Which is the real me The one they see Or the one I see when you’re looking at me Distorted images in my mind Having never known what I look like to the world
By Atomic Historianabout a year ago in Poets
A raindrop clings to a trembling leaf, Glistening in the morning light, A perfect world in a fragile sphere, Gone with the breeze, out of sight.
By Abbasabout a year ago in Poets
The evening sky, a canvas wide, With shades of dusk, where day subsides, And in the distance, softly stirred, The moon appears behind the birds.
By zizooabout a year ago in Poets
Standing here on haunted ground, straddling the line between grief and relief, incessant rivers saturate the ground, though the time spent here's been brief.
By Alexandria Stanwyckabout a year ago in Poets
Sitting here In silent isolation. Waiting. Longing for your return Expecting a call from you everyday Never more shall I hear your beautiful voice
Amidst the tempestuous center, where disorder prevails, In a place where the winds roar and the sky releases its torment,
By LASZLO SLEZAKabout a year ago in Poets
In the quiet of the morning light, When dreams dissolve and hopes ignite, There’s a truth that softly gleams,
A feeling of grief for something lost Everyone experiences it at least once. The uninvited guest that stays with you,
By Isabella Walkerabout a year ago in Poets
The precipice of poetry that seeks redemption Callous whispers that uproar the fear in my mind, Bounty tales of my existence may cease to be left behind.
By Hridya Sharmaabout a year ago in Poets
Then the devil whispered in my ear: Don’t worry. Today, he’ll live. Tomorrow, he’ll live. For this month, this year, this decade, he will certainly stay alive.
By Matt B.about a year ago in Poets
In winter’s hush, a snowball forms, A crystal sphere of frosty charms. It starts with flake and fragile touch, Yet gathers strength with every clutch.
Living art in vibrant hues, A canvas shaped by life's own muse. With every stroke and fleeting shade, A masterpiece of time is made.
