Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
I was born and bred from vengeance Death so vivid in my vision From a world inside a world Where statistics aim to end a life in prison
By TRUF_Alchemist5 years ago in Poets
Last night, I went up to the attic with my lover And was faced with a bright onslaught of colour, Coming from a painting no different to any other.
By Mary Spanou5 years ago in Poets
Why not fall into the blue The swirling grueling infinite truth Eye of a storm, a bruise The galaxy, a violent undertow
By Danielle Amero5 years ago in Poets
Radiant, Vibrant and Strong are hues of color, Diverse, Intellectual and Aesthetic are we. Placed side by side or blended, we mesh well together,
By Caroline Kim On5 years ago in Poets
All that is anything carries a hue whether it's me, whether it's you Though our eyes are darkened from the day of birth Vision is fostered through lessons of love and wellness of earth
By Bianca Wright5 years ago in Poets
Hmmm.... What makes me unique. Color. . Colour. . Should I tell you or should I show u. . Is it the way I think,
By Linus J.W Cheng5 years ago in Poets
Dear Colo(u)r, 'Shade. Tone. Tint. Hue.' All synonyms of you. (Like the way the sky(ies) can be different shades of blue)
By SunshineBySu5 years ago in Poets
I start as a tart cherry. A sweet red berry. Picked from a tree. For you and me. Someone's treat. Thier's to eat. If you eat the seed,
By Jason Charles5 years ago in Poets
Mondays are brown. Tuesdays are red. Wednesdays are blue. Thursdays are red. Fridays are yellow; Saturdays black. Sundays are gray, every time.
By Dane BH5 years ago in Poets
I’m the heart of a mother scorned, manifested into everything this world loves but mistreats. I survive, knowing what this world can do to a human if not taken care of.
By Leila Walton5 years ago in Poets
Red— like my father. Drawing blood, hot— to bashful cheeks if embarrassed, enamored, excited. Tight tee shirts
By Flora5 years ago in Poets
You, the smile and the tear; you are the nocturnal passion and the courage to get up every morning. The restart in my dreams, the end in eternity of your reflection.
By Linda Acosta Rodríguez5 years ago in Poets
