Related quotes: Though I move in the...

The Congealed Dew

Though I move in the multitude,
0f men, women tall, thin, fat, small,
Yet find no breast or a shoulder,
To rest upon my head to shed tears,
Drops of molten pangs and sorrows,
Which make my heart too loathsome,
That always cries to slacken its load,
Borne since I was born to abode,
In the world where each rose,
Is surrounded by thorns,
And each pointed thorn bears,
The dew of congealed dry blood.

poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blood Red Tears

Lighten up, give it up
I see a chance to make it up
Theres a price for every day
Youve just thrown away
I am all I ever was
Didnt change the way I was
Get a grip, button it
Cool down, hypocrite
Couldnt you find her? examine your head
Heres a reminder, blood red tears were shed
Didnt you need her? examine your head
Will you remember? blood red tears were shed
You dispose, I oppose
Couldnt you resist a go
You applaud your reward
I sit here alone
You agree to comfort me
Every day I try to leave
End of feud, your attitude
Worn there on your sleeve
Couldnt you find her? examine your head
Heres a reminder, blood red tears were shed
Didnt you need her? examine your head
Will you remember? blood red tears were shed
Couldnt you find her? examine your head
Heres a reminder, blood red tears were shed
Didnt you need her? examine your head
Will you remember? blood red tears were shed
They tell me to go, I lie that I know, he cries so unkindly
Couldnt you find her? examine your head
Heres a reminder, blood red tears were shed
Didnt you need her? examine your head
Will you remember? blood red tears were shed

song performed by by Olive
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Shoulder I Need

Need I nothing but a shoulder to prop,
To place upon my head, the tears to shed.
The tormenting existence, worries of life,
The cruel pangs of the heart are resolved,
To crumble, crush my soul, my existence.
And at these moment of plight you reside,
Far away in the distant, remote world.

Need I nothing but a shoulder to prop,
To place upon my head, the tears to shed.
I am agonized for I had been deprived of,
Nourishing, sustaining food love yesterday,
I am pained for loneliness stings me today.
I stand at the dismal spot helpless, forlorn,
Neither there is any comfort to rehabilitate,
The drab, deserted land, valley of the heart;
Nor anyone has remedy of my misfortunes.

Need I nothing but a shoulder to prop,
To place upon my head, the tears to shed.
No one has time to listen to the tales of miseries,
No eye possesses tears to mourn on my doom,
Those whom I loved more than my soul, my life,
Have lined up in the long row of the enemies,
Those whom I regarded my own averted the eyes.

Need I nothing but a shoulder to prop,
To place upon my head, the tears to shed.
I have concealed in eyelids my unloosened tears,
Whenever I get a chance, I shall bring along,
The lustrous gems to scatter at your feet,
While kissing with lips, caressing with cheeks.
Oh! Sweet my mild mother at present,
Need I nothing but a shoulder to prop,
To place upon my head, the tears to shed.

poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Prick Of The Thorns

reality is not in the red petals
of the rose
decorated with six drops of dew

it is in the prick of the thorns
piercing your skin
letting out drops and drops of
blood

it is the pain in the mind
when the body starts to move out of focus
when the heart
begins to sing the old lines of the blues

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Chloe Weeping

See, whilst Thou weep'st, fair Cloe, see
The World in Sympathy with Thee.
The chearful Birds no longer sing,
Each drops his Head, and hangs his Wing.
The Clouds have bent their Bosom lower,
And shed their Sorrows in a Show'r.
The Brooks beyond their Limits flow;
And louder Murmurs speak their Woe.
The Nymphs and Swains adopt Thy Cares:
They heave Thy Sighs, and weep Thy Tears.
Fantastic Nymph! that Grief should move
Thy Heart, obdurate against Love.
Strange Tears! whose Pow'r can soften All,
But That dear Breast on which they fall.

poem by Matthew Prior
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Nightingale and the Rose

The song, it echoed sweetly
This melody of purity so fine
To cause this bud to life
To cause this rose to form

The price to pay… the thorn
This precious price to pay with life
Pressed against the heart of purity
So pure this gentle heart

For in the name of love was formed
This rose so red, so rare
And with this blood so red
This sad song so sweet this night so long.

Until the thorn so sharp did pierce
This gentle feathered heart
And spilled the blood to form
This red rose, so rare.

And as her song of love grew faint
And as her life it spilled unto the rose
The dawn approached to quicken this endeavour
Lest this rose of love be less than perfect formed

As wilder grew her song so sweet of love
As bitter grew the pain as life it ebbed
So slowly born this death that does not die
So one heart grew the other passed away.

Borne on the wind this melody of song
This song so sweet to cause to life
This rose of blood, of love, of pain and tears
And yet so easily cast into a gutter.

poem by Mike Shanahan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I'm His Rose

I was a rose in a garden of many thorns,
Until the day that love was born.
His hand touched my heart, giving me hope,
He picked me up, untying the thorn rope.

