Laugh Quotes

I was told on a forum my poems are extremely bad and I need to stop can someone tell me if they are really bad because this made have low - esteem towards poems now.

Love is stronger than Hate

I loved and I hated
Both tore me open
but only one closed me

Only the strong can survive
and the weak fall
there is never a equal number
only a odd world
there is never a balance
everything is by chance
but there is Love
and it is attacked by hate

How does Love survive
How does it stay strong
While hate does more wrong
Why does Love cry
and Hate laugh
Why is love still
And hate a blowing draft

Would this mean Love is stronger
Or Hate is the best
Surely I say the strongest survive
Yet Hate still lives
but a beggar to a rich man may live off his money
so Hate eats out the palm of Love’s pity
Hate will attack love but Love takes the pain
The strongest one is the one that stays sane

Angel in a storm

A ocean breeze flew past my nose
A cooling sensation of love arose
The angel touched me
Her fingers waving over my chin
Her hair reaching out to the moon
My lips thirst for hers
My eyes search for sight
Her gaze through my body as flowing light

She flew away from me
I died in my heart
I waited for her return and never did I see her
My eyes turned blind
I yearned for her moist lips
Her gliding hair
The light of her eyes

The storm Stopped

What is love

Stolen from me was a heart
Thrown at me was words
The piano springs and palys it cords
But the player is not skilled messes his part
Do I know love
Or is love dead
Is love Sex
Or is love a kiss on my head
I am blind and weary, a disabled person
Love changes from season to season
I live today because love is the reason
What is love.

Helping

A helpful man is only a helpful if he made another happy
It is good to help
But helping can be bad
Helping a person who struggles can make one sad
Helping a person who denies they need a help
Is the worst thing of all for a helper

It hurt when I fell

It hurt when I fell
I bled my punishment for the step I made
I rushed and did not wait
My path was not made down
I fell and it hurt
why do I feel this pain
Was it not right to cross that old road
I was only traveling
Now I am falling
Down, down, the mountain goes
I never thought of pain but now it shows.

She holds my rage

Faced with a wall that I can’t penetrate
I crumbled into a horrible state
Caged and forgotten I felt more and more
Cramped in a box of anger and destruction
I had no key how can I be free
No one helps
No one Cares
I am not a crazy person
or am I suppose to be?
Is my my destiny a life of madness and sin
I choose not.
There is a girl that has saved me from that life
a great friend not a wife
who unlocked my mind and released my soul
She is a woman of peace
That lets wars cease
What am I to be this man!
Why did she come and fight my battle!
Am I not a hungry lion for Rage
that she sees in her eyes
Is she blind to notice a demon I’ve become
Yet she sees my eyes and speaks softly to me
I grab unto to her as servant for his pay
Teach me Teach me to love I say!
I wanted this girl this peace maker
She holds me in calm and song
My fury for destruction disappears
If she was ever near.

I realised

I realised I cannot chase love
I realise I cannot be a hero
I realise I cannot be someone that is someone else
But I realised someone could love me
I turned away from reality and faced imagination
I was like a bear, lonely and in a cave
I realised loneliness is the only way someone realises
they are loved
But loneliness can be the reason why people cry for
love
I realised I am loved and will not think of finding a partner
When I realised I have love already

Deep Dark Ocean

The darkness surround and give me a fright
But I can overpower but there was no light
Love have retreated and friends depart
All by myself in the rays of the moon
Calms waters rage after the time of noon
I had no breath, no heart, no time
I was a nobody, I wasn’t worth a dime
My Deepest darkest ocean was filled with nothing
Only a little light can come out as something
One Person which can fill my emptiness
One Person who I call my princess
The one I say was my Light
Was only another dawn of the my night

Lonely
Why do I ever feel sad

Is hope something to be glad

I wonder why many can have so much

but never have anyone to touch

Whispers of hate behind my back

Evil arises to push my down

It over powers and out comes a frown

why am I so lonely

Why do I desire to be loved as if I am hungry

Will this lust ever be filled

Can it forever be sealed

Late at night I think of the day

How I woke in the morning with nothing to say

I was left behind to help myself

The family which I lived never understand me

They never knew what I need

I was in a bloomed fl

here’s another one a little happier though

DEFINTION POEM

What is love?

