The world is a lonely place
Everyone needs someone
The world is a lonely place,
Some of us waiting to be replaced,
Isolated like we’re deep in space,
Longing for a warm embrace.
The world keeps turning,
Our hearts keep yearning,
No more trust-earning,
Just heartache and soul burning.
The world is a big place,
Billions of people each with a different problem to face,
But selfishly we go on searching for the newest craze,
Always unsatisfied with what we intake.
The world has many wonders,
But our minds are just so full of clutter,
Makes me sit here while writing and ponder,
Do you not realize our happiness is over there yonder.
The world will not wait for you to open your eyes,
The sunsets will happen while you act blind,
Blinded because you we are always stuck on our vices,
The world will leave you behind if you are not wise.
The world was built for you and me,
Huge and grand, from sea to sea,
Joy at every corner, don’t you agree,
All the beauties of the world are free.
Take the time to look around,
Walk yourself down the middle of the crowd,
Tell the world you thank you for everything, say it loud,
Remember to keep your feet on the ground.
About the Creator
Carla SofiiLove Garcia
Writing is my passion... find me on Twitter @goddesswriter90.
Keep reading
More stories from Carla SofiiLove Garcia and writers in Poets and other communities.
F*ck Power, I'm searching for Peace.
Note: I wrote this free verse poem to try and capture a glimspe of the raw, blunt, and harsh reality sexual assualt and domestic violence survivors have to endure. Our dark stories don't have to define us, and when some choose to share their stories, it allows us to see that we aren't alone in these intense and oftentimes debilitating emotions. I wish I could console every survivor and hold them until they feel whole again. A piece of my heart is with every one of you. I hope one day your eyes glisten again with your spark, because the fire inside doesn't have to just burn; it can glow, filling your soul with renewed Hope.
By Ariana Yeager 5 days ago in Poets
Spectating
I can't imagine dying like this, in a place like this; on a cold, dirty pavement with rush hour traffic screaming by and a crowd looking on while paramedics struggle to find space to move. Who could? Deep down we all think there should be a reason, a moment of clarity... or a family presence, at least. For this man, this boy, the rail thin woman lighting a cigarette in a faux fur jacket will have to do - she's been here since the start, her eyes tracking the movement of my shoulders as we fight to keep him on the right side of the line.
By S. A. Crawford7 days ago in Fiction
Comments
There are no comments for this story
Be the first to respond and start the conversation.