Ballad
I Have Called the Darkness Friend
I Have Called the Darkness Friend You call me dramatic; you say I speak in fear, But you weren’t there beside me when the darkness drew near. You haven’t heard the whispers dressed in promises of light, Or watched a thing that seemed so good reveal its face at night.
By Hannah Lambert4 days ago in Poets
Abandoned, Fallow Land
Estranged, alone Plentiful solitude, Cavernous hunger for need Left insatiable and starved Grows its poisonous weed Fueling need with venom Anguish with despondency A fallow ground, infertile A soul lacking warmth Emotions, feelings, nothing tactile
By Alexandra Grant5 days ago in Poets
Haunting Your Own Damn House
Verse 1 I don’t hold grudges; I just pack up and leave. I don’t chase closure or beg you to believe. I don’t rewind the stories that you twist from the truth I don’t hold grudges—I just stop holding you. Verse 2 I don’t match energy; I don’t rise to your mess. I don’t mirror the moods that you call "progress." I don’t dance in the chaos that you swear is so deep. I don’t match energy—I step back and let you keep it. Chorus If I treat you like a ghost, congratulations— You’re haunting your own damn house. You keep calling into the rooms I left behind, And you’re shocked there’s no one there now. If I treat you like a ghost, congratulations— You’re haunting your own damn house. Verse 3 I don’t stick around just to watch what you hide. I won’t stay while you rewrite the truth from your lies I won’t linger in silence that you pretend is new. I don’t stick around—I just stop standing next to you. Bridge This is on you—every choice that you made. This is on you—every game that you played. It’s no mystery or puzzle left to undo. The haunting, the silence, the echo is you. Chorus If I treat you like a ghost, congratulations— You’re haunting your own damn house. You keep calling into the rooms I left behind, And you’re shocked there’s no one there now. If I treat you like a ghost, congratulations— You’re haunting your own damn house.
By Julie O'Hara - Author, Poet and Spiritual Warrior5 days ago in Poets
The Open Latitude
There is a profound difference between a trap and a sanctuary. In a world that constantly demands a performance—where you are expected to carry a specific shield, speak from a flawless script, or meet an overwhelming list of expectations—it takes a massive amount of hidden energy just to keep up the perimeter. It is exhausting to feel like you always have to be a finished hero just to step into the light. When the stakes feel too high, the natural instinct is to pull back, to retreat into the quiet safety of the open road or the distance of a screen, simply to find room to breathe.
By Syl De'Vil7 days ago in Poets
Vita In Discrimine
Today, I sipped my coffee Under orange leaf hues Listening to the endless rustling Of nature’s phoenix fire *** Why must decay reign For us to acknowledge The beauty held within A leaf so mundane? *** Foliage so full of fire Underscored by snap and crackle Assembled bodies Warmed by flame and wool *** A constant, latent chill Demands a libation A cider, a bourbon A paired stew, preferred in a cauldron *** Twirl amongst the skeletons Let shivered spines Be eternal reminders That thou art mortals *** So let us come honor This hallowed month Which, if we’re quite honest Wears the crown, in triumph
By Matthew J. Fromm11 days ago in Poets
