In her little red book, secrets lie,
Thoughts and dreams beneath the sky.
Pages hold whispers, laughter and tears,
A keeper of moments, through days and years.
Her heart in the words, simple and true,
A treasure of stories, just for her view.
In that little red book, the world feels right,
A canvas of memories, day and night.
Each man a phone number, just In waiting
Who will be the next recall sat just waiting
About the Creator
George’s Girl 2026
I've been writing poetry since the age of 10. With pen in hand, I wander the realms unseen. The pen holds power; ink reveals thoughts. A poet may speak truth or weave a tale. You decide. Let pen and ink capture you ❤️#Marie381UkWrites
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A Prayer
As we brace for change, let’s all bow our heads to his amazing Grace. In Yeshua’s name. May we pray. Dear Heavenly Father, I know you can see, the weight of the world has been heavy indeed, we need your decrees, your wisdom, your light, to shine abundantly in this horrible fight. We march, we scream all for our needs, we speak from our knees as we plant more seeds. More seeds of hope that one day, peace becomes the resting platform of the chosen. We search for essence, just to match our potential, been in situations that blocks our intentions, manifested in wholeness, tried to call on a breakthrough from practical emotions, yet still we feel defeated. Fighting in our Egypt, the wilderness is cold, you always see it, you gave us mama and a new fight for hope. We search for our leader to call upon our needs, not patronizing the fact that the pews need to have seats. Your alter was built on the back of your strength, your word, the creation that empowers this nation. I say father God, I draw near to you in these times with a heavy heart. Modesty and humility leaning on your conviction, the predictions, but everyone refuse to accept the premonition. The gifted left in a field wandering, knowing that the land is milk and honey, but hungry still. In the stillness of this peace, you’ve centered me to see that the cornerstone of rock bottom has been the alter to my callings, yet some refuse to retreat. Not fighting a battle that’s yours in deed, in my God like energy you bestowed upon me. You poured into the cup, it overflows from your love, your mercies multiplied through the mirror of your son. The sacrifice of consciousness, how do we imply wisdom, learn from the last mistakes it’s called repentance. I stand in intersession, not in the intersections, can’t rush through traffic you’re the only direction. The pressing, the oil, the refined testimony that’s already won again. We come to ask for forgiveness from what we did to your son, we come to shower the joys of love that’s given to us, grace and hope, happiness to be woke, desired to be love. We thank you for choosing us and we already know there’s no one else above. As long as there is the word there is law. And as long as there is law there is man, thank you Heavenly Father, once again.
By Charelle Landers3 days ago in Poets
The First Rainbow Baby
Pitter-patter, pitter-patter. The rain fell in rhythmic splatters, slowly slowing, but still constant. Mira rolled onto her side pulling the blanket tight against her ears, but still she could hear chitter-chatter and scurrying feet of the creatures that refused to sleep in the lower decks.
By A. J. Schoenfeld2 days ago in Fiction
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