Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
I'm so confused Scars mar my heart Unsure of which path Would be right to chose I'm tired of being used I gave you my options
By Shams Says2 years ago in Poets
Imagine It And it will imagine you right back Life is bigger than you think Or maybe you do And don't want to tell But never the less
In eleventh grade, I learned the word grotesque. It seemed to me that it was tied to human nature. All the lines we try to hide growing
Today, I put a full stop at the end of an on-going poem, the sad part was that I thought it will bleed beyond it, but all it asked for
Middle Age Quagmire Out of shape and out of style / A shotgun shack for a domicile. Overworked and overdrawn / Still, I keep on keeping on.
By Chris Z2 years ago in Poets
If I could lead me to death's bed, Where life's burdens are gently shed, I'd find solace in final breath, Amidst the stillness, embracing death.
There’s a breezy wind Down bridal path Morning birds Tweeting Having a laugh. Mr fox ambled by With distain let Out a sigh
Let's just say I opened my heart I would smell the anxiety Fear Love Pain But I wonder If anyone else would But I think not
How would it be? If it wouldn’t snow but rain in the wintertime? * How would it be - if it wouldn’t rain but snow in the springtime?
By Rasma Raisters2 years ago in Poets
Grandma’s fancy dish out only on holidays filled with candies that melt in your mouth; pastel pink, green. yellow and white,
Fun mixed with love together, should light up a spark, on New Years eve, to shine like the sun. So my emotions, shall prepare for peace,
memories are zombies on crack perhaps I could have convinced myself of my worth but looking at you I swore I’d never be enough
