She lifts the flowers to the sky, so wide, As if her heart with them would glide. A scarf of peace, a robe of grace, No sorrow dwells upon her face.
By Fazal Malikabout a year ago in Poets
In silence born, in silence fall, A whisper rolling down the wall Of cheeks that once held pride so high— Now drenched beneath a weeping sky.
It was coming. Days of weakening spread into weeks Like a cancer. How apt. How do you deal with a fading? I don't know now and I didn't know then.
By Rachel Deemingabout a year ago in Poets
That afternoon was nothing special—just the usual rows of colorful tents, college students meandering around, street food steaming into the sky. But there she was, tucked into a plush donut of gray fluff on a wooden table like royalty. My cat.
By Jawad Aliabout a year ago in Poets
Poetry: In the hush of night, he stands alone, A soul half-lost, in silence grown. Smoke spirals like forgotten dreams, Woven through moon's silver beams.
Moon in GeminiThe Messenger Thoughts meet paper, Now they are real Tear stained face, Shows how I feel Starving for something,
By Jennidoll of (jennidoll.inc)about a year ago in Poets
High on the hill Where the flags are waving We wait for the forest's rage to quiet down And the silence to be flattened against the floor
By Ruby Redabout a year ago in Poets
What is that to never speak of? But then decide to write about? That seems like a contradiction, I would never let those thoughts out!
By Adora Hooperabout a year ago in Poets
On the curve of night, where silence bends, A soul sits still as the dark transcends. Upon a branch that dares to dream, He rides the hush of moonlight’s beam.
This a part of the Outstages Cafe series. The blue chair is the disappearing and reappearing object in this series of memory static, Blue Chair at the Edge. Step into the Echoes Beyond the Veil
By Vicki Lawana Trusselli about a year ago in Poets
I. The Dawn of Breath From silence sprung a whisper deep, Where stars and soil in cradle sleep, A breath was drawn, the first of flame,
Their lack of emotional depth is enough to leave me dumbfounded. Yes, I stand confounded. Yes, in disbelief, I remain well rounded.
By Rowan Finley about a year ago in Poets
