Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Controlling ones we stay away from Can’t be with them for your freedom Stressful life we don’t want that When they look like ugly bat (lol)
By Haychie_Artist6 months ago in Poets
Dauntless vowels And slaughtered syllables Embroiders on circles, Dancing lucid… I stuttered abruptly With shackle words,
By HandsomelouiiThePoet (Lonzo ward)6 months ago in Poets
The hurt in his eyes isn’t easy to read: Walks on, stands tall, head held high, no reaction, no defense, just a solemn face.
By Edward Val6 months ago in Poets
Your Love Still Lives Here, Costing Me Exhaustion From My Remembrance… I Still Could See The Look In Your Eyes, That Told Me,
Reading books and tooling up Brain Is getting powerful…. Governments are crooked clowns How all this allowable…. Tougher times are well ahead
Love is a gateway to destruction, a pathway to a broken heart. Love is a road of sacrifice, a way that can tear you apart.
The Paper Bag Poet from YouTube I am not your polished screen glow, not your filtered face, not your perfect lie, I am a bag pulled over breath and bone,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 6 months ago in Poets
I cry real tears, while your eyes are dry I run from fears, while you hold none inside I’m scared to see myself, and all that I’ve become
Caught at the bottom of the glass jar, the grasshopper sits unable to free itself through the holes up top-- slits wide enough for oxygen to ensure it survives,
By Victor Eaves6 months ago in Poets
The coolest dude I ever met, the one man who taught me more than anyone, * was named Diego Mondragon. * I met him on a train called the Texas Eagle,
By David Muñoz6 months ago in Poets
It’s easy to send pawns to war When you’re sitting on high as king. But when the rooks and knights forever rest The pendulum begins its downward swing
The city was a gray machine, ticking with a million cold hearts. In the winter of 1950, London was a ghost of a forgotten dream.
By Hazrat Umer6 months ago in Poets
