Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
One Kiss One Wish Alone I Sank In The Bay Of Love, With One Remedy… Abandoned Optimism Lingers Around My Heart And Still I Feel Blue…
By HandsomelouiiThePoet (Lonzo ward)2 days ago in Poets
So I was browsing the internet, you know the usual thing !? Can you believe I have a "DIAMOND" ring !? It was placed in the cup, no the spoon - no the rose NOO the ........
By 365poetry2 days ago in Poets
The devil places charges, the darkness hurls spears; he hates and hurts with wound and vice - tearing flesh, finding fears.
By Gabriel Huizenga2 days ago in Poets
My hand begins to tremble As my finger starts to squeeze The barrels to my brow now As I rest upon my knees Tears slowly seeping from the corners
By Edward Val2 days ago in Poets
written, created, edited by Vicki Lawana Trusselli & my little Sweetie Bird, punk rocker Even with all the horror in the world, Sweetie Bird has entered her full punk rock era, mohawk up, attitude sharp, tiny heart wide open.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 3 days ago in Poets
Your words are worthy no prize is necessary as long as they're loved --------------------------------- Previous:
By Jemma Jae3 days ago in Poets
Mankind is Icarus and our own pride is the wind that deafened him as he flew, drowning out any other thoughts or sensibilities
By Donny Foley3 days ago in Poets
We stand in the whirlwind of days that never pause, Spun by winds of want, of worry, of cause. Voices clamor, clocks tick like accusations,
By Algieba3 days ago in Poets
We chase the line where earth kisses sky, Calling it future, calling it why. Yet every step we take, the horizon moves, Not away, but alongside, in quiet grooves.
We enter the world with fists curled tight, Grasping at light we cannot yet name. We leave it the same — palms slowly opening,
We are not islands carved from solitary stone, But tapestries threaded by hands we’ve never known. Each breath a shuttle gliding through the warp of years,
We are not the stories we tell ourselves at night, Nor the roles we wear beneath the glaring light. We are the quiet scaffolding beneath the skin —
