Love poems for hopeless romantics; I'm the poet and you're my muse.
I love my children enough to never have them I look at the actions and words that hide in the dark The things people do to each other including kids themselves
By Cadma12 months ago in Poets
I hold on to the little things Were all these items in a store I would not think to buy them Now not much else means more
By Raine Fielder12 months ago in Poets
“Look at him, my golden boy, even then taking care of his sister,” my mother crows downstairs. Someone has arrived for coffee.
By Aubrey Rebecca12 months ago in Poets
A Lantern to Heaven To Her Child The night is quiet, the ground is cold, a mother kneels with hands that hold. A single lantern, small and bright,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 12 months ago in Poets
The Room With No Light In the corner, a chair that remembers all. Its fabric worn thin by prayer and time. Dust gathers softly on the edges of the air,
there is a quiet house that glows in the night all across the world and you can see it if you squint—those large, golden windows, pretty firelight lanterns flickering beyond the panes
By angela hepworth12 months ago in Poets
Introduction I saw this word on Pointless tonight. If you don't know what Pointless is check out this story: I wanted to record this word, and the best way is in a new poetic form for me.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 12 months ago in Poets
You're not boring, I left, and now I regret it, I was young, dumb, stupid, and scared, Saying it now, it all sounds pathetic,
By Dylan 12 months ago in Poets
Their neediness isn’t weakness, It’s the quiet thrum of a heart that loves too deeply, A heart that fears being too much,
By Zakari Runge12 months ago in Poets
**Four Days of Love** Four days of love, a whispered dream, A fragile world, a sparkling gleam. Promises shimmered, like colors so bright,
By Saffron Realm12 months ago in Poets
There are so many things I'd say I missed Your eyes, your smile, the way you kissed The way you made me try new things And how you wore those old blue jeans
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden12 months ago in Poets
When everything burned, I thought I’d lost myself. But ashes are still proof that something once lived here. And from that ruin,
By Marcus Hill12 months ago in Poets
