Best Inspirational Poems About Life for Everyone

   Tell me, what else should I have done?

Doesn’t everything die at last, and too soon?

Tell me, what is it you plan to do

with your one wild and precious life?    

   Yet in these thoughts myself almost despising,

Haply I think on thee, and then my state,

Like to the lark at break of day arising

From sullen earth sings hymns at heaven’s gate;

For thy sweet love remembered such wealth brings

That then I scorn to change my state with kings    

   Shadows on the wall

Noises down the hall

Life doesn’t frighten me at all

Bad dogs barking loud

Big ghosts in a cloud

Life doesn’t frighten me at all  

   Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,

Is our destined end or way;

But to act, that each to-morrow

Find us farther than to-day.    

   And you, my father, there on the sad height,

Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray.

Do not go gentle into that good night.

Rage, rage against the dying of the light.    

     All are architects of Fate,

Working in these walls of Time;

Some with massive deeds and great,

Some with ornaments of rhyme.  

   What is our life? The play of passion

Our mirth? The music of division:

Our mothers’ wombs the tiring-houses be,

Where we are dressed for life’s short comedy.    

  For if life is a tall tender tree,
For then, life is joy, life is free.
The tree is dancing in the air, sunny or showers,
With his joy, with his love, with his flowers.

For if life is a tall tender tree,
There is no pain or gain, she or he.
No complaining, only serving and caring.
Creating life for joy of sharing.

For if life is a tall tender tree,
For then, there are no you and me.
We are nature; we are love; we are beauty.
Giving and loving is our eternal duty.     

    When she says ‘’ I want to die ‘’
in this world this isa great lie

in heart every one likes to live
no matter in what conditions,
this is the quirkycharm oflife
none can deny

suicide is not normal
it is abnormal mental condition
it is forced upon
and exceptional one   

  There is nothing quite like life
In cheerful time it is life
In sorrowful time it is life
When the weather’s bright it is life
When the weather’s gloomy it is life
Life hasn’t any given time
This life is not forever
Live it well it’s precious

There is nothing quite like life
Everyone should live it right
No one should consider it light
No one should live it slight
It travels fast day and night
Life hasn’t any given time
This life is not forever
Live it well it’s preciou     

  life is life, however it would go
love is love, no matter what would occur
love is growing more with every hearts beat
feelings of my heart could never change
love is life, life is love
you can enjoy them as much as you want….      

    Life’s a gift for you to send
Life’s a gift for god to end
Life’s a gift now you’re with me
Life’s a gift for all to see
Life’s a gift when love is true
Life’s a gift when times look blue
Life’s a gift with the one you trust
Life’s a gift even if UN just
Life’s a gift a ray of sun
Life’s a gift though your heads held to a gun
Life’s a gift when its handed on a tray
Life’s a gift even though it’s always on display
Life’s a gift it’s hard to understand how
Life’s a gift so take advantage of it now   

   Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;

Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same  

   And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.

I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.  

   Hold fast to dreams
For if dreams die
Life is a broken-winged bird
That cannot fly.

Hold fast to dreams
For when dreams go
Life is a barren field
Frozen with snow.    

   Tell me not, in mournful numbers,
Life is but an empty dream!
For the soul is dead that slumbers,
And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!
And the grave is not its goal;
Dust thou art, to dust returnest,
Was not spoken of the soul.

Not enjoyment, and not sorrow,
Is our destined end or way;
But to act, that each to-morrow
Find us farther than to-day.  

 Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,

And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.

I’ve heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
It asked a crumb of me.    

    When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.    

   Children, ye have not lived, to you it seems
Life is a lovely stalactite of dreams,
Or carnival of careless joys that leap
About your hearts like billows on the deep
In flames of amber and of amethyst.

Children, ye have not lived, ye but exist
Till some resistless hour shall rise and move
Your hearts to wake and hunger after love,
And thirst with passionate longing for the things
That burn your brows with blood-red sufferings.

Till ye have battled with great grief and fears,
And borne the conflict of dream-shattering years,
Wounded with fierce desire and worn with strife,
Children, ye have not lived: for this is life.    

   Something this foggy day, a something which
Is neither of this fog nor of today,
Has set me dreaming of the winds that play
Past certain cliffs, along one certain beach,
And turn the topmost edge of waves to spray:

Ah pleasant pebbly strand so far away,
So out of reach while quite within my reach,
As out of reach as India or Cathay!
I am sick of where I am and where I am not,
I am sick of foresight and of memory,
I am sick of all I have and all I see,
I am sick of self, and there is nothing new    

  What is our life? A play of passion,
Our mirth the music of division,
Our mother’s wombs the tiring-houses be,
Where we are dressed for this short comedy.
Heaven the judicious sharp spectator is,
That sits and marks still who doth act amiss.
Our graves that hide us from the setting sun
Are like drawn curtains when the play is done.
Thus march we, playing, to our latest rest,
Only we die in earnest, that’s no jest.     

