art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Lovers
The sizzling temperature of my vein Feels like a premature, familiar pain I carry an uncomfortable shame
Andrew SchraderPublished 6 years ago in PoetsFeeling
Please tell me what this feeling is. You are happy but there is still a melancholy. A yearning for something that won’t grab your hand when you reach out. It’s a bittersweet pain, one that you somehow don’t want to end.
Mariam NaeemPublished 6 years ago in PoetsUnlimited Darkness
I walk into the darkness of lost and dying stars I walk into the pain of bleeding hearts and lungs I run into this darkness
Emma EllisonPublished 6 years ago in PoetsCold
May you fall, fall 'til you can see the ground. painted like a child's first drawing, a mixture of colors tossed around.
Xavier casillasPublished 6 years ago in PoetsRandom Thoughts
I keep needing to remind myself to talk to people. I don’t do it enough because I’m always somewhere else. My own place and I don’t let others in. It’s not on purpose it’s just that I don’t leave. I can’t find the ones to share with, or don’t. I’m too distracted by what’s there, in the place. I like it too much. Not the superficial or quick reward, but that of great thought. It would be great to show them. They can’t see it now, it must be perfect. If they peer through my window I shall cover it in ambiguity. Not yet, maybe later, when it’s ready. The prison is comfortable and my vision is not clear. The world is great and yet the window is better. The cloud filled eyes on my head wander like the thoughts of mine. They rest on others, or really a thought through the window. Eye contact is lost when they see me, but I don’t see them. Their world is great, the journey there is hard and yet the window is bitter. My head will eternally rest on the sleepless dreams that light my room of dark thought.
Andrew SchraderPublished 6 years ago in PoetsWhere to Go
The fear among us is commonplace Like a secret that is undisclosedSame feeling as seeing a carcass Something we are taught to be disposedFeelings can’t just fucking be ignoredIt is an arrogance not unknownWith it being so unjustifiedI will try not to ignore my own
Andrew SchraderPublished 6 years ago in PoetsFrosted Journey
My boots hit the ground and I quiver at every crackEvery step makes the entire body of water acheA desert of ice is all one sees when they look backHow can I make it from the middle of the this lakeI'm too far, it'll be useless if I try to backtrackTrying to grasp my body as it begins to shake
Andrew SchraderPublished 6 years ago in PoetsThe Note...
The old me will not make an appearance in this poem . Subsequently removed from society . This is for all the suicidal that thinks letting depression can also be your personality .
MarKayla BrightPublished 6 years ago in PoetsThe Artist & His Canvas
I had this fantasy where you and I were painting this picture and it’s value was priceless You were art crafted so define my mind was restless
Joely MillanPublished 6 years ago in PoetsBehind Closed Doors
When I see your face I can’t help but fill up with pain. My pain is measured in anger, And washed away by the rain. I try my best to forget the past,
Look at Her
She could be anything, She is beautiful, the art is captivating, Truly breathtaking, Like she is a strong fighter, the blood that's on her, maybe a vampire.
Crystal KorpanPublished 6 years ago in PoetsWhere I'm From
I am from manikins from shoes and plaid t-shirts I am from the sky above the world (White, clouds It tastes like candy).
Sheija BinshabanPublished 6 years ago in Poets