When your brother, husband, or son, puts the toilet seat back down without being asked…
When you feel safe enough with someone to trust them never to betray you…
Driving all the way through the night to see your dying father one last time…
A husband buying feminine products…
A child paying for a bouquet of flowers in all coins…
Being willing enough to let her be with whoever makes her happy- even if it isn’t you…
Sitting up with your crying best friend who’s just been dumped without having to say a word…
Coming home to all your chores done by your little sister…
Playing a board game with your brother and no winners because you’re both trying to let the other win…
Ruining your manicure to dig for your wedding ring that fell down the drain…
Seeing that Sci-Fi film with him even if you hate the genre all together…
Praying for someone more than you pray for yourself…
If you’re away for more than an hour, you can’t stop thinking about them…
Being willing to jump as long as they catch you…
Learning to dance for someone…
Dedicating a song to someone…
When two people laugh without saying anything to set it off…
When someone afraid of commitment, commits…
When your puppy licks your face even though you’ve left him alone all day…
What makes a tired person smile…
Friendship on fire…
That is love.

William Cullen Bryant. 1794–1878

16. Thanatopsis

TO HIM who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 5
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images 10
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;—
Go forth under the open sky, and list
To Nature’s teachings, while from all around— 15
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air—
Comes a still voice—Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, 20
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go 25
To mix forever with the elements;
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 30
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world,—with kings,
The powerful of the earth,—the wise, the good, 35
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods—rivers that move 40
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,
Old Ocean’s gray and melancholy waste,—
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man! The golden sun, 45
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings 50
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save his own dashings,—yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first 55
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep—the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe 60
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 65
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life’s green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man— 70
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
By those, who in their turn shall follow them.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 75
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 80
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

Aren’t you just rude. This was not posted for punks like you! It was meant for a real question. If I could do it I would. I have my own idea, just want to see what everyone else says cause I am not good at poetry!

TO HIM who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 5
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images 10
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;—
Go forth under the open sky, and list
To Nature’s teachings, while from all around— 15
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air—
Comes a still voice—Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, 20
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go 25
To mix forever with the elements;
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 30
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world,—with kings,
The powerful of the earth,—the wise, the good, 35
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods—rivers that move 40
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,
Old Ocean’s gray and melancholy waste,—
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man! The golden sun, 45
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings 50
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save his own dashings,—yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first 55
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep—the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe 60
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 65
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life’s green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man— 70
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
By those, who in their turn shall follow them.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 75
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 80
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams.

Does this paint a picture somehow? If so what is the picture and which lines gives you this? Thanks

No existance,
No figure,
Silhouette,
Outline of a body.
No features,
No lines fighting the yearning for time to be rewound.

No physical attraction,
Love of the color of her eyes,
The shape of his lips,
His shadow in the sun,
Her tearstained cheeks that seem to beg for a kiss,
The touch of his fingertips
Against her golden skin.

Emotional,
The heart beating beyond
Everything we want to believe is there,
Everything we can’t see,
But need to,
None-the-less,
To stay sane.

So we sleep,
Dream,
When reality stands still,
In all its glory,
Its entirety,
Its flood freezing over,
Giving us time to reflect
On what could,
What might,
What should,
What will be washed away,
Tiny bits of debris
Remaining in our polluted lives
Till we wake up
And ask ourselves if things are the same,
Or if we somehow made a difference.

If we somehow found the crack between the wall
Separating Real and Fake.

But what is Real?

Couldn’t our lives as we know them
Be a single dream?

Then we fall in love,
The silhouettes reappear,
The curtains open and the sun
Breaks in,
Rewires the security system,
Hopes the alarm won’t sound.

It’s then,
When our hearts crawl out of our
Kaliedoscopes,
The shapes halted in motion,
Blurred visions as
What we can’t see,
What we need to,
None-the-less,
To survive,
Comes in contact with the light,
Shines in all of its existance,
For those few moments
When the clock’s second hand
Repeats its tick-tick sound,
But never moves.

It’s then,
When our hearts float back inside
Our minds,
Our bodies,
Our souls,
With such grace,
That we realize
Our love is no longer so pure.

