Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
A canvas almost her height, the pink so potent and unrecognizable * outside of watermelons, she called it red. This red was oceanic, brushed instantaneously,
By periwinkle_poet4 years ago in Poets
There once was a Sailor at sea That starred at the Moon, whenever he could see For She was his one true love The one he was always thinking of
By William Houseman4 years ago in Poets
Every hop, skip, and pop is registered in your mind. This flurry of different flavored notes creates an upbeat lifestyle. You are in silence during the moment, but at the same time you are experiencing a gathering of positivity in the mind.
By Orlev Kuknariev4 years ago in Poets
What is a man? A man is human with taken for granted rights A man is brave A man is afraid A man is self-conscience
By Jeffrey Sparks4 years ago in Poets
I was sinking then floating Looked at the faces around me discolored and sick I looked at the trees And they where whispering to me
By NoturMami 4 years ago in Poets
For what we know is too sacred to show Thoughts and beliefs are not alike Beliefs are statements that we choose to believe
By Jordan Ransom4 years ago in Poets
The bittersweet feeling as the memories of old friends Flash before your eyes; triggered by a particular song, movie, outdoor activity. It's been years. You don't miss them,
By BLVCK INK /4 years ago in Poets
Global. The life of the people. The good and the evil. The animals we eat for our health. The puppies and kittens with little wool mittens but they don’t stand a chance against time.
By Bianca Dawes4 years ago in Poets
What does it mean, When your literature, Doesn’t conform to standards? Within every written work, There are expectations,
By Serenity Zahnle4 years ago in Poets
Have you noticed Cars take a different tone in the morning That other waking up him with the horn of the boats on the bay
By Elim Utterback4 years ago in Poets
In her dollar dress from the Goodwill store Pink and lacey, she's a sight to behold All that frill, just to hide the bruises
By Nichole Campbell4 years ago in Poets
Be brave, my looking glass of life. Ill did we not want, null returns void, Yet I am, not null, not void. A voice meets, underneath.
By Danahae Barraclough4 years ago in Poets
