heartbreak
They can break your heart, but they can't break your soul; poetry about lost love that comforts and uplifts.
The escape that changed my voice
I have arrived. I thought I did, or is it possible to suffer in an imaginary world? The tender hands become unkind in a nocturnal image. Barefoot witnesses the cold mortal voice of the escape. Footprints behind remind of the pain rooted by the unkind hands. Tears of the unknown shadows scar into my swollen face.
By Johana Torresabout a year ago in Poets
Full Moon In Scorpio
It'll slip between your fingers you've been warned. Time's faster than it looks. I am you forgiven. Cherished. What keeps you up at night won't keep you warm. I am with you when you're longing. Kindling. The flame is stoked but never tamed. By the time one dies out another's born. We are truly what others fear of our union. Quantumly entangled. Divine.
By Kristen Keenon Fisherabout a year ago in Poets
We Were the Summer
We were sixteen and seventeen, barefoot girls chasing heat through sunburnt fields and quiet lanes that only we knew. Anna always had a camera, old and heavy, the kind that clicked loud and smelled like dust and memory. We called ourselves artists, drinking sky with our eyes, finding poems in the cracks of pavement and fenceposts. That day, the light was gold, melting over the long grass like honey. We wandered too far. No path, just instinct, following the hum of a world that felt endless. She wanted a photo on the edge of the railway bridge, arms out like wings, wind tangling her dress. I laughed. I teased. I turned my head. And then — a sound too large for the world. The train. A scream swallowed by steel. Time collapsed into metal and air and the soft thud of something falling. I ran to where she had stood. Only the camera remained, cracked open, the film spilling out like a wound. Afterwards, they said it was an accident. That she didn’t see it coming. That it was no one’s fault. But I had turned away. I, who should have seen. I, who knew that sound a half-second too late. Now I carry summer like a burden, the sun a cruel reminder. Every photo I take is missing her shadow. Even now, years and years on, I cannot cross a railway bridge without feeling my hands shake. Some things are too sharp to forget. Some girls are made of light and leave you in the dark.
By Israr khanabout a year ago in Poets
Box, Stage Left: A Monologue in Three Acts of Deception
Author's Notes Preamble: I wanted to put this right before the action takes place. I am finally published outside of Vocal and by anyone other than myself! This poem is one of two submitted to Vocal legends' Celia and River In Underland's awesome new publication, The Underland Review. This poem and one called "In Situ After “I Need My Girl” by The National (which I will publish on Vocal at another time) are featured in the August 2025 edition, among other names many people will be familiar with.
By Paul Stewartabout a year ago in Poets
When "I Love You" Means "I Love Me": Reclaiming Your Landscape
You don't have to walk a path with someone while you're wounded. Not everyone is worth your efforts. The person who claims to love you keeps asking you to give in. They've given in to no end, yet you're still so alone.
By Emily Chan - Life and love sharingabout a year ago in Poets
