Love poems for hopeless romantics; I'm the poet and you're my muse.
The morning sky unfolds in gold, A canvas where the sun takes hold. The rivers sing in silver streams, Reflecting clouds and scattered dreams.
By Aramabout a year ago in Poets
At a certain age, sexual attraction takes on its own form. It no longer holds the same blind urgency as a younger person’s norm.
By Katherine D. Grahamabout a year ago in Poets
Before our hands could ever meet, our hearts whispered in quiet pulses, typing words that trembled with truth. Screens became windows, lanterns,
By Life Hopesabout a year ago in Poets
In the quiet hush of night, I weave my heart in silver light, Each word a petal, soft, divine, Blooming where your soul meets mine.
By Noman Khanabout a year ago in Poets
Behind the quiet mask I wear, I grieve, A smile stitched tight where sorrow used to stay. I gave you up — and still, I can't believe.
By Baby Josieabout a year ago in Poets
The moth moves silent, drawn to fire, its wings of dusk, its heart’s desire. It circles close, then veers away, a hidden hunger kept at bay.
By Rebecca A Hyde Gonzalesabout a year ago in Poets
it’s over Haiku Morning came to soon I knew that it ended us no more me and you
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
When you are far, my rails freeze over leaving no where to hold, to climb, or shine chilling the lamp inside my soul but when my hazel eyes beam the horizon
By Tony Martelloabout a year ago in Poets
To the first girlfriend I didn’t know your name until it was too late. He said you were distant, already halfway gone, and I believed him because I wanted to.
By Brie Boleynabout a year ago in Poets
When the night quietly covers your windowpane with its velvety darkness, Note also that this is both an end and a door. Breathe slow: the small breath is a ship, the inhale a compass,
By Martin Williamsabout a year ago in Poets
...and there he is The man of all seasons Oh, if only my mind could have him Seagulls could reach the moon Sands would stream no more because happiness would be in my hands
By Canuck Scriber Lisa Lachapelleabout a year ago in Poets
In the amber hour before dawn breaks, she holds the receiver like a prayer bowl, its weight familiar as her own heartbeat—
By Prompted Beautyabout a year ago in Poets