Our minds take over,
Shield our hearts from the fact that
We’re loving for the wrong reasons,
And the reality of which
We can’t see it,
We won’t let ourselves,
Is more than what we have the
Strength to face.

Maybe this life is a dream,
A type of reincarnation.

We live,
Laugh,
Love,
Grow,
Die.

Then we wake,
Have a horrible day,
Sleep,
Dream.

The life of a world.

So I wrote this a while back… Sometime during last school year during Earth Science [because that's when I always write anything].

It’s about how people care more for physical beauty… And about how personality and emotional and mental love are so much stronger than anything shown on the outside of a person. It’s about how people hardly realize that anymore. It’s about how physical beauty has effected me, as a person. A person whose turning seventeen and has been dumped three times because her breasts are just starting to fit into A-Cups.

It’s about the “what if?” of physical beauty dissappearing for a while until people really notice what keeps a relationship together.

[and if you have any thoughts about anythingggg... suggestions on something to write about, suggestions on how to improve, or just any random thoughts... please leave them] =)

i dont get it
i read it so many times and i dont get the meaning

16. Thanatopsis

TO HIM who in the love of Nature holds
Communion with her visible forms, she speaks
A various language; for his gayer hours
She has a voice of gladness, and a smile
And eloquence of beauty, and she glides 5
Into his darker musings, with a mild
And healing sympathy, that steals away
Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts
Of the last bitter hour come like a blight
Over thy spirit, and sad images 10
Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall,
And breathless darkness, and the narrow house,
Make thee to shudder, and grow sick at heart;—
Go forth under the open sky, and list
To Nature’s teachings, while from all around— 15
Earth and her waters, and the depths of air—
Comes a still voice—Yet a few days, and thee
The all-beholding sun shall see no more
In all his course; nor yet in the cold ground,
Where thy pale form was laid, with many tears, 20
Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist
Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim
Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again,
And, lost each human trace, surrendering up
Thine individual being, shalt thou go 25
To mix forever with the elements;
To be a brother to the insensible rock,
And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain
Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak
Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. 30
Yet not to thine eternal resting-place
Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish
Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down
With patriarchs of the infant world,—with kings,
The powerful of the earth,—the wise, the good, 35
Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past,
All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills
Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun; the vales
Stretching in pensive quietness between;
The venerable woods—rivers that move 40
In majesty, and the complaining brooks
That make the meadows green; and, poured round all,
Old Ocean’s gray and melancholy waste,—
Are but the solemn decorations all
Of the great tomb of man! The golden sun, 45
The planets, all the infinite host of heaven,
Are shining on the sad abodes of death,
Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread
The globe are but a handful to the tribes
That slumber in its bosom.—Take the wings 50
Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness,
Or lose thyself in the continuous woods
Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound,
Save his own dashings,—yet the dead are there:
And millions in those solitudes, since first 55
The flight of years began, have laid them down
In their last sleep—the dead reign there alone.
So shalt thou rest; and what if thou withdraw
In silence from the living, and no friend
Take note of thy departure? All that breathe 60
Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh
When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care
Plod on, and each one as before will chase
His favorite phantom; yet all these shall leave
Their mirth and their employments, and shall come 65
And make their bed with thee. As the long train
Of ages glide away, the sons of men,
The youth in life’s green spring, and he who goes
In the full strength of years, matron and maid,
The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man— 70
Shall one by one be gathered to thy side
By those, who in their turn shall follow them.

So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan which moves
To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 75
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 80
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams

On a gold shag carpet, empty bottles lined along a livingroom wall,
The fluids of your life seeped beneath where you lay face down with your hands beneath your chest, as though you had tried to push away from death.

You, who had climbed mountains and slept in the snow; lived in the woods with your Grandfather’s antique knife.
Laughing eyes that glimpsed the truth of other’s goodness, open and lifeless, with only their haunted darkness apparent.

Strangers happier just to be in your presence, you swallowing your own hated presence every day, in a house filled with vodka and Tums.
If only to die on a mountain in a storm, only to fall from a rock, to freeze, to lose one’s life to a bear.
Not to die on a shag carpet on a livingroom floor, bottles lined in perfect symmetry against a wall, empty.