I know it sort of sounds weird, me robbing the older person. Taking what they didn't give, or perhaps left for me to do. I know it sort of sounds weird, me robbing the older person.
By 365poetry3 months ago in Poets
In twilight’s haze, where shadows creep, A soul unravels, threads frown deep. The clock ticks on, a relentless beat, Dreams suffocate beneath concrete feet.
By Luna Vani3 months ago in Poets
Now Dasher, or was it Prancer? Vixen, or Blixen ? Jamaica is not on the map - and I'm tired of trying to protect them from TREASON!
I wasn’t lazy. I was tired of surviving. Not tired of the day-to-day, but tired of the weight that comes from never truly living, only holding on.
By Jhon smith3 months ago in Poets
I think AI has overtaken us. Writing emails full of corporate slop, And bad shit posts for social medias. I wish that it meant the rat race could stop:
By I. D. Reeves4 months ago in Poets
If we grow old together, remind me of the night my voice caught in my throat—the night I met the world again on Christmas Eve.
By Jhon smith4 months ago in Poets
A glance, a nuance, a first conversation, a spark, a flicker; How do most of these interactions begin? But now, dear love-friend, here comes the kicker;
By Kent Brindley4 months ago in Poets
In truth, you were exactly like the sun In that you burned me when I grew too near; Vowed by the stars themselves I was the one,
By Phar West Nagle4 months ago in Poets
I speak of spirit, soul, and flame, Of humanity’s quest, our endless aim. Religion, memory, stories untold, Poetry woven with truths, oh! so bold.
By CA'Di LUCE * Confessions & Memories in Conversations with friends!/ It’s not a revolution—it’s a quiet evolution.4 months ago in Poets
Pure as white, and gentle at sight, Luck descends in crimson shine. Upon the bloom, so small, so bright, Hope awakens in the morning light.
And there was light, Breaking the silence of endless night. Shadows fled, creation started its whirred, Hope was spoken, and life was bestowed!
I swallowed silence like fire and grew. Every word I wanted to speak was scorched, folded, buried beneath the salt of my own skin.
By Aarsh Malik4 months ago in Poets
