Grieving through the breathing crevices of my mourning soul, I propelled through piercing glances of the ones who chose to score their goal.
By Hridya Sharma2 years ago in Poets
Impaled I inhale the pain Watch the blood rain As I pull your knife from my back For the heresy But now they listen to me
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
They were NPC’s with little concern Until color became oval shaped Schicklgruber was his middle name John is his middle name almost 100 years later
By Cadma2 years ago in Poets
Beneath the silver moon, I knelt, a whisper on my lips, an offering in my hands. The gods did not speak, nor did they turn away—
By Marvelous Michael2 years ago in Poets
I take the stage, and I speak clearly. Not softly, not sweetly—clearly. No violin to soften my syllables, no drum to drown my diction,
Through short lived days and moonlit skies,In stolen looks and mollified sighs,A fire was ignited, unfaltering and true,An ash gleaming, shinning as unused.
By Mr Ali2 years ago in Poets
The wind hums low in the belly of dawn, whispering secrets the earth has outgrown. A sparrow awakens, then lifts into flight,
By Badhan Sen2 years ago in Poets
Act I: Palace Walls She counts—bronze clepsydra— A grain of sand, a heartbeat— Moonlight frosts glazed tiles Like abandoned psalms
By Elaine Nova2 years ago in Poets
The world hushes itself in the wake of the storm, air humming electric, a silver-threaded symphony in accord— the kind that stills the trees
The Frame Narrative The story begins with a prologue in which Chaucer introduces the setting: a group of 29 pilgrims gather at the Tabard Inn in Southwark, near London, preparing for their pilgrimage to Canterbury. The host of the inn, Harry Bailey, suggests that to pass the time, each pilgrim should tell two tales on the way to Canterbury and two on the way back. The best storyteller will receive a free meal upon their return, paid for by the other pilgrims.
I’ve been thinking about the sounds I take in— the voices that weave themselves into my breath, the melodies that settle in my bones,
Made of fire and quiet storms, In a world that sees us as too much, Daring to be loud, daring to exist, Defiant in the face of being dismissed,
