heartbreak
They can break your heart, but they can't break your soul; poetry about lost love that comforts and uplifts.
The Power of the Pen
The Power of the Pen A simple stick of ink and grace, A quiet tool, a slender face. Yet in its tip, a world resides, A storm of thoughts the mind provides. The pen, a sword without a blade, Where battles of the heart are laid. It carves no scars upon the skin, But shapes the soul, both deep and thin. With every stroke, a dream takes flight, A silent voice that shuns the night. It dances words across a page, A poet's tear, a scholar's rage. It signs the peace, it marks the war, It opens minds, unlocks the door. A whisper soft, a thunder loud, It leads the lost, it shapes the crowd. A pen can sketch a love untold, Or write of empires brave and bold. It drafts the future, seals the past, And captures moments meant to last. In hands of those who dare to dream, It paints the sun, ignites the gleam. A teacher's tool, a leader's guide, A humble friend, forever tied. Through ink, the silent speak their pain, And hopes are scribbled in the rain. It crafts the letters that forgive, And pens the songs that let us live. So though it seems a fragile thing, It holds the weight of everything. For in its lines, both loss and gain, The pen — a voice, a sword, a chain. A timeless power, bold and bright, That shapes the day and rules the night.
By Budhirai Tripura2 years ago in Poets
Whispers in the Forgotten Woods
Whispers in the Forgotten Woods In the silence of forgotten woods, Where shadows speak in mystic moods, A tale of souls, both lost and torn, Echoes softly from the forlorn. A princess, cloaked in time's embrace, Chasing dreams she cannot trace. Her heart, once bright, now fades to gray, A flame extinguished, led astray. Beneath the moon’s cold silver glow, She finds the secrets that trees bestow, Of love once pure, now trapped in time, Of worlds untouched by reason's climb. The fireflies hum a mournful song. As memories in whispers throng, Of distant lands where hearts once met, Now swallowed whole by deep regret. Yet still she walks, through endless night, Searching for a love, once pure, now light. Her tears are stars, her heart, a flame— Chasing what can never be the same. In these woods, where time is lost, She learns the price, the final cost— That love, though gone, will never fade, But lingers on in shadows' shade.
By SINDHI AHMED2 years ago in Poets
