Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
They will come in pleasing tones With Smiles to denote them, friend. Their song will sing of glories past
By Tristan Redearth3 years ago in Poets
Living is much like dreaming: Overtly confusing, occasionally horrifying, but somehow soft enough to melt into something senselessly pretty
By Rabia3 years ago in Poets
there’s a face I recognize but never allow myself to get close enough to in this life the moment I close my eyes I am grabbed by my hands and I wish I had their wings
By Adriana Gallo3 years ago in Poets
Obsession starts off so innocent you look at me and I look back, then smile I thought you were being nice but you weren’t, were you?
By Kaitlyn Chung3 years ago in Poets
I’m itching. Two xyzals in and it’s not gone I am thankful for where I am But I feel insecure I’ve worked hard to not feel that way
I want to run away, but you are pressing on my heart. I don’t know what to say. I believed this to be play, but every time I start
By Dante Guerra3 years ago in Poets
The last night of the full moon Peaceful sleep was only one night away The sleeping pills no longer had any effect Only time put her lunar powers at bay
By Andrew Bell3 years ago in Poets
they’re dried and pressed, like pristine sheets of purple glass. the lilacs we picked together when we were together can you picture the shades of light and dark?
Taking moments only in windows overlooking the silence of the white (of the) snow on the lake, we spend our time in the basement
By Barbara D Pyndus, galaxybabs, SerendipitySpeaksArt3 years ago in Poets
What is my birth mythology? The stranger I am here, seeking to be recognized by no significant other. Mother,
A little girl trapped in a house Of winding corridors and trap doors A tunnel filled with teddy bears and dolls Leads to the gutted interior
By Willow Cinders3 years ago in Poets
Dolce & Gabbana light blue when we swam in the pool. He’d twist my earrings and gave me his sweatshirt (sorry) while you made rumors
