Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Breathe in, the quiet hum of the earth beneath. Breathe out, a ripple of calm spreading wide. Feel the soft cradle of the air—
By Printique Studios2 years ago in Poets
Your voice matters, not because it shouts the loudest, but because it carries the weight of who you are. Every word, a thread woven into the fabric of this world,
By Edina Jackson-Yussif --personal growth 2 years ago in Poets
Art from the soul cannot be rushed. You may think you can create quickly, but it’s not rushed— it flows swiftly from within.
By Anon2 years ago in Poets
Art, where is it wrong Will be fine, but a hit; Socked! Reality's frame. Thank you for reading! Which part of the poem resonates with you? Share your thoughts. Please leave a comment. Copyright 2025 K.A. Smith
By K.A. Smith2 years ago in Poets
The winding, the binding, the blinding, the sounding of all Hell's pain all Hell's pain All hell's pain as the life of strife is held down by a knife to the throat
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Poets
It’s never a bad time to leave the boots on, remembering our happiest moment and reviving feelings that once died in hell.
By Abyssalgroove2 years ago in Poets
It is a specter, a shadow, a reflection, a branch falling from a fir tree. Near the blue fire of winter, speaking with any undead
Few people see the true interior of another person. We are often guided by appearances and power, forgetting our values and principles, sometimes failing ourselves.
We begin by seeing a bubble, a reflective layer, without thinking about what its moving aesthetics transmit. In the tunnel full of carriages, watching
The year is almost over; embrace the loved ones by your side. Having a united family is having infinite divinity. We continuously complain and hate each other, acting like a bullet in Russian
Camouflaging like a venomous snake, waiting for the moment to inject its poison, separating your heaven from your hell, leaving
We are like fire; the higher the temperature, the more we disintegrate everything in our path, losing control and trust. Our heads become sharp weapons. We flow like air, like a fallen
