Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
Scales sharpened at the knife of love. You've only given me gaze. Teeth too rigid for words of comfort. You've only given me a grin.
By ShondaWho7 years ago in Poets
I’ve seen And occupied Plenty of rooms Filled with light And mirth. But I’ve Also been in One too many rooms Where isolation
By Anthony Cornatzer7 years ago in Poets
The sunny meadows, and the bright fields of glory. The trickling brook and its luxurious bed. The woodlands and its peaceful melody.
By Autumn Brown7 years ago in Poets
Fowardly following the subconscious mind From the inner workings of the gears that grind Presented back with a paper and pen
By A. Calderon7 years ago in Poets
Eternal Love all I need is you all I want is you paint a rosy pictures it’s no ordinary dream can I play with you your my endless joy
By Daniella Farras7 years ago in Poets
I’m typing, super. Slow. But you wouldn’t know Know the speed of my typing Unless you were here with me Right? It's out of this city
By Free Minded7 years ago in Poets
Welcome to the tutorial! Glad you could join me On this lovely early morning hour. You’ve already passed step 1! You’re staying well after you should have been in bed
By Jackie Barrows7 years ago in Poets
I am Straddler This expressional sequence depends on the reader’s mood. A. The world is my clitoris. My vagina is a portal to the cosmos.
By Maria Crank7 years ago in Poets
I was afraid of the dark. Now, I make my own way. Life has left its mark, And you can see it plain as day. My skin is thick as bark,
By Thomas Phelps7 years ago in Poets
Once in my head distant dreams were present You hand found mine in the distance Your hand on my chest insured me securely
By Sharita Cormier7 years ago in Poets
I don't want to ever lose this feeling this inspiration this delighting feeling when writing. The worshiped words expressing
By Melina Giorgalletou7 years ago in Poets
I’m no poet, I figured that out a while ago now. I can mush words together and Make weird noises with my lips. But they don’t make sense.
By Stephanie Moscone7 years ago in Poets
