art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Blood Spatter (Prose Poetry)
There's something endlessly fascinating about how those familiar specks of red shoot across the sky, like the shooting stars that speeds past the eyes of an innocent child. We know it to be immoral -- sinister, perverse pleasure in taking something's purity, then tainting it with the dry, croaked laughs of the deranged and blinding it in liquid fear.
By John-Andrew Zacharakis8 years ago in Poets
Floors
From here I can only see 9 floors. Cristiana lives in the fifth. My chest feels heavy. It always feels like I have an anchor inside it, pulling it down and making it beg for air. Well, not always, just in those times. I walk, I talk, I am and from time to time I need
By Tânia Miranda de Carvalho8 years ago in Poets
The Tale of Time
There once was a place where all things stood still. Everyone knew the end.. Oh, how the sun still rises and falls, the Earth still spins, and your heart beats, beats, beats, beats. You held the hearth in your hand and you said to the sky, “when will the stillness subside?”
By Autumn Star8 years ago in Poets
