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The Echo I Still Follow
I walk the road where your voice used to stay, a soft echo rising from the quiet ground, and every thought pulls me back your way.
By Kashif Wazir2 months ago in Poets
The Memory That Wouldn’t Release Me
I keep returning to the words we left unsaid, soft echoes drifting through the quiet night, and every path I take leads where you once led.
By Kashif Wazir2 months ago in Poets
The Place I Still Return To
I keep returning to the place your smile once stayed, where sunlight touched your face like a gentle vow, and every step I take feels somehow delayed.
By Kashif Wazir2 months ago in Poets
The Loverʻs Paradox
Like a slumbering flame awakening into breath A yearning stirs, raw yet tenderly, and consumes the lover For love melts the boundaries lingering close to death
By Pōlani Monderen 2 months ago in Poets
The Poem That Screamed at Midnight
The Poem That Screamed at Midnight At midnight I wrote, and the poem lifted from the page, screaming silently in my room.
By Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Poets
The Door That Shouldn’t Open
The Door That Shouldn’t Open There’s a door in my house that no one remembers building, a thin wooden frame that hums late at night.
By Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Poets
The Stairway to the Stars
The Stairway to the Stars I climb these steps through broken rock, where shadows cling to ancient walls. The sky explodes
By Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Poets
What's Happened To Poetry?
What’s Happened To Poetry I remember poetry in junior high and high school. As an honors English student, We were always tasked with the ass numbing thrill of reading poetry and then forced to write it as well, in its various forms. Sonnets, Haiku, Iambic Pentameter, and on and on. I hated it. I dreaded it. I was not bad at it per se, but I did not enjoy it one bit. Along with reading Shakespeare, which I still can’t stand, I had a long and distinguished list of poetry I loathed reading. Shakespeare was just, for me, difficult to follow, droll, dissertations on old historical issues hammered over and over again, in old English, which is not spoken in the last hundred years, if not longer.
By Alexandra Grant2 months ago in Poets
The Glass Universe
The Glass Universe Inside this glass a world turns slow, with golden sparks and drifting stars. A tiny moon floats near a sun,
By Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Poets
The Music Eye
The Music Eye An eye looks out through falling notes, as music curls around the skin. The lashes sweep like strokes of ink,
By Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Poets
The Poem That Walked Away
The Poem That Walked Away I wrote a line and it trembled softly, then lifted from the page like a bird escaping its cage.
By Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Poets
The Planets in the Palm
The Planets in the Palm They rise like smoke from open hands, these ringed worlds of shining light. The stars burn bright
By Marie381Uk 2 months ago in Poets