vintage
Vintage poetry stands the test of time; collections and anthologies of classic poems and enduring verses from eras past.
Passion
She has a grip on me That most can’t see The stranglehold of ecstasy Thank you for reading my work. If you enjoyed this story, there’s more below. Please hit the like and subscribe button, you can follow me on Facebook, Twitter, and Instagram @AtomicHistorian. To help me create more content, leave a tip or become a pledged subscriber. I also make stickers, t-shirts, etc here.
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
The Weight of Nothing, Something
Darkness, impenetrable intangible, casts its unrelenting shadow over me. Reprieve and relief have become obscure ideals, experiential relics of a past the memory of which slowly dissipates into nothing. People tend to misunderstand nothing. In its own cruel way, nothing is something. When it's your only something, you cling to it as I cling to it. I've long forgotten what it felt like to have something—anything worthy of pride and a sense of achievement. “True hope... is swift." "True hope is swift... and flies with swallow's wings. Kings it makes gods and meaner creatures kings." What is hope?
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Poets
