Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Why do you write the things you do? Because it's who I am. Who do you write these stories for? Myself, to distract from the world around me.
By Thomas James3 years ago in Poets
Something poisonous is rushing through my veins and pumping its way to my heart. Its affecting everything I do. My writing. My words. My thoughts. My music. My day to day. Now that feeling is killing me slowly and I can feel those parts of me dying off.
Inspiration comes from the strangest places. Often flowing from where least expected. None can tell when it comes. It simply does.
Inspiration is a fleeting thing. When it's gone, you can't get it back. So you sit in darkness, waiting for something new to take hold.
Inspiration is the driving force behind those that create. Yet is difficult to define. However the best example I've found is this:
Remembering days that used to be, days of you and me, a love that golden shone, when we were young and in love. How time has flown,
By Rasma Raisters3 years ago in Poets
Through the seasons, in my life, I have wandered, with each new, spring, summer, autumn, and winter. So many footsteps are left behind,
World war 3 Is round the corner My job Is to Warna Brother Have we reached the end of times Look how high’s the fricking crimes
By Haychie_Artist3 years ago in Poets
After the party, that lascivious bohemia, Bacchanalian hubbub Carrying on still night air, erotic Dancing rhythms and bloomed
By Hannah Moore3 years ago in Poets
Everyone thinks you’re some kind of hustler They think you want the entire smorgasbord But they don’t realize You’re not an easy customer
By Atomic Historian3 years ago in Poets
In a world adorned with hues so bright, A tapestry of colors, a mesmerizing sight. Painted skies in shades of twilight's kiss,
By Akash 3 years ago in Poets
Golden whispers hum, Nature's tapestry unfolds, Sunlight dreams embrace.
By Printique Studios3 years ago in Poets
