She stopped waiting for the door to open, for footsteps to mean something more than movement. At first, she didn’t call it freedom
By Nash Georges4 months ago in Poets
I have been desperate to believe in something since I was a little girl bereft of family stories . (those don’t get passed on
By Leigh Victoria Phan, MS, MFA4 months ago in Poets
Later, you traveled to many places alone, saw many things alone, and began to smile to yourself. You weren't growing accustomed to loneliness; you were beginning to enjoy freedom.
By Emily Chan - Life and love sharing4 months ago in Poets
I speak in rhymes and mysteries Because that’s how I think My brain shittles riddles because it titillates my neurons It is how I do my best to get along in this world
By Atomic Historian4 months ago in Poets
Candles That Don’t Beg I used to strike a match for proof, to bargain with the night, to hold a trembling halo up and call it borrowed light.
By Milan Milic4 months ago in Poets
Wicked Is the Pain of Arthritis Wicked is the pain that creeps in silence, It waits until the house is still, Then curls its claws around the fingers,
By Marie381Uk 4 months ago in Poets
The Sky Forgot Blue This morning, the heavens wore borrowed gray shoes, a sepia ceiling that swallowed the views. The gulls looked like erasers smudging the light,
Once I had it all But it somehow got away I didn’t make that call It was a happy fall A year ago today Once I had it all
By Raine Fielder4 months ago in Poets
Nocturne in Bare Feet The house exhaled; I slipped the clock and wandered off the sheet, Let midnight find its lullaby in nocturne, bare of feet.
The words are written, but the page stays sealed, And silence keeps what speaking might have saved. I keep the truth that never was revealed.
By Tim Carmichael4 months ago in Poets
Mirror Projections Two people stand before mirrors. Side by side. One sees their reflection and asks: What shaped this face? What stories live in these eyes?
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 4 months ago in Poets
Cry yourself a rainbow - Where sun meets saddest pour. Dance up a tornado, A swirly, alarming roar. * Pound and jump an earthquake,
By Julie Lacksonen4 months ago in Poets
