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Echoes of Dusk
In twilight's hush, shadows stretch like whispers, The soft rustle of leaves dances on the breeze, Silken petals brush against eager fingertips,
By Eladeo Mallettabout a year ago in Poets
Awakening Sensations
Beneath the dawn, golden light spills like honey, The distant call of a morning bird sings clear, Cool dew clings to skin, a gentle morning kiss,
By Eladeo Mallettabout a year ago in Poets
Lessons of Life
In the cradle of dawn, where the whispers begin, Life weaves its tapestry, thick and thin. With each golden sunrise, a lesson unfolds,
By Roxanne Buckleabout a year ago in Poets
Remembering Her
Her eyes, where worlds unfolded with a glance, Her whispers in my dreams still send me chills, Her arms, the warmth I crave,
By Sukhpinder Singhabout a year ago in Poets
Soul-4
Time to pay the toll With your fragile soul Life unwinding like a scroll Why do I think in rhyme Sometimes It’s all that comes to mind
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
Sixth Acrostic
Lord, look not upon my lacerations (Are You there? Are You angry?) My spirit shrivels into scales of sin, paradise denied, tongue split, head punished, bruised, barred
By Wen Xiaoshengabout a year ago in Poets
Sleepless
Can’t sleep Oh what a fright To be up in the middle of the night Without the slightest tingling A little sensation Of sleepiness
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
Hacked
I need to get my act together When I met her It was like pulling a lever My brain was prehacked before we met I didn't know what to do
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
Colors Fade
(Inspiration from GNOM) When deep inside an ocean flows The fish move in lines and rows They all follow a pattern of aligned instinct
By J. K. Andersonabout a year ago in Poets
To speak freely?
“Gratitude is not only the greatest of virtues, but the parent of all others.” Cicero, in full Marcus Tullius Cicero (born 106 bce, died 43 bce) was an influential Roman statesman, lawyer, scholar, and writer during the age of the final civil wars that destroyed the Roman Republic.
By Pauline Fountainabout a year ago in Poets
Wigan My Home
Wigan my home In Wigan town where the river bends, The smell of pies, the warmth it sends. The people here, with hearts so bright,
By Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
381 Bus Driver
In the hum of the city, where wheels softly whir, I saw a bright face through the bus window blur. His hands on the wheel, a calm in the storm,
By Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets