Love poems for hopeless romantics; I'm the poet and you're my muse.
Would you take a pause for a minute and let love have free reign. Just let it’s drops fall from the sky like free rain. Don’t try to hold it too tight. You have to let love flow.
By Joe Patterson2 years ago in Poets
You stand at the sink, hands in warm water, rinsing away the day. Light rests easy on your skin, steam swirls gently, a soft hum slipping from your lips.
By J. Nicholas Merchen2 years ago in Poets
Each time I return to a memory, I fear what I have unknowingly changed. Was your smile just so? How did you say my name?
Baby, I am so into you forever I commit to you. It's night and day, Precious in every way. Be my Valentine again? We'll color our color then and again.
By Jessica A. Fox2 years ago in Poets
You’re planted under my skin Like the veins of a flower Where I end, you begin Fully rooted in power Pure poetry, set in motion
By Kelli Sheckler-Amsden2 years ago in Poets
The foil hearts flutter, pierced by crimson string The bell above the door emits a piercing ring: My own heart flutters. The February wind will walk me home.
By Salomé Saffiri2 years ago in Poets
"Find me, find me,” I heard upon the wind. That voice from some drunk night smoking corner, that nook of fearsweat and flirtation as
By Conor Darrall2 years ago in Poets
Who is your person Everybody has one The one you turn to when life’s fading to black The one you know will aways have your back
By Abi Rose Travis2 years ago in Poets
I told myself that I was beautiful. The mirror said I lied. So, I looked on through to the other side. I saw a girl with a heart of gold.
By Cathy holmes2 years ago in Poets
How did it end? A simple choice, Not in my hands, not in my voice. He found another, walked away, Left me with words he’d never say.
By Shwet Prabha Baiswar2 years ago in Poets
The sunlight cascades across your face on a bright February morning. You open your eyes – they glisten with dew; Pools of emerald gold, a symphony of beauty and brilliance.
By Ian M. Williamson2 years ago in Poets
They call on me when nights turn cold, When burdens weigh, when troubles unfold. A fleeting prayer, a whispered plea, But never just to think of me.
