Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
My poetry is simple My poetry is blind. My poetry is mine, Even if it doesn't rhyme. What? Poems can't see? The one who fails to see,
By Julia Severe7 years ago in Poets
She sat at her desk as she wrote her thoughts. It calls to her mind, stories of the past Memories forever, yet it's lost These misplaced memories have been amassed
By Britney Belcher7 years ago in Poets
Still as a stone angel in a forgotten graveyard, She sat without a single breath escaping her rigid form. The ache from lack of air was a welcome distraction from the all engulfing flames of her life.
By Alina Gallupe7 years ago in Poets
Gotta make my call to the universe Make it boom while I'm on this earth Putting in all this work to make it work Before I'm laid in dirt lay a lady first
By Chad L.7 years ago in Poets
To be a sheltered child With carpet feet And temper mild To look out the glass the barrier between here and there And wherever, is beyond that turn.
By Destiny Smith7 years ago in Poets
Look at me like a piece of artwork Look at the fine outer lines of my figure The bold colors of my background The way my body is angled
By Shaelyn Terry7 years ago in Poets
Walk down the cobblestone road Until you reach a little piazza. There you'll find a sweet old man In a cafè across from a chiesa.
By Tota Mundus7 years ago in Poets
Splitting inside, Going insane Testing the lies, living in pain Alone in the woods, hear me now Calling to you, without a sound
By Chris Gingerich7 years ago in Poets
I am lost with no direction in life Better settle down now and find myself a wife I hope that she don’t get home too early
By Tyler Peer7 years ago in Poets
You’ll be a mother one day, she tells me You may not want it, but you will There’s some growing to be done, you see And then a household you will fill
red lights, green lights plain faces that empty full places those uneventful summer nights bleak words shared with no one you truly know
By Angel Jaramillo7 years ago in Poets
I live in a world Where everything is grey Dreary Like iron clouds Whose only purpose Is to rain down Broken sheets of misery upon me
By A. R. Ambrosi7 years ago in Poets