Ode

In the hands of tomorrow
In the hands of tomorrow To bemoan the existence of what could be, The atrocity of what ifs set its fangs deeper into the present space of serenity.
By Hridya Sharmaabout a year ago in Poets
a poem about moths and omens and unopened wings and residue
a poem cannot be forced ~open~ any more than the wings of a dead moth: chalky tease of color, soft orange-hued underbelly. Eyelidless face of forever
By Erin Latham Sheaabout a year ago in Poets
So Long Yesterday
Dear Yesterday, Thank you so much for the lessons learned and bridges burned. But now it’s tomorrow’s turn. The pain of the past was a lot. It’s true.
By Joe Pattersonabout a year ago in Poets
Make Shakespeare Proud
Silent soliloquies I write, but it’s more like I talk aloud Lonely thoughts spewed at lcds Entertaining myself more than a crowd
By Kenneth cruzabout a year ago in Poets
Nature's Golden Sea
Golden gems of spring Dancing in the gentle breeze Nature's simple pleasure As the warm sun kisses the earth, a sea of yellow dandelions sways gently in the meadow, their delicate petals inviting playful whispers from the wind. Each flower, a golden beacon of hope and transformation, carries with it the promise of new beginnings and endless possibilities. Their presence is a reminder that even in the midst of chaos, beauty can bloom effortlessly, spreading joy and rejuvenation with every breath of fresh air. Like little bursts of sunshine scattered across the landscape, dandelions infuse the world with a refreshing touch of whimsy and wonder, reminding us to embrace the simple pleasures that surround us every day.
By Staringaleabout a year ago in Poets
An Ode To My Number One Singer.
You wear the coolest clothes, And you know how to shake it in style, You sing the best songs, You always make me smile,
By Carol Ann Townendabout a year ago in Poets
I Made It
If only you knew how long I’ve been chasing freedom. It’s been a long journey getting to this place of freedom. I fought tooth and nail tryna make my way through this ruthless trail.
By Joe Pattersonabout a year ago in Poets
Me
Which is the real me The one they see Or the one I see when you’re looking at me Distorted images in my mind Having never known what I look like to the world
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
love, my love
hey, my love morning light is shining in your eyes, my dear let me shade you from it duck down into me and feel the warmth and comfort
By angela hepworthabout a year ago in Poets
Down South
Sundays after church, when it be rainin’ you know hole- in-the-wall places serve the best food like all the grandmothers in there cookin’—
By R.C. Taylorabout a year ago in Poets
The Pessimist
Everything always becomes a land mind in your mind, you're always stuck between being blown up and being left behind. and I enjoy true crime,
By Ellie Hoovsabout a year ago in Poets
Rising Rose
I fall. I’ll rise again. Even I fall again, I remember that, Leaves weather, As the autumns arrive, Before the branch of leave,
By WALL_Eabout a year ago in Poets