They can break your heart, but they can't break your soul; poetry about lost love that comforts and uplifts.
He gazed into his blazing fire, As tears formed in his eyes, The flames licked higher, Laughing as he drowned in his demise.
By Calvin Londonabout a year ago in Poets
Love We Could If we loved— not like firecrackers in July, loud and brief and falling back to ash— but like seasons, slow and sure,
By Gabriela Toneabout a year ago in Poets
You demonize privilege, the very nostrils that fetch air to your lungs. The sinister boogeyman you drag around behind you,
By Natasha Collazoabout a year ago in Poets
I went to Lab Corp to get blood drawn I was half awake when I got there because I had a seven fifteen appointment When I got there we had to wait of course it was a fasting test so my stomach was growling
By Susan Paytonabout a year ago in Poets
The woman was pretty, and she knew it. Wherever she went, compliments followed— she wanted more. She magnified her beauty
By Seema Patelabout a year ago in Poets
A letter, I wanted to send, but the feelings keep drifting further away in time as clear as the face on that morning. I feel the heart in me break down once more with your harsh words, that bit right into my core, and told me what it really was like to live.
By April about a year ago in Poets
They told me black is black, White is white; They only noticed the color of my skin, In their eyes, For me to have feelings is a sin,
By Carol Ann Townendabout a year ago in Poets
When We Grow Up “They say, when you grow up, you can do what your heart desires,” They speak as if it’s a dream that easily transpires.
By Shwet Prabha Baiswarabout a year ago in Poets
As I open the gates to the stones of the past I witness a glimpse of a future never masked Forward they face, and standing they lie
By Alexander McLachlanabout a year ago in Poets
You have 6 hundred thousand You can buy a jazz You have 6 million You can buy a BMW . You have 2 million You can buy a small house
By Rohitha Lankaabout a year ago in Poets
You left nothing of yourself— no final note, no unfinished mug on the counter, not even the trace of your scent on the pillow beside mine.
By Im lil jim bobabout a year ago in Poets
It took me a while to understand that I chose love as a chicken... I endured a lot of things because I couldn't turn back...
