Voices poems from famous poets and best beautiful poems to feel good. Best voices poems ever written. Read all poems about voices.
Abortions will not let you forget.
You remember the children you got that you did not get,
The damp small pulps with a little or with no hair,
The singers and workers that never handled the air.
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One Christmas was so much like another, in those years around the sea-town corner now and out of all sound except the distant speaking of the voices I sometimes hear a moment before sleep, that I can never remember whether it snowed for six days and six nights when I was twelve or whether it snowed for twelve days and twelve nights when I was six.
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The railroad track is miles away,
And the day is loud with voices speaking,
Yet there isn't a train goes by all day
But I hear its whistle shrieking.
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He would declare and could himself believe
That the birds there in all the garden round
From having heard the daylong voice of Eve
Had added to their own an oversound,
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Music, when soft voices die,
Vibrates in the memory;
Odours, when sweet violets sicken,
Live within the sense they quicken.
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FLOWER god, god of the spring, beautiful, bountiful,
Cold-dyed shield in the sky, lover of versicles,
Here I wander in April
Cold, grey-headed; and still to my
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Rise, brothers, rise; the wakening skies pray to the morning light,
The wind lies asleep in the arms of the dawn like a child that has cried all night.
Come, let us gather our nets from the shore and set our catamarans free,
To capture the leaping wealth of the tide, for we are the kings of the sea!
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Leafy-with-love banks and the green waters of the canal
Pouring redemption for me, that I do
The will of God, wallow in the habitual, the banal,
Grow with nature again as before I grew.
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Waking in the night;
the lamp is low,
the oil freezing.
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When voices of children are heard on the green
And laughing is heard on the hill,
My heart is at rest within my breast
And everything else is still
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When I bring to you colored toys, my child,
I understand why there is such a play of colors on clouds, on water,
and why flowers are painted in tints
- -when I give colored toys to you, my child.
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It was hot, so hot, before the eunuchs came
To dance, wide skirts going round and round, cymbals
Richly clashing, and anklets jingling, jingling
Jingling... Beneath the fiery gulmohur, with
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I have eyes that I can see
The work that can be done by me.
I have ears that enable me to hear
The voices of those who live in fear.
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I am standing upon the seashore.
A ship at my side spreads her white sails to the morning breeze
and starts for the blue ocean.
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HONEY, child, honey, child, whither are you going?
Would you cast your jewels all to the breezes blowing?
Would you leave the mother who on golden grain has fed you?
Would you grieve the lover who is riding forth to wed you?
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An Arab shepherd is searching for his goat on Mount Zion
And on the opposite hill I am searching for my little boy.
An Arab shepherd and a Jewish father
Both in their temporary failure.
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An odor has remained among the sugarcane:
a mixture of blood and body, a penetrating
petal that brings nausea.
Between the coconut palms the graves are full
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Long long I lay in the sands
Sounds of trains in the surf
in subways of the sea
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I have a rendezvous with Life,
In days I hope will come,
Ere youth has sped, and strength of mind,
Ere voices sweet grow dumb.
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Come back to me, little dancing feet that roam the wide world o'er,
I long for the lilt of your flying steps in my silent rooms once more;
Come back to me, little voices gay with laughter and with song,
Come back, little hearts beating high with hopes, I have missed and mourned you long.
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You say I'm strong.Here's a piece of my life's timeline, Only because you'll never see When I fall apart.This heart may be shattered but it was together. Soft edges hardened In such a short time! You call that strength? You don't see me cry at words you say.Not knowing what they mean.You call this strength - I don't rely on words from others.To keep me safe.Words don't mean anything.I have a backbone.I wipe the fog from the mirror, As steam covers my face Leaving me speechless knowing my mistakes, Breaking down as the doors locked music loud to drown the voices in my head, Nobody has to see.Driving myself crazier than words can speak. My shadows, I keep hidden from the light.These walls of steel and concrete Make me incomplete many miles on sore feet. A barrier it takes time to break.Life storyline will always chase me.I don't fear the dark it's what's in.Do you have strength to match me, No one has hpatience for me. Not to worried about the voices in my head my personality depends on what you do not what you think.Here I set in my on saluted so I might not hurt someone. Battles so loud uncontrollable swarming in my head, one says hide yourself the other won't place nice with others, Oh no Stella don't start shining right now. Theres enough crazy happening, I replied darn it voices you know what button's to push.Now go on hide somewhere be very quiet. Hell is coming and I am to
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Fantastic voyage. Fantastic voyage. Mirable visions, pretty voices. Keeping the void inside. No word, no cry. Crowded roads, it is the sky, it is the sky, it is the Universe, all above and around. Pretty voices, pretty voices, fantastic voyage, all in a time of a glimpse of light.
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Voices whispering to know not where
Voices whispering know that they're there
Voices in the still of the night
Voices when the room is still bright
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A voice at the sun, two voices at the sun, three voices at the sun. Innumerable voices in choir at the sun. Heilà heilà heilà heilà. Beauty, a cluster of hands, din don. Anger, fly away. Anger, go away. Be a point of nothing away. Echo of the clearness, echo of help wins for multiple voices. Stay near the light of regrets. Heilà, heilà, heilà, heilà.
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I wish the voices were different
The good from the bad
I wish they were separated
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There are many voices
Not all good
Voices of evil
Voices misunderstood
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I was once taught it was crazy (at least that's what my Psychology professor said) for a person…any person…to hear voices in their head.
I understand the lesson my psychology professor was conveying…but I also know it all depends on what those voices might be saying.
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There are sounds of sonorous voices
Like that of the cascading, Mosi Oa Tunya waters
Voices of the young; even of the yet born
Voices of the aged
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Once a day I like to walk in silence…not only to concentrate on what I see…but to listen in to what the voices of the Earth are trying to say to me.
There are voices in the trees, in the clouds, in the mountains and the creeks…and if I listen closely in the silence…I can hear those voices speak.
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There are many reasons I love my morning walks…many ways I find to be enthralled
but sometimes the best moments…are when I do not walk at all.
Today as I began my walk…in the street I quietly stood
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