    ‟Hope” is the thing with feathers –
That perches in the soul –
And sings the tune without the words –
And never stops – at all –
And sweetest – in the Gale – is heard –
And sore must be the storm –
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm –
I’ve heard it in the chillest land –
And on the strangest Sea –
Yet – never – in Extremity,
It asked a crumb – of me.    

    When I compare
What I have lost with what I have gained,
What I have missed with what attained,
Little room do I find for pride.

I am aware
How many days have been idly spent;
How like an arrow the good intent
Has fallen short or been turned aside.

But who shall dare
To measure loss and gain in this wise?
Defeat may be victory in disguise;
The lowest ebb is the turn of the tide. 

    It ain’t the trees that block the trail,
It ain’t the ash or pine;
For, if you fall or if you fail,
It was some pesky vine
That tripped you up, that threw you down,
That caught you unawares:
The big things you can walk aroun’—
But watch the way for snares.

In life it ain’t the biggest things
That make the hardest load;
It ain’t the burden big that brings
Defeat upon the road.   

    I been scarred and battered.
My hopes the wind done scattered.
Snow has friz me,
Sun has baked me,

Looks like between ’em they done
Tried to make me

Stop laughin’, stop lovin’, stop livin’–
But I don’t care!
I’m still here!     

    Sometimes I can’t find the words
That fill my messy head.
Can’t find the effort to smile
Or get out of my silly old bed.

The world just sometimes feels like
I don’t fit and don’t belong,
And even when I make the effort,
A smile just doesn’t last long.

I could pretend with all my might
That I am the happiest I can be.
Surrounded by the world, it seems
Lonelier I couldn’t be.     

  Your life is your life
Don’t let it be clubbed into dank submission.
Be on the watch.
There are ways out.
There is a light somewhere.
It may not be much light but
It beats the darkness.
Be on the watch.
The gods will offer you chances.
Know them.
Take them.
You can’t beat death but
You can beat death in life, sometimes.
And the more often you learn to do it,
The more light there will be.
Your life is your life.
Know it while you have it.
You are marvelous
The gods wait to delight
In you.     

    To learn while still a child
What this life is meant to be.
To know it goes beyond myself,
It’s so much more than me.
To overcome the tragedies,
To survive the hardest times.
To face those moments filled with pain,
And still, manage to be kind.
To fight for those who can’t themselves,
To always share my light.
With those who wander in the dark,
To love with all my might.
To still stand up with courage,
Though standing on my own.     

     Act! Take Action! Be Active!

Tell me not, in mournful numbers,

Life is but an empty dream!

For the soul is dead that slumbers,

And things are not what they seem.

Life is real! Life is earnest!

And the grave is not its goal;

Dust thou art, to dust returnest,

Was not spoken of the soul.  

   You may write me down in history

With your bitter, twisted lies,

You may trod me in the very dirt

But still, like dust, I’ll rise.

Does my sassiness upset you?

Why are you beset with gloom?

’Cause I walk like I’ve got oil wells

Pumping in my living room.

Just like moons and like suns,

With the certainty of tides,

Just like hopes springing high,

Still, I’ll rise.    

  This being human is a guest house.
Every morning a new arrival.
A joy, a depression, a meanness,
some momentary awareness comes
as an unexpected visitor.
Welcome and entertain them all!
Even if they’re a crowd of sorrows,
who violently sweep your house
empty of its furniture,
still, treat each guest honorably.
He may be clearing you out
for some new delight.     

   The buzz-saw snarled and rattled in the yard

And made dust and dropped stove-length sticks of wood,

Sweet-scented stuff when the breeze drew across it.

And from there those that lifted eyes could count

Five mountain ranges one behind the other

Under the sunset far into Vermont.

And the saw snarled and rattled, snarled and rattled,

As it ran light or had to bear a load.

And nothing happened: the day was all but done.  

    A thing of beauty is a joy for ever:
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.    

    How wonderful is Death,
Death, and his brother Sleep!
One, pale as yonder waning moon
With lips of lurid blue;
The other, rosy as the morn
When throned on ocean’s wave
It blushes o’er the world;
Yet both so passing wonderful!    

    Although Death walks beside us on Life’s road,
A dim bystander at the body’s start
And a last judgment on man’s futile works,
Other is the riddle of its ambiguous face:
Death is a stair, a door, a stumbling stride
The soul must take to cross from birth to birth,
A grey defeat pregnant with victory,   

  At last she spoke; her voice was heard by Night:
“I bow not to thee, O huge mask of death,
Black lie of night to the cowed soul of man,
Unreal, inescapable end of things,
Thou grim jest played with the immortal spirit.
Conscious of immortality I walk.     

