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Love Poem Quotes

Browse 363 quotes about Love Poem.

Love Poem Quotes

“The World Sonnet The world will never be a place without troubles, But that is not the point, the point is something else. The point is that most of the troubles we do have, Are caused by our own archaic stupidity 'n shallowness. Shallow and indifferent, that's the norm of the world. With such norm how can we expect there to be equality! Civilization comes from the ground, not the government. The ones walking the ground are the cause of humanity. Rhythm of the world comes from the rhythm of your heart, Place your hand on your heart and listen across biases. If there is music in you there'll be music in the world, But if there's just noise within, all around there’ll be travesty. WORLD means We On Road of Love and Determination. The aim is to conquer our last ounce of discrimination.”

“A Dingbat Lover (The Sonnet) Better be a dingbat in love, Than play ping-pong with hearts. Better be bonkers in sacrifice, Than an arrogant smartypants. Better give all without reserve, Than be selfish and just take. Better be wiped out in service, Than take greed to your grave. Better look idiot and learn, Than be proud and stagnant. Better be trusting and cheated, Than a cynic scraping love's remnant. There is no guarantee in life and love. If you want guarantee open a liquor shop.”

“February Freeze (Sonnet) There is a difference between error and evil, there is a difference between mistake and malice. People who abandon you at your slightest mistake are not your people, don't turn cold and bitter - don't turn into the thing that hurt you, everybody must choose their own joy and truth. Only apes and robots chase after perfection, humans cherish imperfection as a sign of life; those who build castles in the air are too full of themselves to see, that perfection is a lie. Everyone can love you when you have everything, but one who loves you when you have nothing that’s the person who truly cares for you. Anybody can admire you when you're strong, but bonding happens through vulnerability - commitment is proven not through perfection, but in affection through imperfection.”

“Redemption (Love Sonnet) My crisis is you, My comfort is you. My courage is you, My cowardice you. My solace is you, my menace is you. My prowess is you, my encumbrance too. You are my curse, my only cure. You are my answer to selfish lure. You are my redemption, my petrification. You're my fearlessness, my chosen damnation.”

“One and A Half Ex (Sonnets 1429, 1430) Once upon a time by the Bay of Bengal, a naive tiger fell for a vain sheep. The sheep had him eating out of her hand, only to discard him for another sheep. The tiger's world was turned upside down, abandoning home-n-uni he set out as monk. Then one afternoon underneath the tree, the monk awakened to prophetic dimension. The saintly tiger then returned home, Lo, commenced his sleepless self-education! He had already mastered all divine sight, Now he needed to muster a scientific arsenal. During his making he met a Balkan xena, she was everything he could ever dream of. But the tiger still had plenty struggle ahead, even for the perfect partner it was too much. She had a beautiful heart which grew weary, waiting for a giant with the world on shoulder. The first whole love of the tiger came to halt, after four magical years of timeless forever. Though devastated, unable to think-n-work, this time this was no longer a naive tiger. Gloom galvanizes conviction invincible, Shattered heart makes shade for the world.”

“Lyubimaya (The Sonnet) I am happy - I am happy to see that you are happy. May they give you all the joy, Of which you dreamt with me. I was just a struggling autodidact, yet to be the legend I made myself. How was I supposed to settle down, in the balkans with white picket fence! Partners with infinite patience, only ever exist in fairytales. Yet I feel no grudge whatsoever, as they're happy with their choice. There's a divine bliss in being dumped, at least one is no longer a burden. Purpose of love is to see another happy, not to sentence them to life-imprisonment.”

“It takes a lot of heart to build trust, Even more to keep the trust. But what if both hearts are in pieces, How will they ever overcome their past! The answer is really quite simple, and yet, It is the last revelation to be crystal clear. Seek not for perfection but for the being, Broken in heart but intact in character. The road to joy is paved with broken hearts, Broken heart is something to cherish not mourn. Heart not broken is a heart devoid of life, That's how the pieces of two fit together as one.”

“Love is the bane (The Sonnet) Love is the boon, Love is the bane. Love is relief, Love is the pain. From love will come your troubles, From love will rise your answer. You'll fail in love, you'll fly in love, In love's insanity your sight will clear. Love is torture, Love is disaster. Love exposes the counterfeits, While it purifies the lover. In a world run by calculating coldness, be the anomaly of love insensible. Cure for this anemic world, is your love impossible.”

“This Butterfly Stings by Stewart Stafford The gold of my eye dances on stage for me, Her wings wafting behind her in the chorus, Yet none glimpsed that girl's beauty as I did, This butterfly flew solo in my mind's eye. For two years hence, I concealed my interest, Yet I gazed at her endlessly, so close yet apart, Places of learning changed, but she did not, I foolishly let fly Cupid's token to my inamorata. Seeing my love in a looking glass reflected, Shadow feelings illuminated St Valentine's Eve, My butterfly became a sullen stinging bee, Crushing my tender rose in pieces at my feet. Nor would her wicked scorn end there, She told her friends who joined in my shaming, For years after, turning my last shreds of adoration, Into contemptuous hatred of her existence. Truly no one can take away our memories, Where my former crush still dances on occasion, O sweet butterfly of my youth, one last wish, Never fly away from these fond recollections. © Stewart Stafford, 2022. All rights reserved.”

