Inspirational poetry is just the thing to lift your spirits or rejuvenate your creativity.
I’m thankful for the whisper that rises in my bones, the warning in the spirit before a truth is shown. I see beneath the sugar—
By Hannah Lambert2 months ago in Poets
I got lost in the hurt Gave away my desire And when the ashes were burnt I extinguished the fire Convinced the lesson was learned
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden2 months ago in Poets
The Last Flame Must Burn Free UNCAGED... not seethe with resentment - trapped trembling with suppressed fire... not be a roaring inferno fuming with rage
By Novel Allen2 months ago in Poets
Christmas In Heaven Christmas still happens when love has gone, that laughter does not stop when bodies die. I set a chair where absence usually sits,
By Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Poets
Right now, I know that your temple may be plagued by wear & tear… ✝️💧💧💧💧✝️ But remember, there is a spiritual canteen in your path to sip from, with the Holy Power to erase your every doubt & care…
By Tiffany Gordon2 months ago in Poets
We all have a flame that burns inside us... Or at least we used to. So many people... Have no flame left... No passion...
By Dr. Cody Dakota Wooten, DFM, DHM, DAS (hc)2 months ago in Poets
Glorious vision ice-capped mountain appeared cracking gray to blue Copyright © 12/13/2025 by Andrea O. Corwin Thanks for stopping by! 😃 You can subscribe for free. Please consider leaving a comment. ✍️❤️
By Andrea Corwin 2 months ago in Poets
I left my sadness behind in the city when you reached out to me, offering a helping hand - so different from everyone else
By Moon Desert2 months ago in Poets
Navigating diverse paths throughout the day, each brimming with varied hues and shifting moods, seamlessly weaving hell and heaven,
My unheard voice echoes from blank walls, now set free toward the empty horizon seen through the window each day, it's
I love the night, too much. So much it feels like a sign, like darkness keeps calling my name and I keep answering without knowing why.
By Marvelous Michael2 months ago in Poets
I used to vanish in little ways— extra sleep, extra scrolling, a bottle of wine that “wasn’t a big deal,” new cities in my browser tabs
By Milan Milic2 months ago in Poets
