Elegy

Serenaded by Sirens
Fleshed flotsam cast asunder by an unforgiving sea, never known for having shown beleaguered sailors mercy.
By Chris Zabout a year ago in Poets
Sounds of Stillness
Softness sounds of stillness when serenity speaks a shadowed Symphony Inaudible introspective inhales to immerse infinity's within the Inner-Self
By Aiden Haleabout a year ago in Poets
Life
Life is full of risk But sometimes I really can’t believe some of these people actually exist What is wrong with them
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
Place
No one needs to know What goes on Between the hum and the song We’re all searching for a place to belong Even if sometimes it feels wrong
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
9/4/24
Sometimes you have to move on To find what you’re looking for Was it in the cabinet? No. The drawer? Oh well I’ll find another one
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
In the hands of tomorrow
In the hands of tomorrow To bemoan the existence of what could be, The atrocity of what ifs set its fangs deeper into the present space of serenity.
By Hridya Sharmaabout a year ago in Poets
Blush on Your Cheeks
A canvas painted with hues of dawn, Your cheeks, a blush where colors are drawn. A masterpiece, nature's own art, A delicate tint, playing its part.
By Moharif Yuliantoabout a year ago in Poets
Every New September
Every new September The change in the wind makes me think of him, sweeping in from the north, like a storm, that wants to bring me home.
By Ellie Hoovsabout a year ago in Poets
Empty Silence
The love I have for you, helps me keep memories that no one will ever steal. They are the threads that bind my heart to yours, weaving a tapestry of moments that stretch from our first meeting to the last time I held you close. Each memory is a precious jewel, glimmering with the warmth of your smile, the sound of your laughter, the way your hand fit perfectly in mine. Yet your death leaves a heartache no one can heal, a wound that festers beneath the surface, raw and tender, no matter how much time passes.
By Uncledee'about a year ago in Poets
The Death Doula
Serving last looks to those whose words left them years prior was love. A stroke, a condition, a cancer, it didn't matter; the end was the same.
By kpabout a year ago in Poets
Her Ride Came
POEM IN MEMORY OF JANINE.. I PLAYED WITH THE IDEA OF OUR RIDE OUT OF OUR EARTHLY EXISTENCE..THANKS TO EMILY DICKENSON AND WARREN ZEVON. I ALSO STOLE RAY BRADBURY'S IDEA OF TATTOOS THAT COME TO LIFE AND PLAYED WITH THE IDEA OF HOW A SPECIFIC INDIVIDUAL'S GUARDIAN ANGEL MAY APPEAR.
By Julia Schulzabout a year ago in Poets
Me
Which is the real me The one they see Or the one I see when you’re looking at me Distorted images in my mind Having never known what I look like to the world
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets