Free Verse

Muse
a heart typewritten in ink for blood and words for bone poetry and soliloquy embodied a soul illuminated in time in pages, chapters, and volume of a life lived in rhyme and color and page and canvas i will plant myself in your eternal curiosity only to be discovered for the first time to be consumed by time’s insatiable hunger blooming and burgeoning in young blood seeds of unwritten love and grief and sorrow and bliss of what it means to be human to be broken and and mend yourself again and the scars left from holding shards of something that’s meant to be whole of lonely islands with clear turquoise ocean and warm soft sand and exotic jungles full of creatures bleach blonde curls and a sun-kissed skin on the shores of your bravest journey learning to talk to strangers again and falling in love with yourself reconnecting to your lost childhood innocence and free diving into the depths of trauma and insanity only to find how alone you are when you’re “in your right mind” losing faith and doubting how a good God can tolerate so much darkness, evil, and injustice learning to trust yourself again despite all the reasons you have not to i remember who i am, who I’ve always been a life born of ancestral dreams that one day you would be the one who would finally break the curse
By Bethabout 3 hours ago in Poets
Acts Of Kindness
Acts Of Kindness Little moments, unexpected pleasures, Little memories that one always treasures, Somebody sees you struggling one day, And comes right over, going out of their way.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about 3 hours ago in Poets
The Coming Of Fall
Chills come calling through the air Colors falling here and there Leaving the beautiful trees bare Pumpkins sprouting all around
By Sarah Danaherabout 3 hours ago in Poets
Old Bones
Old Bones Picking at old bones again, Digging where the past has lain, Searching through what time has thrown, Finding things I should have known.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about 3 hours ago in Poets
The Things I Never Said
The Things I Never Said I sat thinking over a cup of tea, Of all the things I’ve left unsaid, Things that were brushed beneath the carpet, And things I kept inside my head.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about 3 hours ago in Poets
The Windmill of Love
That which we know as love, can be fickle or true, like the spokes of a windmill - love goes round and round. A love that isn’t true,
By Rasma Raistersabout 4 hours ago in Poets
85 Blues
Highway lousy with trucks and troopers, ghost trees in the sky, metal boxes sliding in and out of lanes rearranging plates and pullovers, parking lots
By Harper Lewis about 5 hours ago in Poets
Worth
How will I know my worth if no one is here to assess me? To assign value? To rate me somewhere between not enough and too much? I know I am pretty. I know I am funny, that I can make a home out of wishes and violet paint. I am clever and strange in ways I’m fond of. Still, I want to be chosen. Not like a dress pulled from a clearance rack, or the last unbruised apple at the market. I want the kind of choosing that happens after you’ve learned when I say rest in peace I mean sleep well. After you have heard me turn the details of ordinary Tuesdays into epic tales. I want you to hear my laugh from another room and smile before you see me. I want you to know my oddities the way people drive the streets of their hometowns: without looking, without thinking, by heart. I want you to find value in all the little things I love about myself and the things I don’t. Not with a number. Not with a ranking. Not by comparing me to someone less strange, someone more hinged. I want you to look at me with certainty and know my worth.
By Tina D. Lopezabout 5 hours ago in Poets
Milt
Milt October is cold blooded, sliding towards the end of the year. The air thins into water where trees shed their rusted scales
By Alyson Smith about 5 hours ago in Poets
🍂 Romancing October
October knocked on my door... knowing that I was alone and feeling the blues..."Come", he invited..." lets go visit my Crib".
By Novel Allenabout 8 hours ago in Poets
In Darkness
There are some words that do not simply enter your ears. They enter somewhere deeper. Somewhere beneath all the noise, beneath the things we say when we are trying to be okay, beneath the practiced smiles and the automatic “I’m fine,” beneath all the little ways we learn to protect ourselves from being seen too clearly.
By Zakari Rungeabout 10 hours ago in Poets
Imagine Autumn Turning into Spring
Imagine Autumn Turning to Spring The colours of autumn blaze into life You still have time To see and feel the last warmth of summer Even as the body is wrapped In thicker and thicker layers
By Henrik Hagelandabout 15 hours ago in Poets