Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
The past breath of ours Everlasting in the hands Of the sun die all //
By A.T. Baines3 years ago in Poets
Time time time time time Time time time tick-tock clock time Time around the block.
By Ćngel Sierra3 years ago in Poets
I pour my heart and soul onto the page, Crafting stories and articles with care. I seek an audience, a reader's gaze, But all I hear are echoes in the air.
By PP3 years ago in Poets
are tears red or blue? you no longer knows but you called me by my name.
By My Name Is Not Cypress3 years ago in Poets
In the beginning There was time and time alone This is not the end
By Shawn Lowry3 years ago in Poets
On the icy peaks Nothing's real; nothing exists Time: Just a construct
i am darkness to the spark. i am the raging range of void. i am what outruns hope and stars. i am curiosity's untold story.
By āøjason alanā½3 years ago in Poets
The alarm clock rings Away from my sleep, it brings I've slept like a King
Not my first poem on tipping, but one a little more poignant to me. Tipping, I thought, was a way to make a little extra to help me; but I do not want to get rich, but just a little bit more now and again.
By Mark Graham3 years ago in Poets
If clocks stop working does time halt? Or further move? Is time the constant?
The clouds breathe a breath And the winds begin to blow All through time the same
Time, miraculous. Who can conquer Death itself? Oh! Time immortal
