There's a rich history of poetry serving as social commentary, intended to inspire calls to action.
Our Society Today is Deeply Focused on the Goals... The End... The Awards... The Recognitions. It has Become Something that We Seek to Desperate Ends.
By H.E. Dr. Cody Dakota Wooten, COIE, DFM, DHMabout a year ago in Poets
I have hunted many things— the scared little heart of the deer in the first rays of the sun, the glitter of the truth in the eyes of the two lovers,
By Dylan Deckardabout a year ago in Poets
It was supposed to be easy, that thing. As long as you can remember, it’s all you have ever wanted. Go to school, get the degree, do the things, then show up… and… PERFORM! So easy!!
By Steve Harshfieldabout a year ago in Poets
Your Shadow’s Echo I met your shadow on the brick; it kept your measured stride, a midnight twin that knew the tricks of leaving at my side.
By Milan Milicabout a year ago in Poets
We’re all hunters. Even the ones pretending they’re not. We wake up every day and go chase something we don’t even remember choosing.
By Cliff Nawiabout a year ago in Poets
there is a world out there where no one can reach that fulfills all the promises your old man tried to teach you not to chase
By Ruby Redabout a year ago in Poets
The Wild Hunt Rides, seeking their prey Hoofbeats that thunder, as the hounds bay Cries and shouts, of triumph and glee Echo across the sky, as their quarries flee
By Natasja Roseabout a year ago in Poets
Sail Away Beneath a silver moon I stand, The tide is whispering my name. The night is calm and full of stars, And nothing here will stay the same.
By ♿ V+ Marie381Uk about a year ago in Poets
What Do You Want To Be When You Grow Up? It's a Question that We Ask at Different Points in People's Lives... Or Some Variation of That Question.
The Train That Never Came I stood upon the platform’s edge, The clock refused to move its hands, The air was thick with ghosts of steam,
Thirty PMs here... All in since the above date. And we still go on... An interesting team...doncha think? * Thank you for reading!
By Kendall Defoe about a year ago in Poets
The Old Library Dust rises like ghosts from the shelves, and the air tastes of ink and forgotten voices. I walk slowly between towers of books,
