The Man in the Frame He sits in shadow and light, A soul caught between time and dream, The lines on his face tell stories,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 11 months ago in Poets
The Girl in the Photograph She smiled behind the frozen glass, A perfect moment, sealed in frame, Her eyes still bright, her laughter caught,
The Old Music Box It played a tune so soft, so low, It seemed to breathe, to hum, to cry, The lid was cracked, the paint was worn,
**The Day Your Eyes Forgot My Name** *The moment love turned into memory, and I learned that even the brightest eyes can forget what once felt like home.*
By Kashif Wazir11 months ago in Poets
Love me softly, like the whisper of dawn, when the world still sleeps and the sun has not yet learned to burn. Touch me gently,
The night you left, the air forgot how to breathe. The world felt smaller, as if the stars themselves bowed their heads.
do you remember when i gifted a piece of you to my first love? a small plot by mare serenitatis (i wonder how many might own parts of you now?). the length of that relationship did not measure anywhere near the distance of our love, so we suffered greatly; burning bright, but oh so very brief. we'd look up, knowing wherever we were we looked upon you together, and we could feel each other.
By kp11 months ago in Poets
Introduction I think some of the things that we are always on the hunt for are happiness and joy, and if we are lucky, love.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 11 months ago in Poets
I’m already sleeping better than I was and I don’t wish the world to burn I don’t wish burning upon anything even if it’s been dry
By Olivia Dodge11 months ago in Poets
—- ten dozen tired eyes at dusk, 5743, and a story that won’t begin. a draping under the curtained monotony, just another mind melding matrimony. a happy birthday lingering in late June’s grave. I’m fine, I’m vomiting. a vertical one hundred and eighty degrees. north no matter your venom. I’m trying, I’m adapting. just up and down and outwards of this skin. and the tropics are so frigid from out here’s perspective. this dense atmospheric fog lingering in the lungs. a steady choking, like we pay for it every time we breathe. like this dagger that stopped the bleeding in my neck. finally. the truth can come out of its ingrown spot. this same realization that ‘father’ is just another word wasted on you in the dictionary.
By h.a.laine11 months ago in Poets
The Black Cat Who Walked Through Shadows He came one night without a sound, his eyes two golden lanterns, burning against the hush of dark,
There was a love between us, that never asked for words. It lived softly in glances, in smiles that said everything. It was quiet,
By Kashif Wazir12 months ago in Poets
