As I stared down at the blank page I couldn't think of the words to say No... I could hear the words perfectly I just couldn't say them out loud or even write them down
By Mercedes Chavez2 years ago in Poets
I stood in the distance from your home as twilight fell, Where shadows of us still softly dwell. The lights were on, as if you might be,
By Solomon Walker2 years ago in Poets
Unanswered feelings On the nightstand, he folded, Neatly stacked, to lose. —- The wrong ones win all. The right ones sit on the bench
By Colleen Walters2 years ago in Poets
As steaming smoke snakes and rises, I see trepidation as wars escalate, bodies fall and missiles flash, it’s the 4th of July in reverse, ports closed, prices soar, a hurricane roars, overseas our money we pour
By Kenneth cruz2 years ago in Poets
The artist vanishes behind the canvas, brushes dipped in dreams, yet no one sees the hands that hold the hues, they only see the colors.
By Marvelous Michael2 years ago in Poets
Seeing with eyes unclouded, the bright light, pushing through the fog, Closing my ears off to the hissing words of doubt, Smelling the fragrance of nature, of the fresh rain in the woods,
By Just Daniel2 years ago in Poets
Feeling crushed by the depths of despair, Eyes gouged out by my own hands, Ears closed off to the cries of the world, Nose quivering, tentative to take more of humanity's foul, pugnent odors,
I ponder over the hues of the zealous beauty of the sky, In the yonder of nothingness, time in its mirth passes by. The heavens and the earth, the kindness and the ugliness both coincide with their fate,
By Hridya Sharma2 years ago in Poets
Teachers nail screech an erie warning as they slowly rake across the worn chalk board, a gravelly nicotine voice croaks out, “Is that your answer?”
By JBaz2 years ago in Poets
As my hands clutch the fuzzy fur lined blanket in the darkness that is 4:00am the gentle sound of breath whispers from my lovers lips
By Dame Cass2 years ago in Poets
High where the sky brushes the tips of pines, village life unfolds in the rhythm of ancient times. Roofs of slate under Himalayan blue,
By Rajesh Dhiman (Rajesh)2 years ago in Poets
We ran, didn’t we? Ran far away from being children, chased adulthood like it was some prize— fast race, fast reward, right?
