art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Outsiders (Lyrics)
You will never see what it’s like everyday. When all your thoughts do is run and play. They control every inch of you straight to the bone. Leave you feeling hopeless and more alone.
Riley ZaminerPublished 6 years ago in PoetsEveryone Means Something
When life tries to get you down, Look up, left, right and all around. Who made this, who made that? It is what it is, The seam of an empty hat!
Sarah ParishPublished 6 years ago in PoetsI Never Sleep on Saturdays
"I Never Sleep On Saturdays I... I never sleep... On Saturdays I don't know why (why), I just (I).... I just can't sleep....
Amber ReesPublished 6 years ago in PoetsWere Most of Your Stars Out?
We are stardust. Beautifully radiating all we are, All we want to be. You tried to shine. You couldn't. Were most of your stars out?
Shay MorganPublished 6 years ago in PoetsSun Adoring
So, this morning there was this tedious, slow thinking; An urge to forge, through the drinking of a coffee black, merged from the steam for my tongue to smack; So illicit it became, for I could not refrain, from drinking my thoughts, for whatever was sane.
Frank KemblePublished 6 years ago in PoetsInsomnia
Dancing with befriended demons that provide you with a false euphoria. You find the rhythm in the clockworks, the cogs being the instrument of a single thought that leads to another - maybe it is euphoria, maybe it is something to discover.
Blooming in December
It was in December, A cold foggy night . The concrete street was cold. Littered with rain and glowing lights. The sidewalk cracking, clearly old
Nikaylah brooksPublished 6 years ago in PoetsThe Dead
In the dark, I hear a knocking sound from my door, as I open it there's no one around. I go back to bed, only for a drip to land on my head. Impossible it seems, because not a soul is in the apartment above nor pipes to leak. Again, with the knocking, almost as someone is mocking, only this time from the peep hole I see a flash of red. As I reach for the handle, a voice from behind says, “open and you're dead.” It comes as a fright, because I'm alone tonight. The knocks got louder, heart beating faster, and the voice is getting closer. From nowhere, a hand touches my shoulder, at this moment I'm in shock. Lost and confused, all I can do is run to the back door till I hear something that rattled me to the core. Give up the voice says, as I turn around to my surprise, the neighbors are alive. Impossible because I buried their heads under my bed, all but the wife. With one hand, she holds a knife, the other her head, as I open the door, I'm greeted by cops and a shot in the head.
ElRey NiffenPublished 6 years ago in PoetsTired of Being Sad
As I put my drink on the night stand; promising myself that I am not going to do it. I still do. I push its head under, submerging its life in a lake of past joy,
Stephen Flores Jr.Published 6 years ago in PoetsThe Trigger
I believe it was that— that cold night in December, that flashed and burned Us. That set off a canon of venomous smoke,
Darnum BarnumPublished 6 years ago in PoetsStill Not Gon' Date You
I see you almost every day Still Not Gon' Date You My family loves you Still Not Gon' Date You My mother thinks you’re the best
Melanie BurkePublished 6 years ago in PoetsThe Demise
If our monsters made us men, If our heroes made us fall, If our hearts made us petty, There would be no difference at all.
Melanie BurkePublished 6 years ago in Poets