Silence is virtue, but not always, if the right to speak was taken away, the world would be an awfully quiet place. Initiate the hate; the world seems to love it more than anything else, fueling its dark fire.
By Karina Thyraabout a year ago in Poets
She is keeping everything inside, Instead of her letting it all out. Like she has to keep silent, Even when she wants to say it out loud,
By Lou_Einaleabout a year ago in Poets
Slowly hook the microphone back on the stand, eons of quiet In a brief moment with head bowed Looking neither left nor right
By Natalie Wilkinsonabout a year ago in Poets
Senses, now four, becomes heightened and acute Inquisitive little fingers speak where sound forgot to breathe Lovingly, she forms her words in silent motions with her hands
By Antoni De'Leonabout a year ago in Poets
Along the path where no one goes, Where dust and wind forever blows, A little bloom, so bright, so fair, Sprouted gently, unaware.
By zizooabout a year ago in Poets
Sounds of 3am Ideas that go dim Love that’s been dead Eagles when they’ve bled No desire to be fed Crickets stretch their legs
By Natasha Collazoabout a year ago in Poets
An Acroustic poem on SILENCE. S- Softly, the still night wanders across the Earth I-In the shadows of doubt, where dreams lie in wait
By Ejiga Faithabout a year ago in Poets
See through the mist the romantic silhouettes of dwellings Indistinct, becoming irradiated into golden blueness by Light lifting itself from its dark bed, yawning,
By Rachel Deemingabout a year ago in Poets
She speaks with the flora & fauna, It enrages those of blind faith. Living off the land in her gentle way, Edge of humanity away from them all.
By Josey Pickeringabout a year ago in Poets
Silence can be blissful It can give you time to think Learning not to always have to talk, can have it's benefits Especially when your in the right state of mind
By George Hallabout a year ago in Poets
Serenity is the state of bliss It as overarching premise that really makes you think like many other things of its kind Ever wondering of its significance and sign
Sitting here, spilling my heart to you, as you sit and watch me Is it enough, I wonder? As I sit quietly, waiting, but hearing nothing
By Karen Caveabout a year ago in Poets
