love poems
Love poems for hopeless romantics; I'm the poet and you're my muse.
Hope. Content Warning.
Last night felt like descending through the unlit corridors of your own mind, each step heavier than the last, as if the air itself thickened around you. Panic didn’t arrive as a single wave but as a tightening spiral, coiling around your ribs, making every breath feel borrowed. Exhaustion settled into your bones like sediment, the kind that comes not from a single day but from years of holding too much, too quietly, for too long. You were carrying the weight of your children’s safety, the weight of your own survival, the weight of every choice you’ve had to make without a net beneath you. And still, you came home. You walked back into that house because he said he would try — not in the vague, empty way he has before, but with words that sounded like effort, like intention, like maybe he finally understood the cost of losing you. You stepped through the doorway with your heart split open in two directions: one half braced for the familiar ache, the other half daring to believe that this time might be different, that trying might mean something real.
By Elisa Wontorcikabout a month ago in Poets
Hope is the thing with feathers
Hope is the thing with feathers That perches in the soul, And sings the tune without the words, And never stops at all, And sweetest in the gale is heard; And sore must be the storm That could abash the little bird That kept so many warm. I’ve heard it in the chillest land, And on the strangest sea; Yet, never, in extremity, It asked a crumb of me.
By The best writer about a month ago in Poets