    Before us great Death stands
Our fate held close within his quiet hands.
When with proud joy we lift Life’s red wine
To drink deep of the mystic shining cup
And ecstasy through all our being leaps—
Death bows his head and weeps.   

  What is our life? A play of passion;
Our mirth the music of division;
Our mothers’ wombs the tiring-houses be,
Where we are dressed for this short comedy.
Heaven the judicious sharp spectator is,
That sits and marks still who doth act amiss;
Our graves that hide us from the searching sun
Are like drawn curtains when the play is done.
Thus march we, playing, to our latest rest,
Only we die in earnest – that’s no jest.     

    Here,
in the room of my Life
the objects keep changing.
Ashtrays to cry into,
the suffering brother of the wood walls,
the forty-eight keys of the typewriter
each an eyeball that is never shut,   

    Shadows on the wall
Noises down the hall
Life doesn’t frighten me at all
Bad dogs barking loud
Big ghosts in a cloud
Life doesn’t frighten me at all   

    Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth   

    If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,    

    I’m busy;
but not in the way
most people accept.
I’m busy calming my fear
and finding my courage.
I’m busy listening to my kids.
I’m busy getting in touch
with what is real.
I’m busy growing things and
connecting with the natural world.
I’m busy questioning my answers.
I’m busy being present in my life.   

  Mr Barker chose to teach, it didn’t choose him,
it laughed at him, pushed past him.
He trembled and couldn’t control the class or his body,
holding chalk was a chore. I gave my advice for free,
keep away you tosser, before you infect me.

I was outside college hugging coffee cups for warmth
as the elephant shuffled onto the ice.
It rattled like a witch doctor’s bone bag
its legs shook with each mouse size step.
Shoulders heavy under the weight
of knowing it would only get worse.
I fell, offering an apologetic hand,
taking an arm as strong as a spasm.      

    Mother Sun
hear my call,
I ask of you gold
to bring me into being,
the brightest balm
of a filtered canopy
open and guide me to clarity.
Let me be your child
to carry your gifts
where once was only
darkness.

Let me sip the scent
of your warming light
that carries the seed-heads of belief,
elevated bright to dance across
the silver threads of your new day,
to feel the tree tops sway
and join the single voice
of all creatures.   

    I see myself opening the door
but I know I’m still sat on the bed,
I listen to the sounds that silence makes
where thoughts cant travel in a vacuum.

I instruct motor function like a school teacher
but the class ignores me, the bell never rings,
just muffled sounds, watching water drown
trapped under a blanket I keep pushing off
from this seabed, never surfacing.

I slip the colour from dawns pale wake
and bite its gold to prove it fake,
clutching tight a shallow breath
a deep sea diver with leaded steps.   

  To live content with small means;
to seek elegance rather than luxury,
and refinement rather than fashion,
to be worthy, not respectable,
and wealthy, not rich;
to study hard, think quietly,
talk gently, act frankly,
to listen to stars and birds,
to babes and sages,
with open heart,
to bear all cheerfully,
to all bravely await occasions,
hurry never.
In a word, to let the spiritual unbidden
and unconscious grow up through the common.
This is to be my symphony.     

    Day, you have bruised and beaten me,
As rain beats down the bright, proud sea,
Beaten my body, bruised my soul,
Left me nothing lovely or whole—
Yet I have wrested a gift from you,
Day that dies in dusky blue:

For suddenly over the factories
I saw a moon in the cloudy seas—
A wisp of beauty all alone
In a world as hard and gray as stone—
Oh who could be bitter and want to die
When a maiden moon wakes up in the sky?   

    Some say the world will end in fire,
Some say in ice.
From what I’ve tasted of desire
I hold with those who favor fire.
But if it had to perish twice,
I think I know enough of hate
To say that for destruction ice
Is also great
And would suffice.   

    Hurt and pain.
There’s much to gain.
Peace and love.
It’s all the same.
Confusion and doubt.
We’re not without.
We weep, we cry.
We plead, we try.
We laugh, we smile.
Only to be hurt
By one last trial.
Life is a lesson,
So learn it well.
Maybe one day
You can tell its tale.   

  She smiles, I cry.
She is outgoing, I am shy.
She loves, I am alone.
She is amazing, I am unknown.
She is beautiful, I am a mess.
She is happy, I am depressed.
My mask is perfect:
She hides me.     

      How could I be so lost
In a place I know so well?
How could I be so broken
In a family so together?
How could I be so lonely
Surrounded by so many?
How could I be so unhappy
Surrounded by so much beauty?
How could I be me
When even I remain a mystery?   

    Two or three times in my life I discovered love.
Each time it seemed to solve everything.
Each time it solved a great many things
but not everything.
Yet left me as grateful as if it had indeed, and
thoroughly, solved everything.    

