inspirational
Inspirational poetry is just the thing to lift your spirits or rejuvenate your creativity.
It's Time for a Revolution in Poetry
"The people with weapons are afraid of pen-wielding hands." - Poet U Yee Mon, Myanmar's Minster of Defense When you think of poetry, what comes to mind? Do you think of daring revolutionaries inspiring change, dusty academics hoarding old love letters, or that one time you tried to like it only to be told you didn’t actually get it by your English teacher?
By Outlaw (they/them)5 years ago in Poets
Renaissance
My odyssey is mine to ensure. Mine to explore, mine to pursue. Exploits will be found, pathways will be paved. A journey of a million steps will begin with a leap. A descent into oblivion, into madness. A climb to infinity, a jump on a crusade. Voyager, this is the trip of a lifetime. If you don’t close your eyes and fall, you may never leave at all. Weary traveler, you haven’t begun your safari yet. Exploration has no end date. There’s no cut off, no entry fee. Humble pilgrim, take your restless feet and run. Advance your diving methods. Activate your flying colors. The wind take you in any direction. The tide responds to any agreement. The compass needs no guide. The time zones are rather persistent. The quest requires an answer. Will you heed this calling? Will you welcome this excursion? The sails follow no map. The boat follows no stars. No itinerary, no forced migration. The expedition needs a volunteer. Just one. The adventure awaits. The new world needs a passenger. A salvager, a redeemer. Who is gonna be the brave one? Who is gonna be the one?
By Anna Torres5 years ago in Poets
Poetry’s Light
It was a strange year for me; the saddest I’ve seen thus far. A darkness overcast my soul like a solar eclipse, yet birthed in me a peculiar drive to never quit; despite how badly I wanted to. The year began with the death of my nephew preceded by the miscarriage of my unborn child in a freak accident, deepening the sadness that threatened to throw my body and soul into a matrix of torture. Hell on earth could only begin to describe my level of torment. “Nobody understands my suffering,” I told myself. “Nobody can understand my pain.”
By Charles Gates Jr5 years ago in Poets