“Sensible Love Sonnet A heart measurable is no heart at all, For a heart that expands not, is dead. Love sensible is no love at all, Love that makes sense is love of the dead. Raise your head, reach out with heart, And the whole world will fall at your feet. Better senseless in love than loveless in logic, Heartiness is no forte of the intellectual elite. It is far better to fall in love and suffer, Than to spend your life as a farmer awaiting rain. Scars of love are not scars but the elixir of life, Life without such suffering is a life gone in vain. Regret not that you suffer in love, regret if you don't. I'd give up all my brains for a moment of love's angst.”

“Tonight my heart weeps on behalf of my eyes a reluctant delegation of tears like condensation on a window on the verge of falling Tonight I am a ruin a castle made of sand The tide has come to reclaim me I am a mirage in a ghost's memory already gone if I was ever here Tonight I am the blood of the rose squeezed and pressed in a child's hand I am the moon without the sun My light is dimming and the moths have taken up residence in my stomach where the butterflies once lived It is dark and they are hungry Tomorrow I will keep planting flowers in my soul Winter will pass They will bloom and the butterflies will return”

“You’re thinking, maybe it would be easier to let it slip let it go say ”I give up” one last time and give him a sad smile. You’re thinking it shouldn’t be this hard, shouldn’t be this dark, thinking love could flow easily with no holding back and you’ve seen others find their match and build something great together, of each other, like two halves fitting perfectly and now they achieve great things one by one, always together, and it seems grand. But you love him. Love him like a black stone in your chest you couldn’t live without because it fits in there. Makes you who you are and the thought of him gone—no more—makes your chest tighten up and maybe this is your fairytale. Maybe this is your castle. You could get it all on a shiny piece of glass with wooden stools and a neverending blooming garden but that’s not yours. This is yours. The cracks and the faults, the ugly words in the winter walking home alone and angry but falling asleep thinking you love him. This is your fairy tale. The quiet in the hallway, wishing for him to turn around, tell you to stay, tell you to please don’t go I need you like you need me and maybe it’s not a Jane Austen novel but this is your novel and your castle and you can run from it your whole life but this is here in front of you. Maybe nurture it? Sweet girl, maybe close the world off and look at him for an hour or two. This is your fairy. It ain’t perfect and it ain’t honey sweet with roses on the bed. It’s real and raw and ugly at times. But this is your love. Don’t throw it away searching for someone else’s love. Don’t be greedy. Instead, shelter it. Protect it. Capture every second of easy, pull through every storm of hardship. And when you can, look at him, lying next to you, trusting you not to harm him. Trusting you not to go. Be someone’s someone for someone. Be that someone for him. That’s your fairy tale. This is your castle. Now move in. Build a home. Build a house. Build a safety around things you love. It’s yours if you make it so. Welcome home, sweet girl, it will be all be fine.”

“Gone are the summer days and my mind along with them. No longer will I indulge in hopes of getting you back. It is hope that makes these chains heavier and autumnal nights longer. I will merely serve as a memory to you: the lover that recited love poems. I must go now and I urge you not to look back.”

“How is it that there was never you until there was and then all was you?”

“I've written you sixty-seven love poems. Here’s another one for you. But really, for me. These poems are the candles that I light with the fire you have ignited in me. I place this candle here and another there so even if the stars have argued with the moon and are sulking away in a corner, you can still find your way to me. Sixty-eight poems now. What does the future hold for us? Joy? Disappointment? Gentle caresses? And subtle neglect? I hope the good is more than the bad. Much more. For what is the point of love if by lighting these candles our own flame loses its brightness? I know the good is more than the bad. Much more. I cannot wait to write you sixty-nine.”

“I haven’t written you a poem in years it seems. How can it be my fault when the words to describe you have not yet been created? When the alphabet lacks the very letters? How can it be my fault when your loveliness only grows by the time I reach for pen and paper? Tell me how I am at fault when I am only a beginner in poems and you are exquisite poetry? To write you in words is to put a veil upon you. Why must I write when I can kiss you instead?”

“Let us remember to always rediscover one another because we are forever changing.”

“All I need to do is place my pen against paper and your love writes for me.”

“Love, they said, burns you and builds you. But with you, there’s no ash. Just light.”

“What is this love that makes me see beauty, and makes every beautiful thing bring you back to me? What is this love that makes me declare 'I love you' even though I uttered it only a moment ago? What is this love that keeps growing even when my chest is sore and it hurts to love you any more? Tell me: How am I to find what this love is when it was the one to find you, me, this verse, and this universe?”

