In the peaceful minutes, the delicate murmurs of perhaps wait, Whirling around to me, a delicate vulnerability, A chance ready to be investigated, a way yet to be taken.
By Noonaj2 years ago in Poets
In the quietness of the evening My mind floats back in time To recollections of days gone by The chuckling, the tears, the delights, the torments
Everyone marvels at your beauty and grandeur How you span the gap with such grace They wonder at your strength That is Until the day you collapse
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
In the still of night, whispers arise, Beneath the moon's soft, silvery guise. Shadows dance in the pale moonlight, Lost in the echoes of the night.
By Byron Loderick2 years ago in Poets
I didn’t ask for an autopsy Yet here you are, pulling me apart You weigh what is in my heart With a broken scale Yank out my intestines like a rope
By Sean A.2 years ago in Poets
Echoes of a Fading Heart In the quiet sunset, your murmur waits, A dash of warmth currently falling through fingers. Love's delicate melody went to a forlorn murmur,
By Rony Sutradar2 years ago in Poets
drag me along reach into my throat plunging poison reap my deeds and watch them boil eat myself alive just trying to get rid of it
By Belle2 years ago in Poets
words… Like crumpled balls of paper Torn apart and tossed aside. I lost the keys to the kingdom, so they will never see inside.
By Ellie Hoovs2 years ago in Poets
The Anatomy of Us Your affection cuts into me, a specialist with a consistent hand, the surgical blade plunged in moonlight,
My heart flutters quickly in my chest, Desperate to escape its cage, Blood pounding through my veins, Roaring with insanity and rage.
By Colleen Millsteed 2 years ago in Poets
In a world that’s full of words, I sometimes sat quietly in the hum around me with thoughts of my own about the existence of the words itself
By Cid2 years ago in Poets
Writing keeps me sane. Know what I do with my time? I write all day to keep from losing my mind. Talk about a home. My pen and pad are the best place for me to rest. Literature is my nest.
By Joe Patterson2 years ago in Poets
