Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
At the town line, the speed limit drops and the radio loses the station. The air smells of woodsmoke and wet wool. Your coat is not enough.
By Jin24 days ago in Poets
The Confessions of the Rose Sat there at the heart of thorns, where love can hurt and hide, I opened every part of me, and let you step inside.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 25 days ago in Poets
The Shepherd, Elias Vale. (His story) The Shepherd Of Lost Women (Poem) White walls surrounded me as my body had sunken into the marble floor.
By Nala25 days ago in Poets
Twisted Thoughts My thoughts began to twist today, They would not walk a line, They curled around each other, And tangled up with mine.
The Blood Bath The bath was full of crimson, But nobody knew why, The taps had both been silent, The towels were bone dry.
Uncontrolled Control I tried controlling everything, The future and the past, I held tomorrow tightly, And thought that it would last.
The Hidden Codes I found them in the picture, Where nobody would look, A hundred crooked markings, Like pages from a book.
I joined the world as it was dying Awakened to a chill in the morning air The scent of charred wood in a breeze Funny how the swan song is so lovely
By Raine Fielder25 days ago in Poets
Almost almighty yet still, a fire lies alone, spirits of lackluster and no home, broken boxes without masters, seeking their bones, only the darkness and nothing their own, eternal shuffling of footsteps of the same man lost without pause carrying a deck on his back sometimes self imposed others hewn and bestowed more than few have chains all are alone flickering out belittling the last cracks before they can no longer know they are cold a goodbye that was never again met by hello.
By Gambit25 days ago in Poets
The Lady in Blue Looks beyond Trafalgar Square Benign countenance
By Raymond G Taylor25 days ago in Poets
Lab Grown Flower They grew me under glass, where daylight never came, fed me drops of colour, then whispered me a name.
The Third Eye I grew an eye where silence lives, right in the middle of all I hide. It does not blink at pretty lies, it opens wide when truth walks by.
