Every Summer Has to End eShe laughed in gold, barefoot on the quiet lane, hair a tumble, voice like heat, calling my name again
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
Not in the brittle certainty of stone, Nor in the rigid scaffold, cold and known, But deep within the loam where questions sprout,
By Jacky Kapadiaabout a year ago in Poets
It’s amazing how much of a house you can see with the front door wide open Gaping like a toothless grin full of warm white light
By Michaela Taylorabout a year ago in Poets
How do you talk to the ghost of the unknown? What to do when you’re alone in room full of people It’s your personal rain cloud on a sunny day
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
Rich people around the world generally live quiet lives. To avoid exposing their wealth to others, No one wants to offend anyone.
By TheNaethabout a year ago in Poets
We gather not with placards or parades, but with pens, syllables, and spirit— in the ink-soaked silence of notebooks, where protest bleeds not in fire,
I. Seed (The Awakening) A whisper hums beneath the neon soil, a pulse of jade in circuits cold as stone. The garden sleeps in ones and zeroes coiled,
Before the sun ascends Through dawn's first clouds. Hold on to the now pastel sky- Of a late November morning. Let the waking world below
By Eric Ponabout a year ago in Poets
Beneath the vault where silent stars convene, And seasons turn with purpose, sharp and keen, There lies a plot no earthly deed can claim,
There are nights you don’t talk about— The ones where sleep feels like betrayal. When silence screams in forgotten tones,
By Umar Aminabout a year ago in Poets
Not priests in shadowed, echoing alcoves, Nor therapists in softly cushioned chairs, The truest listeners this harsh world proves
Moonlit eyes, remember the prize, of the hearts sonata, during the Christmas cantata. You squeeze my arm, and affectionately smell the cologne on my shoulder.
By Rowan Finley about a year ago in Poets