   God, rest in my heart
and fortify me,
take away my hunger for answers,
let the hours play upon my body

like the hands of my beloved.
Let the cathead appear again —
the smallest of your mysteries,
some wild cousin of my own blood probably —
some cousin of my own wild blood probably,
in the black dinner-bowl of the pond.    

   Death waits for me, I know it, around
one corner or another.
This doesn’t amuse me.
Neither does it frighten me.

After the rain, I went back into the field of sunflowers.
It was cool, and I was anything but drowsy.
I walked slowly, and listened

to the crazy roots, in the drenched earth, laughing and growing.    

   Something came up
out of the dark.
It wasn’t anything I had ever seen before.
It wasn’t an animal
or a flower,
unless it was both.

Something came up out of the water,
a head the size of a cat
but muddy and without ears.
I don’t know what God is.
I don’t know what death is.

But I believe they have between them
some fervent and necessary arrangement.  

   Later I was in a field full of sunflowers.
I was feeling the head of midsummer.
I was thinking of the sweet, electric
drowse of creation,

when it began to break.

In the west, clouds gathered.
Thunderheads.
In an hour the sky was filled with them.

In an hour the sky was filled
with the sweetness of rain and the blast of lightning.
Followed by the deep bells of thunder.  

     Tears, idle tears, I know not what they mean,

Tears from the depth of some divine despair

Rise in the heart, and gather to the eyes,

In looking on the happy autumn-fields   

   By yon still river, where the wave

Is winding slow at evening’s close,

The beech, upon a nameless grave,

Its sadly-moving shadow throws.  

     Laugh, and the world laughs with you;

Weep, and you weep alone;

For the sad old earth must borrow its mirth,

But has trouble enough of its own.  

   It may be misery not to sing at all,

And to go silent through the brimming day;

It may be misery never to be loved,

But deeper griefs than these beset the way.  

 Be not sad because all men

Prefer a lying clamour before you:

Sweetheart, be at peace again — –

Can they dishonour you?    

    In the morning’s tender glow,
A journey begins with a single toe.
Paths unknown, yet hope in sight,
Life’s journey starts, in the soft dawn’s light.    

    Streams of dreams, rivers of doubt,
Life’s journey weaves in and out.
With each twist, a new tale told,
In life’s rich tapestry, bold and old.    

  At life’s crossroads, under the sun’s gaze,
Choices abound in the maze.
Each path a story, a new song,
In this journey, where we belong.     

    In the dance of shadows and light,
Life’s journey battles the night.
In every shadow, in every sigh,
Lies the beauty of a starlit sky.    

    Whispers of the wind, tales untold,
Life’s journey, fearless and bold.
In every breeze, a hidden tale,
A journey of wonder, without fail.   

  I do not love you except because I love you;
I go from loving to not loving you,
From waiting to not waiting for you
My heart moves from cold to fire.

I love you only because it’s you the one I love;
I hate you deeply, and hating you
Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you
Is that I do not see you but love you blindly.     

  If thou must love me, let it be for nought
Except for love’s sake only. Do not say
I love her for her smile … her look … her way
Of speaking gently, … for a trick of thought
That falls in well with mine, and certes brought
A sense of pleasant ease on such a day’—
For these things in themselves, Beloved, may
Be changed, or change for thee,—and love, so wrought,
May be unwrought so. Neither love me for
Thine own dear pity’s wiping my cheeks dry,—
A creature might forget to weep, who bore
Thy comfort long, and lose thy love thereby!
But love me for love’s sake, that evermore
Thou may’st love on, through love’s eternity.     

  Love can’t be described.
It has no shape, it has no form.
Love is not an object.
Love does not conform.

Love enters our lives
The moment we are born.
From the cradle to the grave,
Love’s in everyone.

Love burns like a candle
That sometimes flickers but never dies.
Love may be invisible,
Although it’s right before your eyes,

Love can leave you empty,
Love can make you whole.
Love can make or break you,
Love is in your soul.     

    I think of you in the morning
before the sun rises,
when in the still of the darkness
my heart feels your presence.
Your love, your tenderness,
your slow rhythmic breathing as you sleep,
and I am at peace.

I think of you when the first rays of sunlight
spill like a waterfall between the blinds
and settle in my eyes.
I reach my hand, my foot, any body part will do,
to touch you and breathe you in.
It feeds my heart, my soul, my spirit,
and I am at peace.     

    In your arms,
I’m in my safe haven.
With you holding me tight,
I have no other craving.

All I need
is that one look
that says you’re always there,
just like in a fairy tale book.

Your eyes talk to me
as the world stands still.
My once empty heart
now with love does fill.

Your eyes tell me
that you’ll love me every day.
No matter what may come,
you’ll be there to stay.