Example of Poems With Hyperbole

Hyperbole is a figure of speech that is based on exaggeration; It consists of expressing a reality in a gigantic, unrealistic way, in order to highlight some quality, situation or characteristic; in this way it is possible to emphasize an idea and generate greater expressiveness.

Like any rhetorical figure, hyperbole is based on a figurative use of language; that is to say, what it expresses should not be taken in a literal sense; For example, let's analyze a couple of hyperbole:

For example:

• "You are so Beautiful that you stop time with your walk”: This hyperbole cannot be understood literally (a person is not able to stop the passage of time); exaggeration works to bring out your beauty and eye-catching ability.
• "That pain they were like a thousand needles stuck in the chest”: This hyperbole cannot be understood literally; the number of needles and the comparison are exaggerated to imply the magnitude of pain felt.

Hyperbole is a figure of thought, which means that to express its meaning is based on the meaning of the phrases; in this case, in expressing an excessive or exalted sense.

10 Examples of poems with hyperbole:

In each of the following examples of poems, hyperbole will be highlighted in bold:

1. To a love ...

Would expire the biggest battles
for being able to be one more day by your side,
for lengthening the moments in endless floods,
dew drops that grow like branches,
creating an unshakable fortress
the size of a thousand universes.

Would pass more than one life contemplating your beauty,
overwhelmed by the days that caress your face,
blinded by the brightness of the streetlights
that always predict my arrival in serene lands.

I would sleep an eternity to dream of the shape
in which your hair sways in a walk of reddish sunsets,
with our feet mixing the sand,
the life that emerges from the roots, from the water
restless and the crystalline mirrors of the waves on our breasts,
an instant captured.

You are the most beautiful thing that the universe has created,
life gave me these eyes to contemplate the unimaginable,
and I am the only one capable of glimpsing the beauty
that you keep on your shoulders,
the wings that conquer a thousand countries and a thousand seas,
And here I am, frail and innocent,
contemplating the most beautiful being in the universe.

1. "Hyperbole at the feet of his lady”By Lope de Vega

Juanilla, by your feet they are lost
more poets than banks, although there are so many,
that your cloths washing between some edges
it darkened its snow to those lying.
Virgilio does not have them so measured,
the muses make dreadful things out of envy;
what no thread spikes in Todos Sa [n] tos
like your burnished white fingers.

Walking in points you never fear it,
that your beautiful feet do not reach four,
Not even for wearing punished do you stay awake.
That there is so much beauty in them,
what your slippers can be earrings
With glass figs pe [n] dellos teeth.

1. This pain…

This pain like fire that consumes all the water of the seas,
that is born in the chest and spreads through the veins to my thought,
and I prostrate myself on the ground, dragging any dream,
the illusion of new days has escaped through the cracks,
and I was left without a name, without shelter, without shelter.

This pain is the echo of the depths of the ocean,
feeds on ruthless creatures that seek any moment to
bite-jaw, to absorb fear and drink
of the fragility of a shattered soul.

This pain it hurts more than the pain itself,
thousands of rays hurt beating the same heart,
and I take refuge in a past that will never be present again,
I take refuge in the thought of your name in my sleepless nights,
and I pronounce everything that we told each other in secret,
and dreams ache in every pore of my body.

1. "It's true" by Federico García Lorca

Oh what work it costs me
love you like I love you!

For your love the air hurts me
the heart
and the hat.

Who would buy me
this headband that I have
and this sadness of thread
white, to make handkerchiefs?

Oh what work it costs me
love you like I love you!

1. Poem to her beauty

Her beauty dazzle the gardens,
the sun becomes dull in his presence,
and there is no way that any creature can be compared,
when he blinks and those enigmatic blue eyes peek out.

There is no way to overshadow its beauty
if it is more beautiful than beauty itself,
and exotic flowers grow on his chest
from which the first goddesses were born,
its beauty is the cradle of the stars,
the glow of fireflies on a quiet night.

It's her beauty the most powerful spell,
an ancient refuge for the most destitute,
because just by looking at it the soul heals
of wounds that he believed did not exist, and the pieces
of the universe begin to fit one by one.

1. "First dream" (fragment) by Sor Juana Inés de la Cruz

The calm wind, the sleeping dog,
this one lies, that one stayed
the atoms do not move,
with the whisper make fearing slight,
although little, sacrilegious ruïdo,
violator of calm silence.

The sea, no longer altered,
not even the unstable rocked
cerulean cradle where the Sun slept;
and the sleeping, always mute, fish,
in the slimy beds
of her dark cavernous sinuses,
dumb they were twice;
and among them, the deceptive enchantress
Alcione, to those who before
into fish she transformed, simple lovers,
transformed too, she avenged now.

Hidden breasts in the mountains,
concaves of malformed boulders
--of its roughness less defended
that of its darkness insured--,
whose gloomy mansion
be may night in the middle of the day,
unknown even to the certain
Mountainous foot of the skilled hunter,
- fierceness deposed
of some, and of others fear deposed--
the gross vulgar lay,
to the nature
that of his power paying tax,
universal tribute;
and the King, what vigilance affected,
even with open eyes she did not watch.

1. "Fleeting perfection" by Elías Nandino

I painted the stem,
then the chalice,
then the corolla
petal by petal,
Y,
when I finish my rose,
I induced her
to dream the scent of it.

I made the perfect rose!

So perfect,
that the next day
when I went to look at her,
she was already dead.

1. "To Emma" by Alfonsina Storni

Do not feel that you are missing
the gift of speaking that heaven snatches from you,
does not need your beauty enamel
nor your pure soul more extensive flight

Don't look, my girl,
in your silence source of pain,
do not cry the words that they tell you
nor the words that you lack cry.

If such sweet eyes shine on your face
that the soul in love leaves in them,
never cloud them sad anger,
that all the women of my lips,
they are not a look from your eyes ...

1. "The imperial of Otto" (fragment) by Lope de Vega

The darkest night ever seen
It owes much to you the fear that the soul feels;
but what miracle, if my sun is absent
did he cross over from Calixto's pole?

If the eternal with tears I conquer,
heal you heavenly alive and present;
but nature does not consent
the just death that love resists.

From shadow to shadow I go, from sorrow to sorrow,
from one step to another until the last step,
carrying the chain over the shoulder;

But how do I defend myself, is it true?
that the end has to end with someone else's hand
the sad life and the pain that happened.

1. "Elegy" by Miguel Hernández

(In Orihuela, his town and mine,
Ramón has died like lightning
Sijé with whom I loved so much).

I want to be the gardener crying
of the land you occupy and manure,
soul mate, so early.

Feeding rains, shells
and organs my pain without an instrument.
to the discouraged poppies
I will give your heart for food.
So much pain gathers in my side
that because of pain it hurts even my breath

A hard slap, an icy blow,
an invisible and murderous ax,
a brutal shove has brought you down.

There is no extension greater than my wound,
I cry my misfortune and its ensembles
and I feel your death more than my life.

I walk on the stubble of the dead,
and without heat from anyone and without consolation
I go from my heart to my affairs.

Death took flight early,
early the morning got up early,
early you're rolling on the floor

I do not forgive death in love,
I do not forgive inattentive life,
I do not forgive the earth or nothing.

In my hands I raise a storm
of stones, thunderbolts and strident axes
thirsty for catastrophes and hungry.

I want to dig the earth with my teeth,
I want to separate the earth part by part
to hot, dry bites.

 I want to mine the earth until I find you
and kiss the noble skull
and unblock you and return you.

You will return to my garden and to my fig tree:
by the high scaffolding of the flowers
birding your beehive soul