Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
The sun is just breaking, Rosily blushing over the mountains. The modern rooster calls From its black mirrored pond Hustle bustle
By Ellie Hoovs2 years ago in Poets
She Spilled The Ink ✍️ She spilled the ink, the poem was lost, Her dreams undone at careless cost. Words bled out in shadowed streams,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 2 years ago in Poets
In the hushed embrace of a winter's sigh, Moonlight breathes softly, a glow in the night sky. Beyond the frosted windowpanes, shadows blend,
By GoldenSpeech2 years ago in Poets
Snow descends, gentle, a whispered breath, Beneath a sky awash in twilight's death. Each flake, a fragile thought on the wing—
Beneath a sky stitched with stars, the snow softly sings, It dances in silence, where winter’s magic clings. Each flake holds a secret, a melody so light,
"I lang hae thought, my youthfu’ friend, A Something to have sent you" this art or craft skill or alchemy for weaving words—
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Poets
Veils of silver cling, leaf and stone drink dawn’s soft kiss— life whispers awake.
By Printique Studios2 years ago in Poets
Lost where the silence of a too-quickly spinning world traps me, Caught between what used to be and what's someday to be, shades of my past.
By Ruzlat2 years ago in Poets
Alone, he sits on the bustling street, Where people come and go, a sea of faces. Yet not truly on the street he sits, But in a corner's embrace, with half a brick
By peter shawn2 years ago in Poets
I will find it, even if the road ahead is lost in fog and shadow, Through the storms that tear at my soul and the winds that push me low.
Am I alone or merely standing in the echo of my own soul, Where the silence speaks louder than any voice could ever unfold?
By Charlotte is Here!2 years ago in Poets
I stand before the mirror, a realm where truths and illusions collide, Its glass reflects not just my flesh, but the storms I hide inside.
By Corzati2 years ago in Poets
