Elegy
The Unreality
I exist in a universe you cannot comprehend A world with no beginning or end An unplanned existence Full of survival and resistance
Atomic HistorianPublished 7 days ago in PoetsA Poem to Zorya Polunochnaya
borne at the bottom of a well every breath is progress. hide from the sun and burrow your face into cold bones and sewer
Carl Ballard SwansonPublished 7 days ago in PoetsOn the Wind
There amongst the Stars Crafting Bright Shimmering Lights Memories Don't Fade Since Legacies Must Be Made Please Yearn The Return
Thavien YliasterPublished 8 days ago in PoetsDragons Were
Dragons used to roam Before Existence Dawned With their breath they breathed in change They made Creation Spawn
Thavien YliasterPublished 8 days ago in PoetsBe the love you so actively seek
The horizon awaits the embellishment of its blending hues, To be dazzled in its beauties, to be unafraid of the unknown mighty blue.
Hridya SharmaPublished 8 days ago in PoetsStegosaurus Sophie
You don’t see me, do you? So carefully posed in parched contempt. This is survival beyond injury and death, all these plates and spikes. This
Rae SolacePublished 8 days ago in PoetsFirst Love Melody
A melody unheard, a whisper in the breeze, First love arrives, on tiptoe, through the trees. A heart that slumbered, wakes with a sudden beat,
Moharif YuliantoPublished 9 days ago in PoetsThorny Rose
(This poem tells the story of a rose, not from the perspective of a human admirer, but from the rose itself, exploring its duality of beauty and defense.)
Moharif YuliantoPublished 9 days ago in PoetsAIPoem-Generator.com: Write Poems & Poetry like a Pro
Poets are natural, and poetry is something that comes from inside. I believe this is something you can’t learn if you have no passion for doing so. Poets are usually creative and tend to find reasons or clues while observing their surroundings. If I could tell you about myself, I was someone who always had the passion for writing, signing, and writing poems and poetry for loved ones. I still remember the time when I was growing up; there was no internet or smart phones, and we used to write poetry on gift cards!
James JohnsonPublished 9 days ago in PoetsThe Unbound Spirit (Male Not Female)
Not carved from whispers, moonlight's gentle gleam, Nor from the softness of a flowing stream, My spirit's forged in fire, a blacksmith's might,
Moharif YuliantoPublished 10 days ago in Poets5/20/24
The view astounds As the word bounds from the top to the ground I find what was said to not be found My soul resonates sound
Atomic HistorianPublished 10 days ago in PoetsAsleep
I have stumbled on this stunning picture of Lawrence Matheson's gravestone in Mt. Macedon Cemetery of Victoria, Australia and was fascinated by it. I wrote this haiku just as a story placeholder. Perhaps one day I will come back to this story.
Lana V LynxPublished 10 days ago in Poets