Red roses rest regally,
Rivers rush relentlessly,
Ravens rise rowdily,
Rainbows reign remarkably.
Ripe rays rise radiantly,
Revered ruins remain resplendently,
Reeds resound rhythmically,
Reaching round resolute and free.
Rays of rose reach rousing,
Reverberations resound resounding,
Revealing rare reflections rising,
Renewed reborn radiant enticing.
About the Creator
R.Freya
Poetry is my soul's language, and I wield words like a paintbrush. From heartbreak to hope, I capture emotions and spin them into verse.
Michel Onfray
"La fiction de Jésus n’a été nourrie que de mots, de couleurs, de pierres, de livres, de chants. Le Christ est une invention des hommes qui a nécessité la confiscation de l’art pour rendre possible une incarnation." The fiction of Jesus was nourished only by words, colours, stones, books, songs. Christ is an invention of men that has required the confiscation of art to make possible an incarnation. Michel Onfray, from Cosmos
By Patrick M. Ohana7 days ago in Poets
Final Call
She flings her arms around my neck and squeezes me like she’s never going to let me go. My head spins as her lips brush against my cheek. She must be able to feel my heart thumping in my chest. I shuffle backwards and ram my hands into my coat pockets, watching her reach down and heave the rucksack across her shoulders.
By Caroline Craven2 days ago in Fiction
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