Free Verse
Mine Palace Construction
There is a room in my mind I’ve lived in for years without ever meaning to. A room built out of old conversations, unfinished apologies, and the kind of memories that cling like damp fabric. I didn’t decorate it. I didn’t choose the furniture. I didn’t even choose to stay. But somehow, I kept returning to it—sitting in the same chair, touching the same wounds, replaying the same ghosts.
By Syl De'Vil22 days ago in Poets
Twilight Spaces . Top Story - October 2026.
In that half asleep space, head veiled in linen, you’re just a staircase away from me. It isn’t the house settling. That was you closing the dryer. It was the rattling of the cupboard. You’re grabbing me a cup of water on your way to bed because you love me. Because a cup of water at my bedside is how you tell me. And I close my eyes again and try to go back to sleep but I’m thinking about the spot where your ear meets your face. Thinking of your hair falling across my eyes. Someday I will die. I hope I’m happy when I do. I’ve picked out my burial plot and it’s where my lips used to live. Among the hills of your cheeks, the valley of your lips. I will rest in peace there.
By Sandor Szabo22 days ago in Poets
An October Prayer
Sunset dipped in amber clouds, juiced and pressed in burnt orange. Palm warblers christen the wet evening— beneath the nose, a hint of pine resin and petrichor. This seasonal pouring I have known this fall before, but where does she wander now? Has she slipped her moorings for unmarred seas— never to return? As October passes, patinaed waters pool beneath sycamores dropping their toothy leaves. Pray October winds carry this ship back to harbor— not forever, but long enough to hear it rocking. Pray the autumn rain lifts the film from these clouded eyes, restoring luster to a marmalade sky. Pray the morning sun clears the tongue of yesterday’s orange, allowing fresh buds to savor— fall's full harvest in October’s Eden, unafraid, naked in weathered skin.
By Pixel Floyd23 days ago in Poets
