art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Why We Write...
We write when we can’t tell anyone but the page how we feel. And when putting pen to paper feels like an act of rebellion.
Emily DurstonPublished 7 years ago in PoetsMusic of Illusion
My compassion towards music is like the moves of the trees as it flows through the breeze whistling into my ears like it's nothing what it seems, that it captured my heart which feels like it's a whole new me. As I shut my eyes closed I start becoming captivated by the sound of the clashing leaves that are falling down freely through the breeze like they are having a party, just being hypnotized thinking I'm in a whole new world where I can be free doing anything from what I believe which makes things magical as it can be.
Maliya. RiaPublished 7 years ago in PoetsClassic
Byron bites backa romantic’s attemptto save literaturea nominal heroobscuringan alter-ego under the cover of nightmoonlit-nocturnesa composition inE Flatmuch to Chopin’schagrin theinextricably linkedliterary musemusic
Strawberry Oil Change
Technician number 75 Carries two week old yogurt In his hands blackened with oil Back to his station he goes Eating spoonfuls of near rancid
Malex WolfePublished 7 years ago in Poetsunwritten
falling in love at a used bookstore it’s everything that remains unwritten the spaces in between words an inkless infatuation
The Gift Within
Inside you there's magic A gift within A place where your light shines The place to begin It may be a voice That longs to be heard
Leanne ConnerPublished 7 years ago in PoetsThe Monsters in Me
I've got demons inside of me, Maybe even the devil in disguise My heart is now black, the bad thoughts sincere I ask, but, pity I receive
Anymore
Nowadays I walk on floors that are my own. I've been to the past and I've seen my future and I've slept in a shallow grave.
Amanda FishPublished 7 years ago in PoetsAddicted to You
Some guys are addicted to smoking Am addicted to thinking Some guys are even addicted to drinking Am addicted to continue thinking
Harydo NeonPublished 7 years ago in PoetsReality's Game
The pain I feel, It's all too real. Numb inside, My head is spinning, Not knowing which way to go, Who to turn to, How to trust.
Ilana WeissPublished 7 years ago in PoetsHave You Ever…
Have you ever imagined what illustrates our thoughts, our sudden burst of colors, things we’ve never seen, places we’ve never been
André dos SantosPublished 7 years ago in PoetsWinds of Depression
Dark whirling winds violently crashing, Souls twirling, wound and smashing, Against the blackened sense of self, And the macabre crush of defeat,
Daniel MapanaoPublished 7 years ago in Poets