I'm his rose whether he knows or not,
I'm his rose because he protects me,
I'm his rose because he set me free.
I'm his rose because he never opened his hand,
I'm his rose because he's the right man.

poem by Adnana Saric
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Drops of his Heart's Blood

THE nightingale with drops of his heart's blood
Had nourished the red rose, then came a wind,
And catching at the boughs in envious mood,
A hundred thorns about his heart entwined.
Like to the parrot crunching sugar, good
Seemed the world to me who could not stay
The wind of Death that swept my hopes away.

Light of mine eyes and harvest of my heart,
And mine at least in changeless memory!
Ah, when he found it easy to depart,
He left the harder pilgrimage to me!
Oh Camel-driver, though the cordage start,
For God's sake help me lift my fallen load,
And Pity be my comrade of the road!

My face is seamed with dust, mine eyes are wet.
Of dust and tears the turquoise firmament
Kneadeth the bricks for joy's abode; and yet . . .
Alas, and weeping yet I make lament!
Because the moon her jealous glances set
Upon the bow-bent eyebrows of my moon,
He sought a lodging in the grave-too soon!

I had not castled, and the time is gone.
What shall I play? Upon the chequered floor
Of Night and Day, Death won the game-forlorn
And careless now, Hafiz can lose no more.

poem by Shams al-Din Hafiz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Rose With Thorns

The rose with thorns
Beautiful passion red rose
But dangerous with thorns
Picked off the garden
By a bard on
Realize he was bleeding
Thought roughly about his feelings
About why the rose had thorns
Never again would he pick up the red rose with thorns
The rose only brought him pain
Thoe he did not go insane
By wanting to stomp on it
But he just forfeit on it
He just let the rose there on the ground
And the rose was hoping it would be found
So the bard on
Left the garden
Checked his finger with the thorn pulled it out
finger was bleeding and never looked back at the rose with the thorns

poem by Jose antonio Torres galeana
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Only One Horrible Thorn

I like to cry and throw a fit
Even the dark day I was born
I am a sad and drooping rose
With only one horrible thorn

I did not like people around
I would sit, curse at them and scorn
I am a sad and drooping rose
With only one horrible thorn

My heart could never feel the love
Deep inside I felt sad and torn
I am a sad and drooping rose
With only one horrible thorn

People still tried to get close to me
I would open my mouth and warn
I am a sad and drooping rose
With only one horrible thorn

I will never show a smile
This is an oath that I have sworn
I am a sad and drooping rose
With only one horrible thorn

But the day will come, I will die
Then haunt people after they mourn
I am a sad and drooping rose
With only one horrible thorn

poem by Paul Celano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cries In Vain

Your cries in vain,
When you look in my eyes what do you see,
My deep sorrows within,
My cries in vain,
Can’t you see how much you hurt me,
You made me cry for you,
Cries in vain that won’t go away,
Take it all away,
I see you looking,
I see that you are fading,
You are a mere ghost to me,
My sorrows within my tears that you cause me to shed,
I waited too long to cry again and again,
I sit back and hold on tight that I won’t cry ever again,
But when I see you,
I cry,
Can’t you see cries are in vain,
WAKE UP,
And now look at me and tell me what do you see,
All you ever will see is me cry in vain.

poem by Jennifer Rondeau
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Of past relationships, plants and things

If I have to find a plant
of her
she wouldn’t have been a rose
as though it has thorns,
it has meaningful beauty
and it leaves an odour
that stays with you.

Although at a time
I thought that she’s a beautiful flower
I have to stay
far away from flowers
and try and get another plant,
because I will forever
search to find
the right flower.

An Umbrella-thorn bush
with shafts of thorns for me,
is probably the best description
that I will ever find
and where she touches me
it scratches till the blood appears.

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pondering upon the Rose on a Sunday Morning......

The symbol of love
When giving in love a rose speaks for itself
The beauty is picturesque
The scent it gives lasting for ever

The rose never seen without her thorns
Still who can not feel happiness when a rose is seen or given?
Even for a brief minute, a second the rose brings a smile
Or perhaps a small sigh of delight

If one were to think upon a rose…
The thorns… the beauty…
The petals that carry the essence…
That lingers even after it is withered

If one were compare to our Lord…
He held thorns upon his precious head; the head of the rose is above the thorns
His love was known for its beauty and compassion, the rose noted for love
His words and Spirit lingers for eternity much like the scent of the rose

My Lord created the Rose
Perhaps he created it for remembrance of His son
Looking upon the rose I see it all so clearly
The meaning of love
The beauty
An essence that shall always be with me

poem by Patricia Gale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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1.06 Little By Little Does The Trick

