O Man of pride! O King of Dust! O traveler chasing winds and rust! Thy crown is made of fleeting breath, Thy throne—a speck beneath the Death.
By Muhammad Abdullahabout a year ago in Poets
When the hourglass breaks and the sands have spilled, And silence falls where the noise once thrilled, We stand before the mirror of the End—
I have seen the face of man, Not the outer flesh but the lurking stain— A mask so proud, it veils the shame, A crown of thorns worn in disdain.
I have a dream, Not the kind that fades at dawn, But one that blazes in the soul Like a star that keeps the night warm. It sings in silence,
Love is not a whisper lost in the wind— It is the wind, and the whisper within. It is not just fire—it is the sun, Warming the soul till the night is done.
In emerald veils and ruby flame, Above the clouds, the Quetzal came— A sovereign bird in sacred flight, Cloaked in dawn’s transcendent light.
My room was warm when I went to bed, (I turned the heater off before I slept) Snug and cozy beneath all the blankets But cold alongside darkness crept
By Natasja Roseabout a year ago in Poets
Nearly 15 years since she began to write, – a trilogy of books, filling up pages each night. Perhaps it was a mistake, but others got wind,
By Lyla Mayabout a year ago in Poets
In the belly of the dusk, when the moonlight limps, A creature stirs with delicate limbs. Silent wings and a needle-thin beak,
"No one said this would be dangerous..." Bat at the ready, those targets don't give up and move laterally. Nowhere but the nameless roads or
By Willem Indigoabout a year ago in Poets
O Inland Taipan, crowned in sand, With venom held in slender hand, Thou art no villain of the tale— But Man, ah Man! The true betrayal.
Beneath the sun-scorched scar of sand, Where silence slithers across the land, There moves a breathless, coiled command— The Inland Taipan, death unmanned.
