The Room Without Doors I live inside a room of sighs, Its walls hum softly, a mournful song, No windows show the passing world,
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk 11 months ago in Poets
The last little bit of hope leaves me as I see the last bright red leaf's color die out What once was beautiful now brings in mute monotony dull shades of Brown and Grey
By J.W. Baird11 months ago in Poets
She stopped waiting for the door to open, for footsteps to mean something more than movement. At first, she didn’t call it freedom
By Nash Georges11 months ago in Poets
I have been desperate to believe in something since I was a little girl bereft of family stories . (those don’t get passed on
By Leigh Victoria Phan, MS, MFA11 months ago in Poets
Later, you traveled to many places alone, saw many things alone, and began to smile to yourself. You weren't growing accustomed to loneliness; you were beginning to enjoy freedom.
By Emily Chan - Life and love sharing11 months ago in Poets
I speak in rhymes and mysteries Because that’s how I think My brain shittles riddles because it titillates my neurons It is how I do my best to get along in this world
By Atomic Historian11 months ago in Poets
Candles That Don’t Beg I used to strike a match for proof, to bargain with the night, to hold a trembling halo up and call it borrowed light.
By Milan Milic11 months ago in Poets
Wicked Is the Pain of Arthritis Wicked is the pain that creeps in silence, It waits until the house is still, Then curls its claws around the fingers,
The Sky Forgot Blue This morning, the heavens wore borrowed gray shoes, a sepia ceiling that swallowed the views. The gulls looked like erasers smudging the light,
Once I had it all But it somehow got away I didn’t make that call It was a happy fall A year ago today Once I had it all
By Raine Fielder11 months ago in Poets
Nocturne in Bare Feet The house exhaled; I slipped the clock and wandered off the sheet, Let midnight find its lullaby in nocturne, bare of feet.
The words are written, but the page stays sealed, And silence keeps what speaking might have saved. I keep the truth that never was revealed.
By Tim Carmichael11 months ago in Poets
