Free Verse
All the Broken Things💜 . Top Story - October 2026. Content Warning.
Personal Disclaimer: This poem is to spread awareness for all women and men who are affected by it. It's not a direct reflection of my relationship with my husband, but there's something hinting at that in this poem as well, so enjoy! Also, If anyone you know is being abused, suspected of being abused, or are a victim yourself, there is help available. Local shelters and organizations are a good way to start. However, if more in-depth help is needed, call the National Domestic Violence Hotline at 1-800-799-7233. And remember, love shouldn't hurt. 💜💜💜
By Rain Dayze24 days ago in Poets
October Is Strange, But Strange Is Where I Belong. Top Story - October 2026.
I found the road to October behind the abandoned railway station. It wasn't there yesterday. On the first cold morning it appeared between the birches. I followed it downhill, while the crows sang their dirge* for the shedding trees drenched in crimson and amber, still holding secrets of summer. I found myself in a strange place where the breezes sigh and the meadows are yawning. Where purples, pinks and pale oranges tint the skies. "The year is dying"—dead leaves whispered grieving, but for me the world never seemed more pulsing with life than in the slumber of October. Fog settled in the hollows, rain showered my face clean, the path cleared under my feet, as I walked deeper in the pines and stones worn by the years. Mushroom circles marked my way, their tiny caps turned toward me. A bell rang beyond the pines— Wait, there isn't a church nearby! I still made my way 'round the shimmering pond. I walked and walked, crossed a ravine swollen with rain, until I reached the heart of October where I was greeted with cold kisses on my rosy cheeks. I took a seat on a mossy log to rest my legs from the hike when a marginalian rabbit climbed in my lap holding a feuillemorte* crown. I reached out to touch the leaves when the bell rang twice. She looked at me, eyes aglow with warmth and wonder. Before I even knew it— leaves crunched between my fingers, something ancient tingled under my fingertips. Dazzling yet crumbling in my hand, I lifted it and placed it on my head. The wind stopped on the trails, birds changed their flights, November nodded with a sigh on the other side of the ruddy moon, and the bell began again in the distance. That's how I found October behind the abandoned rails where nothing was like yesterday, but I minded not. I never trusted a world that promised to stay the same.
By Imola Tóth24 days ago in Poets