Even the smallest does count,
Little or small has its sound,
A dropp of water or a stick,
A thin thread or a brick.
[14] - 1
Drops of water fill the ocean,
Small bricks make a house,
Together sticks or thin thread,
Show strength and load do bear.
[15] - 1
Alone it is difficult to stand,
Unity gives strength that's grand,
It is the small - little by little,
Doing tricks - strength from brittle.
[16] - 1

poem by Munnan Misra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Silent Tears

What bitter sorrow courses down
Yon mourner’s faded cheek?
Those scalding drops betray a grief
Within, too full to speak.
Outspoken words cannot express
The pangs, the pains of years;
They’re ne’er so deep or eloquent
As are those silent tears.
Here is a wound that in the breast
Must canker, hid’n from sight;
Though all without seems sunny day,
Within ’Tis ever night.
Yet sometimes from this secret source
The gloomy truth appears;
The wind’s dark dungeon must have vent
If but in silent tears.

The world may deem from outward looks
That heart is hard and cold;
But oh! could they the mantle lift
What sorrows would be told!
Then, only then, the truth would show
Which most the bosom sears:
The pain portrayed by burning words
Or that by—silent tears.

poem by Henry Kendall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Such a Rose In The Heart Of Rose

Such a Rose In The Heart Of Rose) it
blooms in my heart that rose(upon
me that grows, no matter where I leave
my heart dear(it loves on me to grow.
Bound up in thorns my love, I lay on beds
of them forever waiting to grow, with you
dear, as I bend to smell, that one red rose.

My heart is your rose, it climbs, and beats
when pricked, by the thorn, to be carried up
to every rose on the bush.My rose, your heart,
it blooms in love, each beat lifts to crown the
the heart, as the sun heats them both, to feed
each root that folds my heart back into the rose.
Such a Rose In The Heart Of Rose;

poem by Is It Poetry
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Women and Roses

I

I dream of a red-rose tree.
And which of its roses three
Is the dearest rose to me?

II

Round and round, like a dance of snow
In a dazzling drift, as its guardians, go
Floating the women faded for ages,
Sculptured in stone, on the poet's pages.
Then follow women fresh and gay,
Living and loving and loved to-day.
Last, in the rear, flee the multitude of maidens,
Beauties yet unborn. And all, to one cadence,
They circle their rose on my rose tree.

III

Dear rose, thy term is reached,
Thy leaf hangs loose and bleached:
Bees pass it unimpeached.

IV

Stay then, stoop, since I cannot climb,
You, great shapes of the antique time!
How shall I fix you, fire you, freeze you,
Break my heart at your feet to please you?
Oh, to possess and be possessed!
Hearts that beat 'neath each pallid breast!
Once but of love, the poesy, the passion,
Drink but once and die!—In vain, the same fashion,
They circle their rose on my rose tree.

V

Dear rose, thy joy's undimmed,
Thy cup is ruby-rimmed,
Thy cup's heart nectar-brimmed.

VI

Deep, as drops from a statue's plinth
The bee sucked in by the hyacinth,
So will I bury me while burning,
Quench like him at a plunge my yearning,
Eyes in your eyes, lips on your lips!
Fold me fast where the cincture slips,
Prison all my soul in eternities of pleasure,
Girdle me for once! But no—the old measure,
They circle their rose on my rose tree.

VII

Dear rose without a thorn,
Thy bud's the babe unborn:
First streak of a new morn.

VIII

Wings, lend wings for the cold, the clear!
What is far conquers what is near.
Roses will bloom nor want beholders,
Sprung from the dust where our flesh moulders.
What shall arrive with the cycle's change?
A novel grace and a beauty strange.
I will make an Eve, be the artist that began her,
Shaped her to his mind!—Alas! in like manner
They circle their rose on my rose tree.

poem by Robert Browning from Men and Women (1855)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Rose in the heart of rose

A Rose In The Heart Of Rose
it blooms in my heart
that rose upon me that grows,
no matter where I leave my heart
dear it loves on me to grow.
Bound up in thorns my love,
I lay on beds of them forever
waiting to grow, with you
dear, as I bend to smell, that one red rose.

My heart is your rose,
it climbs, and beats
when pricked, by the thorn,
to be carried up
to every rose on the bush.
My rose, your heart,
it blooms in love, each beat lifts to
crown the the heart, as the sun heats them
both, to feed each root that folds
my heart back into the rose.
Such a Rose In The Heart Of Rose

poem by Anees Akbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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With Rose In Hand

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

1

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

1

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.

1

poem by Meg Harrison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Past Tense

long, long time ago
in the past tense of my life
there was once a rosey rose
with a beauty sharper than a knife
spoiled by every dropp of rain
on her petals so reddish as blood
playful in such childish vain
though never she had to leave her bud