inspirational
Inspirational poetry is just the thing to lift your spirits or rejuvenate your creativity.
Old House
Old house with all your memories, of years fleeting by you. Sheltered, all the children as they laughed, loved and cried. I loved your winter warmth, old house, and your summer shade. The feather beds, the kitchen stove, the quilts that mama made. We always loved your every room, run down as they would be, the front porch swing, the picket fence so sweet now in my memory.
By Roxi Riley8 years ago in Poets
With Each Breathing Desire
Incense blazing trails of clear white answers; guidance. She takes in the scent of everyday lies and confusion — left dry, drained and looking blankly into a future forward. Another night passes, replenished from worldly toxicity; she does wonder, from every time from beyond and under: 'Will I survive another chain of flesh or is this a blessing in disguise that's about to be uncovered?' — questions only the clouds would answer.
By Philip von Grave8 years ago in Poets
H e r o
It’s amazing how artistic we get when our hearts are wounded. Like our souls override reason and speak to us with such intensity it dominates our very being. Fate simpers at me and I huddle alone with the murmurings of dissent within, clawing at my walls and I desperately try to hold myself up because the only hero around is me. But the darkness of the future and onslaught of rain is deceiving enough to throw me back two hundred steps in the past. This altercation of voices in my head drowns out reason, and I think of you always. My distress is less than evident, although I radiate apprehension. You were so commandeering with your easy smile and feathery touch. Your endearing nervousness was simply a ploy to capture me, just to throw me away like the others. Though undefined, the drive towards you was all consuming, and due to the questionable strategizing by my inane self, I fooled myself into believing I had stolen your unattainable heart. The inexorable truth is what broke my chest; lungs collapsed into themselves when I woke up to nothing but bare walls and cold sheets. Inside my bedroom the resonance of your laughter is endless and it kills me. You are elsewhere and I am here. I struggle to determine the difference between solitude and loneliness, but I will emerge from adversity, scathed yet victorious.
By Aili Barker8 years ago in Poets
