They can break your heart, but they can't break your soul; poetry about lost love that comforts and uplifts.
Why am I still here? I told myself I wouldn't come back, and yet here I am, standing once more in the same place where consequences and regrets sprout endlessly.
By Alejo Negrettabout a year ago in Poets
''We are the people of Easter, and 'Alleluia' is our song'' Confused, Mentally depressed, hopeless, discouraged, Faint with fear, etc., we will each go to Emmaus in our own way and at our own pace.
By Rohitha Lankaabout a year ago in Poets
What Remains In earlier times, I often pondered About the transformations in others. I felt a deep sadness Regarding the differences I observed.
It is not difficult to forgive someone, but to trust them again is not easy. It takes weeks or months, maybe even years, to make someone's heart feel warm.
''Love'' and ''Infatuation'' Infatuation…temporarily disappears ''Love''…always remains Infatuation…usually uses emotion
Grief is the ache in your chest that never truly subsides, a constant reminder of the emptiness left behind. It's in the silent moments when I yearn for a voice that will never speak again, and in the empty chair that will never be filled.
By April Kirby.about a year ago in Poets
London Bridges History London Bridge, where heads once swayed, On spikes they hung, in tar arrayed. From traitors’ necks, the blood had drained,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
The Book of Love Is a Load of Shite A piss-poor script for desperate fools, Scribbled by liars, peddled in schools, A rotting carcass dressed in gold,
The Bigamist Who Broke My Heart He wore two faces, one for me, one for her. He spoke in promises, soft as rain, sharp as knives.
Slithering Into my heart Coiling Around my core Twisting Through my eye Winding Into my navel Snaking Among my bosom
By Mother Combsabout a year ago in Poets
The echo of your laughter now rings just half a beat too late, as every joke you made at my expense becomes your epitaph in wait.
By Yasmine Lagrasabout a year ago in Poets
Okay is a dirty word That hangs in the air With the threat of another Well meaning voice, Don't they know Every time I hear those four letters
By The Invisible Writerabout a year ago in Poets
