love poems
Love poems for hopeless romantics; I'm the poet and you're my muse.
A long the way
In the meadows of dawn, where whispers sway and the soft hues of morning paint the sky in hues of rose and gold, there strides a solitary figure, a poet of the soul, their presence a gentle whisper amidst the symphony of awakening life. With each step they take, the dew-kissed grass beneath their feet seems to shimmer in recognition, as if acknowledging the profound purpose that propels this seeker of truth forward into the embrace of a new day. With pen in hand and dreams as their companions, they roam the verdant expanse, their heart aflutter with the promise of possibility. They are not merely observers of the world around them, but weavers of tales, architects of dreams, and guardians of the ethereal realms where imagination reigns supreme. In their wake, they leave behind a trail of words, delicate strands of thought and emotion that dance upon the breeze like petals scattered by the hand of a benevolent deity. Their voice, a melody that transcends the boundaries of language and time, carries the weight of centuries past and the promise of futures yet to unfold. It is a voice that resonates with the raw, unfiltered truth of existence, echoing through the valleys of the human heart and stirring the depths of the soul with its haunting beauty. With each syllable uttered, they breathe life into the shadows that linger in the corners of our consciousness, illuminating the darkest recesses of our fears and desires with the incandescent light of their
By Gershom rono3 years ago in Poets
Leonie's Heart of Darkness
"Carnal desire mixed with dark and depraved inhibitions coursed through his veins as he grew bolder, waiting impatiently to release his magic on her. Knowing she didn't matter to him, he ignored her fears. A prop. That's all she was. Her innocence; irrelevant. Leonie. Sweet little Leonie was nothing more than a prop in his play, and he forgot all about her while he prepared the final potions." ~ King Stefan, the Darkness ~ An excerpt from Chapter 1 ~ The Banishment ~ The Origins of Darkness
By KA Stefana 3 years ago in Poets
Whispers in the Wildwood
Hush now, gather close, the fire's warm and low, A tale I weave, where shadows twist and secrets grow. I met a stranger on a train, eyes like stormy seas, He spoke of whispers on the wind, and carried mysteries. He spoke of caverns deep and dark, where whispers danced and played, Of hidden chambers, cold and stark, where treasures long were laid. A map he showed, etched on his skin, a spiderweb of lines, He promised fortune, wealth within, if I would follow signs. Intrigue like wildfire burned within, a yearning to explore, But doubt and fear, like serpents twin, slithered around the core. We ventured forth at moonlit hour, into the forest deep, The air grew thick, with unseen power, secrets the shadows keep. Each creaking branch, a whispered threat, each rustling leaf, a sigh, The path ahead, a silhouette, beneath the inky sky. We reached the mouth, a cavern wide, a gaping, hungry maw, The stranger smiled, with secrets I, could never fully draw. "Are you sure you wish to venture in?" his voice, a chilling sound, My heart it pounded, trapped within, a web of fear unbound.
By Sher singh3 years ago in Poets
