Poems Quotes - Page 15

If I lived a million lives, I would've felt a million feelings and I still would've fallen a million times for you.

Robert M. Drake

Suddenly, everything was beautiful. The way she viewed the world was nothing more but a reflection of herself.

Robert M. Drake

She was broken, I think it’s because she loved too much and she was always blind to the fact that love too is sometimes broken.

Robert M. Drake

The best kind of humans are the ones who stay.

Robert M. Drake

A tamed woman will never leave her mark in the world.

Robert M. Drake

Somewhere along the way we all go a bit mad. So burn, let go and dive into the horror, because maybe it’s the chaos which helps us find where we belong.

Robert M. Drake

Sometimes the most beautiful people are beautifully broken.

Robert M. Drake

Sometimes to self-discover you must self-destruct.

Robert M. Drake

Death is the easy part, the hard part is living and knowing you could be so much more then you’re willing to be.

Robert M. Drake

I think that I shall never seeA poem lovely as a tree.A tree whose hungry mouth is pressedAgainst the earth's sweet flowing breast;A tree that looks at God all dayAnd lifts her leafy arms to pray;A tree that may in summer wearA nest of robins in her hair;Upon whose bosom snow has lain;Who intimately lives with rain.Poems are made by fools like me,But only God can make a tree.

She was a beautiful dreamer. The kind of girl, who kept her head in the clouds, loved above the stars and left regret beneath the earth she walked on.

Robert M. Drake

When Great Trees FallWhen great trees fall,rocks on distant hills shudder,lions hunker downin tall grasses,and even elephantslumber after safety.When great trees fallin forests,small things recoil into silence,their senseseroded beyond fear.When great souls die,the air around us becomeslight, rare, sterile.We breathe, briefly.Our eyes, briefly,see witha hurtful clarity.Our memory, suddenly sharpened,examines,gnaws on kind wordsunsaid,promised walksnever taken.Great souls die andour reality, bound tothem, takes leave of us.Our souls,dependent upon theirnurture,now shrink, wizened.Our minds, formedand informed by theirradiance,fall away.We are not so much maddenedas reduced to the unutterable ignoranceof dark, coldcaves.And when great souls die,after a period peace blooms,slowly and alwaysirregularly. Spaces fillwith a kind ofsoothing electric vibration.Our senses, restored, neverto be the same, whisper to us.They existed. They existed.We can be. Be and bebetter. For they existed.

Maybe you could be mine / or maybe we’ll be entwined / aimless in this sexless foreplay.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.I love thee to the depth and breadth and heightMy soul can reach, when feeling out of sightFor the ends of being and ideal grace.I love thee to the level of every day'sMost quiet need, by sun and candle-light.I love thee freely, as men strive for right.I love thee purely, as they turn from praise.I love thee with the passion put to useIn my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.I love thee with a love I seemed to loseWith my lost saints. I love thee with the breath,Smiles, tears, of all my life; and, if God choose,I shall but love thee better after death.

Elizabeth Barrett-Browning

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