Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Before the rib was broken twice, before the apple found its teeth, there was a garden full of questions and a Father tired of praise.
By LUNA EDITH4 days ago in Poets
The Man Who Lit His Own Eyes His hair rises like a storm that never found sky, White and furious with unfinished thoughts,
By Marie381Uk 5 days ago in Poets
I. I trace the outline of my mornings on the fogged windowpane, fingerpaths that never reach the glass but remember the shape of light.
By LUNA EDITH5 days ago in Poets
I scoop my soup But nothing stays in I scoop and scoop But I just hear the bloop, bloop Of it leaking out my sides I don’t know where they are
By Atomic Historian5 days ago in Poets
Hour by hour, living by all the rush. Everyone is busy, with something at that time. ... Hour by hour, someone is doing the thing.
By Lucripa5 days ago in Poets
I am me. I am exactly as I appear to have been drawn. If you don't like, it, please go ahead and move on. I don't wish to be anyone's pawn.
By Julie Lacksonen5 days ago in Poets
The inner child exists deep inside Just look at a person closely and you will see behind The experienced societal beliefs and behaviored conformity
By Nicole Higginbotham-Hogue5 days ago in Poets
Soft blankets of silence slowly covers the town A needed break from the constant crowd A moment to think and hide inside
It's that hesitation upon looking into the eyes of innocence before possible trauma Even though the person is an adult doesn't mean it is all drama
Starry nights and Sunflower fields adorn The walls of Vlorë On a winter's morning When all flowers still hide From the cold
By Roderick Makim5 days ago in Poets
a lot of life knows only to envenom past its own means of end
By Carter Kindley5 days ago in Poets
Keep repenting that’s the motive Thirty days like while It lasts…. If sins are bad just like corrosive Can redeem Itself with fast….
By Haychie_Artist5 days ago in Poets
