Sestina

Lesson Learned
Well, shit. I wrote a sestina for school, but didn’t do it well. The song in my mind struck the wrong chord until a told f to eff off,
By Frau Gern4 months ago in Poets
Hummingbird
With your last breath You became more valuable in death than in life A land left in strife A robotic mourning wife Yet, in the haze of your final days
By Atomic Historian4 months ago in Poets
Guardians of the Heart
Be careful with guardians of the heart For they will keep you apart Vexation of supposed protection A misdirection of feelings
By Atomic Historian4 months ago in Poets
Ego
I eat myself to feed my soul I roll with every toll Time laid out ahead and behind me Thoughts creating and destroying the fallacy of my reality
By Atomic Historian4 months ago in Poets
The Rain
The rain slithers across the plain The lion feigns disinterest in his mistress Mysterious visitors A horrendous sound shakes the ground
By Atomic Historian4 months ago in Poets
Wanderer
Across the worn roads of silence, you walk — not for glory, but because the earth still asks your footsteps to remember it.
By Life Hopes4 months ago in Poets
Pebbles
Waddling down the beach of life The chill in our bones She squawks I listen In the distance the sun glistens into darkness
By Atomic Historian4 months ago in Poets
We Are Not the Same
Beneath the old oak’s fading shade, Children ran, and laughter stayed. Streams would sing with washing hands, Men would play, and hearts would dance.
By Life Hopes4 months ago in Poets
The Grasshopper Lies Heavy
The grasshopper lies heavy on a single blade It bends with its weight Swaying in the breeze As the grasshopper rubs its knees
By Atomic Historian4 months ago in Poets
Crimson
Introduction This is my sixty-fifth piece inspired by Angie Livingstone's inspirational artwork. I love the beautiful autumnal colours in this work.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 4 months ago in Poets
We Touched the Stars
Through the forest, they crashed As the adventurers swung and slashed At every vine and lash Clink clink As their swords struck the stone
By Atomic Historian4 months ago in Poets
Between the Lines of Rain —
Rain has always carried a language of its own. For some, it is music, a lullaby for weary souls. For others, it is grief, the sky weeping when words are too heavy to speak. For me, rain has always been a mirror—reflecting not only the world outside but also the storms within.
By Nadeem Shah 4 months ago in Poets