Isn’t it cruel My stomach’s empty But my head is full Full of foolish ideas Of freedom Of peace We’re all out here Just trying to get a piece
By Atomic Historian2 years ago in Poets
You look so peaceful sleeping there. Lost in slumber’s quiet embrace, your busy mind at rest. Are you dreaming, anticipating simple
By Colleen Walters2 years ago in Poets
The Geminids are flying fast away Yet every time a little stay The amazing tale of burning rock Will descend to Earth, an angel’s frock
By Henrik Hageland2 years ago in Poets
Delicate, nature's glass, sparkling, like crinkled saran wrap, like a wedding veil, there's still warmth underneath, and movement
By Ellie Hoovs2 years ago in Poets
“O Danny boy, the pipes, the pipes are calling from glen to glen, and down the mountain side. The summer’s gone, and all the roses falling. It’s you, it’s you must go and I must bide.
Lyrics by Lady John Scott c. 1876. Melody by unknown “By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes, where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond, Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae, on the bonnie bonnie banks of Loch Lomond.
She closes her eyes and sees brilliants Her stoic heart beats like a drum. She opens her eyes in the soft stillness her lips trace
In a world filled with pixels and glowing screens, Where every life is crafted, like scenes from a dream, We scroll through snapshots of joy and of pain,
By Sazia Afreen Sumi2 years ago in Poets
There once hung a tinsel so fine, On a star-topped tree, it did shine. With a shimmer and gleam, It made Christmas seem,
By Mother Combs2 years ago in Poets
"Whether it's for a minute or for an hour, I'd like to sit relativity close to a special girl whenever I get the chance." -Rodney Alcala (Daniel Zovatto) | Woman of the Hour
By Alexandria Stanwyck2 years ago in Poets
My dearest paper, can you not write of yourself… Why must I toil so? +++ Bibliography, Why now must you strangle me? My mind shudders so.
Sometimes I cry, not knowing why, and laugh as if it’s my purpose—perhaps it is. I run my fingers over petals, somehow believing they hold the pulse of the earth.
By Melanie2 years ago in Poets
