art

Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.

Lanterns of the Soul
A spark hums beneath my ribs, small as a firefly, bold as a star, flickering against the hush of dusk— a quiet defiance against the void.
By Printique Studios2 years ago in Poets
I Loved You in Silence
Some loves don't finish with slammed doors or bitter words. Some loves finish in silence. Not the quiet kind — the heavy kind. The kind that sticks around after someone's gone. The kind that echoes through empty places, through voicemails that never get returned, through memories that still have the flavor of home.
By MD NAYEM2 years ago in Poets
The Poem I Never Meant to Write
I did not aspire to be a poet. I had poetry chase me like rain pours onto houses — sudden, noiseless, unavoidable. It was a silence, when the world outside me slowed to a crawl but the inside of my head was louder than ever before. I had no clue how to speak what I was doing, but the words lingered within my chest, thudding against my ribs to be released.
By MD NAYEM2 years ago in Poets
A Dream
When days are dark I dream of Spring of fields lush with songbirds singing trees in bloom and flowers swaying A chorus with voice aplenty
By Matthew J. Fromm2 years ago in Poets
Cosmic Miracle
Stars: Stunning at birth, awesomely glowing in life, beautiful in death. *** Author's note: I was mesmerized by this image and it made me think about life and death on a cosmic scale. To me, it looked like an open pecan shell with the pink core.
By Lana V Lynx2 years ago in Poets
What Became of the Dream
I had a dream, but it quickly faded. I wonder how I got here. The road ahead feels dimly shaded, Lit only by a flicker of fear. I wonder how I got here With calloused feet and stories untold. Lit only by a flicker of fear, My youth now traded in for gold. With calloused feet and stories untold, I trace the cracks in the mirror’s glaze. My youth now traded in for gold Lost in the soft collapse of days. I trace the cracks in the mirror’s glaze, The road ahead feels dimly shaded. Lost in the soft collapse of days, I had a dream, but it quickly faded.
By Carolina Borges2 years ago in Poets
Framed in Silence
This ghazal explores the fragile space between memory and absence—where love lives on in silence, images, and the breath of poetry. Through moonlight, prayer, and fading colors, the speaker quietly mourns a love that left behind everything… except the feeling.
By heasb0012 years ago in Poets
A Song You Never Heard
This ghazal is an ode to love that inspires creation, even in silence and distance. The speaker is transformed by the mere passing of the beloved—haunted by memory, but strengthened by the longing. It speaks of being forgotten, yet continuing to sing. It’s about beauty born from ache.
By Rahatweb Website2 years ago in Poets
Beneath Someone Else’s Sky
This ghazal is a soft lament whispered from a heart that never truly let go. The poem captures the hidden echoes of love—how memories cling to places, how absence shapes time, and how the soul continues to beat beneath someone else's world. Through delicate images and restrained sorrow, it speaks of a love that was never loud but never left.
By Rahatweb Website2 years ago in Poets
Where the Silence Knows Your Name
This ghazal is a quiet meditation on the haunting nature of love’s absence. The poet is suspended in a world where the beloved is long gone, and yet, everything still trembles with the echo of their presence. Through broken mirrors, scattered dust, and unsaid words, the poem evokes a deep, still grief that lingers like a shadow.
By heasb0022 years ago in Poets
Held in a Breath, Left in a Glance
This ghazal dwells in the hush that follows absence—where the beloved’s silence echoes louder than words. It paints a world where rain recalls memories, the moon grows cold, and every breath is a quiet confession. Through soft imagery and restrained sorrow, it captures the still beauty of waiting.
By heasb0022 years ago in Poets
Where the Clock Stopped
This ghazal paints the intimate stillness that follows absence—a room suspended in time, streets emptied of meaning, and verses heavy with memory. Through delicate imagery and restrained emotion, the poem expresses the echo of love that lingers long after all words have faded.
By heasb0012 years ago in Poets