Every flower has a blemish. Every wave washes back upon itself. Every ocean embraces a storm. Every raindrop falls with precision. Every slithering snail leaves its silver trail. Every butterfly flies until its wings are torn. Every tree-frog is obligated to sing. Every sound has an echo in the canyon. Every pine drops its needles to the forest floor. Creation's whispered breath at dusk comeswith a frost and leaves within dawn's faint mist, for all of existence remains perfect, adorned, with a dead sparrow on the ground.( Poem titled : 'Perfection' by R.H.Peat) . R.H. Peat
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Carpe DiemBy Edna StewartShakespeare, Robert Frost, Walt Whitman did it, why can't I?The words of Horace, his laconic phrase. Does it amuse me or frighten me? Does it rub salt in an old wound? Horace, Shakespeare, Robert Frost and Walt Whitman my loves, we've all had a taste of the devils carpe of forbidden food. My belly is full of mourning over life mishaps of should have's, missed pleasure, and why was I ever born? The leaf falls from the trees from which it was born in and cascade down like a feather that tumbles and toil in the wind. One gush! It blows away. It’s trampled, raked, burned and finally turns to ashes which fades away like the leaves of grass. Did Horace get it right? Trust in nothing? The shortness of Life is seventy years, Robert Frost and Whitman bared more, but Shakespeare did not. Butterflies of Curiosities allures me more. Man is mortal, the fruit is ripe. Seize more my darling! Enjoy the day. Edna Stewart
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My 11 #books come without pomp n frills, for all seeking #true #meaning & unafraid of overcoming past conditioning. #Rewards are infinite Michael Levy
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Even in death, his last breath was poetryexisting in the wind and on the breeze of"it used to be likes" forever remembering, yet never relivinghis lifewill never be what it used to be like. NZuri Za Austin
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Words I write... go through my mind, like tasting fine wine on the lips. Jennifer Webb
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Maybe she will be broken forever. but if it is so, she will adorn it with radiant elegance; and all that man will ever discern is her effortless grace and the softness of her smile. Terry A. ONeal
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HONESTLY ....I believe people are intimidated with truthful/ outspoken people. HONESTY..... will help you grow and it shows maturity. H O N E S T.....people will push you closer towards your destiny. Takina Cupp
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There is a glimmer of metal that wavers between his thighs. He turns to face me. The balls of his large gauge nipple rings catch my eye as they glint in the light of the room. But, it is the tintinabular rings below that cause my eyes to descend to his shining metallic beacon of love. I feel my jaw slightly drop open and a small puff of air escapes over my lips. I am wildly transfixed. What is that? What will he do with it? I nervously wonder without a solution. He moves toward me with the sound of pockets full of change, and I know my life will never be the same. Anastasia
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Poetry is not for poets, poetry lovers or perceived poetic persons only. Poetry is in yourself, others and everything of nature and man-made. Poetry may not be a solution, yet it can reveal or ease challenges faced. Poetry is capable of affecting any heart. Gloria D. Gonsalves
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I’m burning in despair Love which you distanced from me Return once again I’ll forgive you again Return, Page 19 Delicious David
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Trying to pump breath into a fairy tale is as arduous and tragic as ancient Greek theatre. Terry A. ONeal
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Song of myself I am of old and young, of the foolish as much as the wise, Regardless of others, ever regardful of others, Maternal as well as paternal, a child as well as a man, Stuff'd with the stuff that is coarse and stuff'd with the stuff that is fine, One of the Nation of many nations, the smallest the same and the largest the same, A Southerner soon as a Northerner, a planter nonchalant and hospitable down by the Oconee I live, A Yankee bound my own way ready for trade, my joints the limberest joints on earth and the sternest joints on earth, A Kentuckian walking the vale of the Elkhorn in my deer-skin leggings, a Louisianian or Georgian, A boatman over lakes or bays or along coasts, a Hoosier, Badger, Buckeye; At home on Kanadian snow-shoes or up in the bush, or with fishermen off Newfoundland, At home in the fleet of ice-boats, sailing with the rest and tacking, At home on the hills of Vermont or in the woods of Maine, or the Texan ranch, Comrade of Californians, comrade of free North-Westerners, (loving their big proportions, ) Comrade of raftsmen and coalmen, comrade of all who shake hands and welcome to drink and meat, A learner with the simplest, a teacher of the thoughtfullest, A novice beginning yet experient of myriads of seasons, Of every hue and caste am I, of every rank and religion, A farmer, mechanic, artist, gentleman, sailor, quaker, Prisoner, fancy-man, rowdy, lawyer, physician, priest. I resist any thing better than my own diversity, Breathe the air but leave plenty after me, And am not stuck up, and am in my place. Walt Whitman