Gratitude

Burnout
In twilight’s haze, where shadows creep, A soul unravels, threads frown deep. The clock ticks on, a relentless beat, Dreams suffocate beneath concrete feet.
By Luna Vani23 days ago in Poets
A New Time Of Hope
Today is Christmas Day... A day that I always enjoy spending with family. There are a lot of things that you can write about when it comes to this Holiday.
By Dr. Cody Dakota Wooten, DFM, DHM, DAS (hc)23 days ago in Poets
I Can't Ever Remember The Order - Anyone Knows?
Now Dasher, or was it Prancer? Vixen, or Blixen ? Jamaica is not on the map - and I'm tired of trying to protect them from TREASON!
By 365poetry23 days ago in Poets
Dear Younger Me, I Didn’t Betray You
Dear Younger Me, I Didn’t Betray You I’m writing to you from a place you once dreamed of but could not imagine clearly. Not because you lacked vision, but because you were busy surviving. I know you thought the future would arrive like a rescue—loud, obvious, triumphant. I’m sorry it didn’t. I’m sorry it came quietly, carrying both relief and loss. But listen to me carefully now: I did not abandon you. I carried you until I could finally rest.
By LUNA EDITH23 days ago in Poets
A Better Morning
The alarm goes off and I don’t hate it. That’s new. That’s… suspicious. ﹁﹂ Light leaks through the blinds in skinny, uneven stripes
By Milan Milic23 days ago in Poets
Just Me
I want to be me. Just me, with no pains and aches Of old joints and heart. Author’s Note: this is in response to Tanya Lei’s unofficial challenge:
By Lana V Lynx24 days ago in Poets
You Wanted a Child Bride for a Passport to the UK
You Wanted a Child Bride for a Passport to the UK You spoke of love with papers in your hand, your vows were written smaller than your need.
By Marie381Uk 24 days ago in Poets
gifts
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By Moon Desert24 days ago in Poets
William Westerfeldt House
Western czarina, she is a gothic embodiment of smoke and brass. Her jungle-cat perfume saunters passed in woven gossamer. She’ll put it plainly, as she only can, how she once swam with snow-white saxophones, lap steels, and baby grands, lamenting how her phonographs have since ceased to sing after so many years of breathing in the brine of bay air. Each night is a crushed red spectacle beside the words carved by Anger into the staircase of her spine. She’d abide the elephant in her parlor-room, his aloof squeeze and the rotgut things they'd got up to. On her lacquered breast, they performed their wanton rites to The Electric Kool-Aid Acid Test and Grateful Dead. Ibex and the Bearcat clung to the waist of her vestibule, while Leopard spread with all the flare of Victorian taxidermy across her belly. She’s long been swindled of sleep behind the back-lit fuchsia of Alamo Square, while dervish stars whirl slovenly above and divvy up the cosmic minutia: stardust, sex, and music.
By Sean24 days ago in Poets
Chrysogonus
God does not write to me, no He does not write… ✨ Too far, too far, is the book, written, done; no he does not write to me in
By Diana24 days ago in Poets
No More Wheelchair 🦽
You saw me when I needed healing, you were there, kneeling. Your hands felt warm, in a moment, you healed my tiny form.
By Rowan Finley 24 days ago in Poets
Sitting In Gratitude
How often do you sit down... Just to experience gratitude? It seems to be a lost art in our world today... With so many people focused on what is next...
By Dr. Cody Dakota Wooten, DFM, DHM, DAS (hc)25 days ago in Poets