“Like a pair of old slippers, I feel comfort and warmth as I slip into you. No, that is too crude. Like the match to the wick, I ignite when we touch. My counterpart and life's purpose. Yes, as though I've known you my whole life. Every scar, every failure has become an affirmation of what should be: You. Yes, as though I've loved you my whole life.”

“Does God know the number of kisses before we fall in love? Yesterday, I was nobody and I believed myself important. Today, I feel my worth in you. You, with your emerald eyes and ebony hair, even your heartbeat is beautiful. You, who is my greatest joy, all other concerns vanish in your presence. You swallow time and consume space, inspiring all my passion with a single embrace. I love your existence.”

“Love, the exotic bird, came and went. Heart forgot love. Joy, the majestic willow, wept and died. Mind forgot joy. Hope, the basement lamp, fell and broke. Soul forgot hope. Self, the anxious caterpillar, took flight and dropped. Self forgot self. You, my all, became all my reasons. Reasons left. You left. I never forgot.”

“Winterland by Stewart Stafford Obelisk columns of a wintry afternoon, Bony fingers of nascent green in June, Pink snow clouds kissed by fading sun, Dark gold streets, hurry home as one. Shared body heat tenderises life so tough, Fusion shelter from gales so rough, Windows scream, a voyeur's peek inside, Lovers dismissed with wailing to chide. Darkness claims stragglers of day, Wrestles all an eye sees, stealing it away, Sleep whispers drowsy promises in our ears, We two, melding - strangers from our fears. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”

“The distance between my lips and yours cannot be deciphered from the square root of the sum of the days we have spent wondering what to do with three minutes and ten seconds. The distance between my lips and yours cannot be deduced by the difference in the circumferences of our necks or in how many minutes we can sit in the noon sun. The distance between my lips and yours can only be measured in poems. Tell me, how many are there? Were there? Will there be? (But who knows what to call a poem and what to call a conversation? And who knows whether to call at all?)”

“Knowing you, I became mindless. Having wasted previous wishes, I'm riddled with regrets Feeling you, I became hopeless. Adrift in chasms, I surrender to a caress. Loving you, I became love. My universe became love. Planets rotate on love's axes and apples fall to be near their beloveds. No longer a rationalist, I assert my existence with love. I love, therefore I exist, therefore I love.”

“Fortune Without Love (The Sonnet) Fortune without love is sheer curse, For life's true blessing is love alone. Live to love and love to live, With this as motto all good is honed. They say you can't live on love alone, And indeed it's true to its factual core. But green of dollar without green of heart, Grows on us like toxic mold. Too much of dollar can kill a person, Just like too little causes starvation. Use money like you use your car, To go places, not to live at the gas station. Put love and life above all else. You'll know what's sense, what's nonsense.”

“My Idea of Romance (Love Sonnet) My idea of romance is a bit different, it's not steamy hot sex at the back of a car, my idea of romance is to snuggle up together on the couch, with pizza and Gilmore Girls. Excitement lasts till lust is satisfied, intimacy transcends excitement in love and life. Intercourse is a small variable in the love equation, there is more to love than doing it from behind. There's a difference between being horny and being in love, when you are horny, you want release - when in love, you don't want to be released. Intimacy is a life-long journey, it doesn't end with stripping off clothes - real intimacy begins when you stand baring your soul.”

“Nazmahal, Sonnet (Palace of Grace) Love is nothing to be ashamed of, if there is no filth in your heart. If your heart is pure and chaste, you have no reason to be shy or scared. Shame and fear are mark of filth, heart without blemish is icon of honor. Basic flaws are part of everyday life, but perversion isn't a flaw, it's dishonor. I've never looked at a person with filth, unless permitted otherwise. It's consent and context that distinguish fondness from filth. Lovers ablaze are resident of Nazmahal*, perverts have no place in *palace-of-grace. Honor is in the eye of the beholder, without which all mind is disgrace.”

“The Romantic Charter by Stewart Stafford Eyes dazzled by romance's shine, Hostage suitor of Cupid and you, A willing disciple of St Valentine, With pierced heart of rosiest hue. Love is the next world's currency, All wealth we must leave behind, Call it the discarnate treasury, A repository of delicacies dined. Even if adoration sours on the lips, Or toxicity springs from intoxication, Nothing erases the first steps of bliss, Or can demolish memory's foundation. © Stewart Stafford, 2024. All rights reserved.”

“The One Who Moves Me by Stewart Stafford Her caress and laughter, Cast out the darkness, And lull the choppy waters, Her embrace, a flowering meadow. Her absence stills the earth, Cracked ice on a frozen lake, Asphyxiating silence descends, The Faustian poker of loneliness. Lexicons filled with her silences, Seismic shifts of stinging rage, She, in naked imperfection as I, Together, reuniting in shelter. © Stewart Stafford, 2023. All rights reserved.”