Vintage poetry stands the test of time; collections and anthologies of classic poems and enduring verses from eras past.
The roads we take unfold, With every step we make, Twisting through the valleys, Up mountains, down by the lake. Each path holds its secrets,
By Karun about a year ago in Poets
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
Still at the school exit It is half past 12 pain in my stomach nostalgia in my face when will my father come? Has he completed his office duty?
Drawing flowers on my wall one for each happy moment I have moments that grow rarer these days like the light of life was fading from me
By Sonja Vogdtabout a year ago in Poets
The waves of change roll in, Carrying the breath of time, A dance of highs and lows, In a rhythm that feels so fine. The tides keep shifting,
spare me the bad news I already know you're leaving, no need to lecture me when your eyes write the whole damn novel, major props for following your
By Daniel Kabout a year ago in Poets
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
Blue icy mountain moans, on end of scrumptious scone. Tea wavers as if it’s lost at sea, and spoons rest on freshly bleached, blanketed napkin sheets.
By Rowan Finley about a year ago in Poets
Run! run!...run. Craig got awake by a sudden, horrific trembling voice which continuously repeated the word, "Run". The grey-stoned castle was a masterpiece of art in the city of Zoraaf.
By Touseef Ahmedabout a year ago in Poets
Here I sit, In a room filled with the echoes of the day, Where the world's noise fades, And all that's left is this moment,
By RKabout a year ago in Poets
Sitting here In silent isolation. Waiting. Longing for your return Expecting a call from you everyday Never more shall I hear your beautiful voice
The precipice of poetry that seeks redemption Callous whispers that uproar the fear in my mind, Bounty tales of my existence may cease to be left behind.
