Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
To completely lose myself in you... the stabbing of every doubt come true. Your back turned towards the truth, moments I cried for you,
By Unspoken Words2 years ago in Poets
your house was never a home and not for lack of trying. you hung pictures and planted flowers and opened all the windows.
By Sara 2 years ago in Poets
This Endeavour you have taken, Arriving in the arms of those that have longed for your presence. Sounds of mourning you created filled the room,
By Alphonso Gowah2 years ago in Poets
I found success is boring, Wisdom is lonely And real beauty is shallow. Eternity is a very long time, Walking with this lonely soul.
By Edward Banele Thela2 years ago in Poets
Don’t know why It’s taking time Something fishy going on…. While I sit and write my rhyme Getting ready with my song…. Stop the cap It’s not a crime
By Haychie_Artist2 years ago in Poets
where do poems we write in the night go while we lie, dreaming and scheming perfection is borne of ignorance or dissonance
By Paul Stewart2 years ago in Poets
It's crazy how we love the dark side A dark side which is hard for us to decide Between us, simple love is hard to provide
By Precious Usese2 years ago in Poets
War collusion of weaponed souls Groveling minds reflecting Foreshadowed images under the blazing dawn Harvesting the labor of lives taken through stereotypical manipulation. The fire of death is birthed between different objectives. A personal vendetta is a dehumanizing projectory. Unheard stories remain folded under turning graves. While freedom is law being put for favored measures. Discriminating perspectives Overwhelming the logical defences. It's the injustice war of power and control to eliminate the light the end of tunnel has claimed. Transparent messages not intertwining with the referred principles. Being taught self-hate Being shown self-love is for the illusionist. Over-bearing the internal pain, The merely systemed crimes committed inside the unseen mind, is a tormenting imagery. Victim among victim's, but also a tyrant among dead king's. The dark summons after the clouded sun. Grieve finds it's path back to the griever. Tears start to ocean the faith. Life then becomes a meaningless word dotted above the obituary. Injustice war still reigns supreme but every counted soldier becomes lost within the forward counting caskets. The present moment is the only elephant in the room. The future is nolonger told among stars in the sky but scripted rapidly from those that have fallen. Ones life becomes the absence of capital distribution Nature takes its course to flee corpse's with stole dignity to a place of eternal slumber. The hunger of peace has unforseen casualties Preparing a choir from God. Sympathy then becomes mortal Love then becomes a vaccine available depending on your status.
By Irvin 2 years ago in Poets
In the realm where hunger roams, Color fades to mere whispers, Disease knows no boundaries, Nations weep in unison, Poverty's grasp defies culture,
By Ahsan Ahmad2 years ago in Poets
Silent tears fall in the dead of night Whispers of love turn to quiet sighs Memories fade, hearts grow distant Promises lost in the wind
By Angel Sri2 years ago in Poets
I don’t want to lie; my last relationship taught me A LOT (mostly about myself) but it also left me broken. I don’t think I have the capacity to trust, as I once had.
By Nomfundo Gumede2 years ago in Poets
Memories lie in photos, taken it seems but yesterday, now a lifetime ago, from when we were still teens. First love, first kiss, first you,
By Rasma Raisters2 years ago in Poets
