Prose

The journey of life
We run after money in this short life and suddenly death comes. And we leave everything behind, everything is left behind except one thing that goes with us, which is our deeds. If good deeds are more, then it is fine, but if bad deeds are more, then what will we do?
By Wow Geniusabout a year ago in Poets
Games
You get a little older Tired of the games Because after a while They all taste the same
By Gail Fredricksabout a year ago in Poets
Book
Just because my cover is weathered and torn And my pages are a little worn Don’t look at me and scorn For I’ve been a thousand places
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
The Pain You Post Isn’t the One That Hurts
They only see your feed. They don’t see what happens before you hit ‘share.’ You post the lift. Not the fall. That one rep where your arms gave in
By Jawad Aliabout a year ago in Poets
How to Hold Peace
First, stop scrolling. No, really. You’ve already read enough about disasters, comment wars, and someone’s tenth vacation this year.
By Muhammad Rahim about a year ago in Poets
Things My Future Self Tried to Tell Me
You will forget how it felt to be sure of anything. That’s okay. Certainty is brittle. Wonder bends. Don’t be afraid of silence.
By Alain SUPPINIabout a year ago in Poets
Vagari
An untethered soul strolls through the wind No end Nowhere to begin Sinking and swimming with the tide Finding any place that will abide their vibe
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
Zuri's Soul Food Kitchen
This is a part of OUTSTAGES CAFE, a paranormal virtual event. Step into the Echoes Beyond the Veil with Pookie and Vicki. This a and will include actual footage of our experiences.
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about a year ago in Poets
Pine (v.)
When I say I miss you, I wish you knew what I meant. It doesn't mean that I simply notice your absence. It means I'm freefalling in the hole you left inside my chest.
By Dabout a year ago in Poets
Living the Dream. Content Warning.
I dreamed of waking Orphaned, a waif on the breeze Fled into the trees A poorly hidden changeling. Aware of the sylvan barrier obstructing my entrance to human society. With creeping darkness constantly encroaching, taunting from the edges of my distorted periphery. With no apparent recourse or escape, no map to my own fairy tale cottage babbling by the brook, I bided my time.
By K.B. Silver about a year ago in Poets
"Whisper of a Wildflower"
In a meadow kissed by morning light, A blossom stands in silent might, Its petals brushed with amethyst hue, Cradling gold in drops of dew.
By Fazal Malikabout a year ago in Poets
"Sun-Kissed Blossom"
In morning’s hush, where whispers weave, A blossom stands with threads of eve. Petals painted—fire and gold, A tale of dawn in silence told.
By Fazal Malikabout a year ago in Poets