heartbreak
They can break your heart, but they can't break your soul; poetry about lost love that comforts and uplifts.
The Cups We Didn’t Break
We left the cups where they stood Not from care but fear One sound might open everything we kept closed So we sat around them like ruins unspoken They waited for hands for warmth for endings But we did nothing Silence was safer than shatter So the cups remained full of dust instead of tea We called it peace But it felt like the moment just before a scream
By Hazrat Usman Usmanabout a year ago in Poets
Do You Fear Losing Someone, Or Not Knowing How to Be Alone?
The more you know how to be alone, the less you fear losing someone. In fact, I've always liked traveling solo. Beyond the freedom, no one needs to accommodate anyone else. You decide what time to have breakfast, what time to go out, and how long to stay at a tourist attraction.
By Emily Chan - Life and love sharingabout a year ago in Poets
Letting Go, Holding On
“Move on,” they say — just two small words, But heavy as the flight of birds That soar away from broken trees, To chase the winds, escape the freeze. He holds the past in glowing red, Each beat a name, each pulse unsaid. It’s not the letting go that aches, It’s all the echoes love still makes. We say goodbye without a sound, Yet memories still hang around. The heart, though cracked, still dares to beat, Still dreams of faces it won’t meet. But healing starts with just one breath, A step beyond the fear of death — Of dreams that fade, of tears once shed, Of all the words we left unsaid. So here he stands — not weak, but brave, A silent storm he chose to face. For letting go is not the end, It’s where the lost begin to mend.
By The Pen of Farooq about a year ago in Poets
How I Became a Ghost in My Own Life. AI-Generated.
How I Became a Ghost in My Own Life I wasn’t always invisible. There was a time I filled the room with laughter and the sound of my shoes tapping on kitchen tiles. My voice used to carry like warm air in spring. I used to sing in the shower and cry during movies. My chest would rise and fall with purpose. I lived.
By waseem khanabout a year ago in Poets
