I like "poema numero 20" its by Pablo Neruda and its about love. Its in spanish, though you can find it in english... like so.
I can write the saddest lines tonight.
Write for example: ‘The night is fractured and they shiver, blue, those stars, in the distance’
The night wind turns in the sky and sings. I can write the saddest lines tonight. I loved her, sometimes she loved me too.
On nights like these I held her in my arms. I kissed her greatly under the infinite sky.
She loved me, sometimes I loved her too. How could I not have loved her huge, still eyes.
I can write the saddest lines tonight. To think I don’t have her, to feel I have lost her.
Hear the vast night, vaster without her. Lines fall on the soul like dew on the grass.
What does it matter that I couldn’t keep her. The night is fractured and she is not with me.
That is all. Someone sings far off. Far off, my soul is not content to have lost her.
As though to reach her, my sight looks for her. My heart looks for her: she is not with me
The same night whitens, in the same branches. We, from that time, we are not the same.
I don’t love her, that’s certain, but how I loved her. My voice tried to find the breeze to reach her.
Another’s kisses on her, like my kisses. Her voice, her bright body, infinite eyes.
I don’t love her, that’s certain, but perhaps I love her. Love is brief: forgetting lasts so long.
Since, on these nights, I held her in my arms, my soul is not content to have lost her.
Though this is the last pain she will make me suffer, and these are the last lines I will write for her.
The girl I love has gone away, on my knees I begged her to stay. She was my love,the only one that was true, without her I am lost and don't know what to do. Too many tears and times I have cried, the day she left a big part of me died. She was perfection,gorgeous, pure as gold, her love felt so warm but now without I feel so cold. The saying says there's plenty of fish in the sea, I do know this ,but there is only one fish for me. Every day I hope she will come back, maybe there is something she forgot to pack. My hopes and dreams are thought in vain, because deep down ,i know i will never see my true love again.
I only know my own poems,and this be my fav.
Thank you - by "India Earth Child" Thank you's such a little word, Often thought, seldom heard. It doesn't take to long to say, On our lips it fades away. A simple thought, a caring hand, A gental thought to understand. A droplet in this cold worlds pond, That sends it's ripples far beond, For those who know the joy it brings, It's comfort soft as angel wings (Until we learn to take & give, & appreciate the people who we're with, until the words that lie so small, become the greatest of them all) It doesn't take to long to say, But thank you goes, A long long way.
Thank you for thanking me. Thank everyone for thanking every body
Just as the huntsman yearns for the morn, the haunted and hunted wait for the dawn. As the harbinger rises, the heat is held out- for the prophecys pounding on letting him out. We're asleep in our lives, looking once, never twice. Still living a dream yet to satisfy us. Never look to the future, but strangely, it seems.. Never caught in a moment, all alone, not a team. But again it may seem, that a dream is obscene. Life is unclear, to a girl of fifteen. - I wrote that when I was 15 lol.
I Loved You by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
I loved you; and perhaps I love you still, The flame, perhaps, is not extinguished; yet It burns so quietly within my soul, No longer should you feel distressed by it.
Silently and hopelessly I loved you, At times too jealous and at times too shy. God grant you find another who will love you As tenderly and truthfully as I.
On an entirely different note, I also love Edward Lear's Self Portrait of the Laureate of Nonsense
She dwelt among the untrodden ways, beside the springs of dove. A maid whom there were none to praise and very few to love. A violet by a mossy stone, half hidden from the eye. Fair as a star when only one is shining in the sky. She lived alone and few could know when Lucy ceased to be. But now she's in her grave and oh! the difference to me. -William Wordsworth.
I loved that poem when I studied it in school and have never forgotten it.