Elegy

They came back but not at night.
They returned but not from the nights They returned to leave me without my imagination They returned and did not know my field
By Kisama Riyo about a year ago in Poets
Only the Red Remains
At eleven in the morning, the guns ceased Oppressors and liberators unite momentarily Marking the ending of the Great War
By Tina D'Angeloabout a year ago in Poets
The exploits of the martyr
The eye sheds tears after sadness Who will be my reference from now on A teacher in heroism and his knowledge is useful
By Kisama Riyo about a year ago in Poets
Unread
I write poems that go unread Sometimes because I forget them before they escape my head Other times I write them But hide them instead
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
I Love Beauty
I Love Beauty Since my childhood, I have loved beauty. I love the crops and the flowers, I adore them, converse with them, talk to them, and nourish them. I melt in their amber scent, and my mind is quenched by their fragrance and tales. I used to speak to them as a lover, not as a child who hadn’t yet grasped the meaning of love to gift them, To the one who cherishes and protects them.
By Ali Sadeek Ahmedabout a year ago in Poets
Hard Times
Here come the hard times Here comes the return of the archons The harkening of our death Not the death of people But the death of our nation
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
deliberate enemy
Let the poet's pens write whatever they want May the nations that taught them benefit? Let the notebooks be filled with an abundance of feelings
By Kisama Riyo about a year ago in Poets
Am I tired of my life and bored with myself?
Am I tired of my life, bored with myself? Dead from my sadness, broken from my fear In my dream I sleep like a straight rock?
By Kisama Riyo about a year ago in Poets
Our world
What's wrong with it? It has a thousand meanings. Most of our sayings about it are endless. Our actions rarely have a goal.
By Kisama Riyo about a year ago in Poets
The Veteran
Lying in his bed a tremble from drafts in the night He remembers the mournful call of a lone bugler And Sam, Johnny, Nicky and Pete, their laughter
By John Coxabout a year ago in Poets
Void
Empty moments. Silent crescendo. Liminal existence. Once upon a time, In the days when the world was green And no stain on the moon was seen
By Alexander McEvoyabout a year ago in Poets
A Fragmented Future
You want a story of hope? Of innovation? Are you tone deaf to what’s happening in this nation Are you completely unaware of the situation?
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets