They can break your heart, but they can't break your soul; poetry about lost love that comforts and uplifts.
The room is quiet—you are not; Your dying eyes recall a thought. Who will be there at night in my bed? Who will lie on the pillow above my head?
By Baby Josieabout a year ago in Poets
I am a well— built eons ago, cemented in stone to quench thirst, quell tears, staunch the flow— life’s elixir. My fortified walls
By Stacey Mataxis Whitlow (SMW)about a year ago in Poets
I wrote you a song underwater, where the sound never asked to be understood, only felt. It was heartache, like the hush you always gave me, rippling a lullaby I sang to myself when your hands were full of something louder than love.
By S Sherie Wilsonabout a year ago in Poets
i’ve been looking into your heart shaped eyes for awhile now there’s something wrong not right are you playing the fool again?
By Lya Chemalyabout a year ago in Poets
I Won’t Wear Pretty Things I won’t wear pretty things for you or pull my shape to match your view don’t tuck me in, don’t trim me neat
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
I dream of skies where I could soar, Where locked-up hopes could breathe once more. But every time I near the sky, I stop myself — I don’t know why.
By Muhammad Rahim about a year ago in Poets
My heart screams but my lips remain sealed For mother once taught me: strength lies in concealed. Bad times shall pass, she softly would say,
By Rahat nazabout a year ago in Poets
The stars above were calm and bright, They stitched my soul with threads of light. The moon looked down, a knowing friend,
By Mahmood Afridiabout a year ago in Poets
People in Glass Houses People in glass houses, living shattered lives, they smile through thin reflections, pretending truth survives.
Wondering why for some reason of my work gets hardly any reading? (Note: It just seems that I read and comment on all my many notifications, but hardly any reads and comments on my work.)
By Mark Grahamabout a year ago in Poets
For just one word, those years of bonds were lost, But in the end, some faces knew the cost. Was it my fame—or shame they came to see?
By Usamaabout a year ago in Poets
I arrived expectantly at a splendour I thought was mine, a charm fizzling out in the direction of dying excitements. Anger is the expression in my heart and I’m embittered as I drop the humungous weight of a mad tempest.
By Valabout a year ago in Poets
