Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Blessed are the souls who walk in humble light, For heaven opens wide to them in night. Blessed are the ones who weep in silent pain,
By CA'Di LUCE * Confessions & Memories in Conversations with friends!/ It’s not a revolution—it’s a quiet evolution.7 months ago in Poets
Life’s a journey Integrating Good and bad we’re separating Specially this day and age They are filling up with rage All these leaders mischief making
By Haychie_Artist7 months ago in Poets
Faith, real Faith, it's all we must to have - the peace in our hearts and strength to be so brave. Faith, real Faith, when paths will starts to wave,
See them, with me, and love them: far-travelers of many colors, singing a thousand melodies, storied, each, having crossed Atlantic, Pacific, dunes or plains,
By Gabriel Huizenga7 months ago in Poets
In fields of yellow flowers bright, You walk with courage, holding light. A heart so soft, yet brave and true, The world is kinder having you.
Artist life is money poor, bank balance grows slowly, but other perks are huge. As today morning, I was making a landscape,
By Seema Patel7 months ago in Poets
I was telling my daughter that a friend said she wanted to live in the woods in a hut, with a cat. Daughter said that is what witches do.
Something sits at the end of my tongue. A memory that is unable to form into words. A distant train bellows with the same frustration that pollutes the whites of my eyes.
By Amanda Abela7 months ago in Poets
Looking out of the window, listening to the seconds pass by. Any breath already taken, any second counting down, as the cells work inside us.
By Lucripa7 months ago in Poets
I sit quietly at the entrance of the house in the early morning. The air is still cool, carrying the fading breath of winter. The garden is silent except for the distant sound of a bird greeting the day. In front of me stands the peach tree, thin branches stretching gently toward the pale sky. It does not look impressive at first glance. Its limbs twist in quiet patience, reaching above the red tiles of the roof, as if sketching a quiet picture against the morning light.
By Ibrahim 7 months ago in Poets
Her hand reaches up, wiping away a sole tear from her snowy cheek.
By A. S. Lawrence7 months ago in Poets
His hand reaches up and wipes away a lone tear from his blooming cheek.
