An everlasting, inextinguishable fire lies at the very roots of an old fig tree in India. Encircled by a small altar, it has not stopped burning for centuries.
By Sir Pirry 11 months ago in Poets
Love, the most profound and universal emotion, is a fragrance that lingers eternally in the soul. The mere utterance of the word "love" brings a sense of fulfillment—a paradoxical blend of joy and pain, woven together to create life's most extraordinary experience. To feel the touch of love, even for a fleeting moment, is to glimpse heaven itself.
By Priya11 months ago in Poets
Even if the morning’s full of gray, Light a rainbow deep within your soul! Even if your courage fades away, Every turn will lead you to the goal.
By Erian Lin Grant11 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
Sitting in a corner booth In the Cry Baby’s bar Wondering where the line Between this life and the next is Lights too dull and air too thick
By Tattoos & Tarot11 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
they don’t fit antsy, they won’t sit instead they fling and bring question marks that resemble scars they pour up never down
By Rowan Finley 11 months ago in Poets
I look up and stop to pause and reflect on where I am in my life and I'm always amazed to think that you have been up there
By Colleen Walters11 months ago in Poets
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,
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.
Mirror Projections Two people stand before mirrors. Side by side. One sees their reflection and asks: What shaped this face? What stories live in these eyes?
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli 11 months ago in Poets
the turning n i g h t drifted quietly r o l l i n g on billows of iron air r a p t u r i n g autumn in a glaze of moon-spun
By Kristen Balyeat11 months ago in Poets
