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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
Echos of Silence
Slipping through trenches hidden deep inside Inquiring about the future, but it always hides Longing for answers we never dare share
By Emmie Falboabout a year ago in Poets
The Comfort of You
I've tried my hardest to forget you. Really, I have. I've tried my hardest to forget all about the memories made, just you and me.
By 'Lissa Stufflestreetabout a year ago in Poets
Forgive me, Peter
Forgive me, Peter, for I must've never caught on to the sacrifices you've chosen not to make in the aftermath of our loss. Forgive me, Peter, for I must've been overreacting - flailing about the way I was, flying myself across the room in a rage that clearly had everything to do with myself and my own issues. Forgive me, Peter, for I never realized just how much you've gave up just to have me.
By 'Lissa Stufflestreetabout a year ago in Poets
"BIKER BLUES"
So, I was evasive I felt the need to hide Little did I know Every thing I need to ride No one told me, the Cost would be so high
By Pamela Walsh-Holteabout a year ago in Poets
"Change"
Situations change Instantly or slowly, in their own time Letting go becomes an art Etched deeply within ones heart Nostalgia simmers to a slow boil
By Pamela Walsh-Holteabout a year ago in Poets
Hours Go By
late at night and early in the morning hours go by i lie awake entangled in time tossing, turning, without way of escape
By Josh Morganabout a year ago in Poets
Questions For Later, Then & Now
I'm fast enough to run away, but‐ Where would I go? Not everything I pass, stays in the past‐ And what if I crash? What will I do?... Then?
By Josh Morganabout a year ago in Poets
Every New September
Every new September The change in the wind makes me think of him, sweeping in from the north, like a storm, that wants to bring me home.
By Ellie Hoovsabout a year ago in Poets
To Write?
Stains on silence? Words? I think that was Beckett, Letting us know that Every word comes with a cost; Not speaking Can produce its own
By Kendall Defoe about 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
Glass In The Wind
as i lie awake from the night, listening to the wind's roaring moments i can't stand, fill every morning days lose their color, as the overcast continues pouring
By Josh Morganabout a year ago in Poets