Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
The Beautiful Mess of who I am Why did my life end up this way Why did so many things fail Why did I worry about the stupid things why did I find a never-ending battle why did I stay for so long
By Sheena Ann7 years ago in Poets
It seems that whenever I pick up a pen I can only write about sins. I do know, and this I can tell you, These words are not going to be fun to read.
By Marla M7 years ago in Poets
Wide awake as the first train passes with diesel engine roaring its good morning I contemplate another stormy winters day and how many cluster headaches will visit my brain today!
By Aunidan Christi KPGS7 years ago in Poets
Muscle memory and bone used to pick Up cumbersome objects makes work so smart. Despite the thing being thin or just thick,
By Skyler Saunders7 years ago in Poets
Is bellum bella? Does it possess traits That aestheticians would deem as the good? Is war the harsh hygiene of the sore straits,
Witnesses a murder of the unknown. Sent to take a lie detector test. When being hooked up the man notices the heart begin to race at levels close to a heart attack.
By C. Ford7 years ago in Poets
The inner workings of the brain must stand As more profound than the whole universe. The mind is all that must seek to demand
Silver hair, silver hair It’s Christmas time at The Villages Ring-a-ling, I can’t hear a thing Soon it will be Christmas Day
By Jason A7 years ago in Poets
I remember the day I met you. We spoke the life into nature. You created wisdom to the letters I didn't know. You spoke to me with beautiful creations.
By LovelyShelter7 years ago in Poets
With eyes that clear the mind of its cache They were silenced in his most youthful times. They’re beautiful, like a lady’s dress sash.
Cracked is my cranium; So, therefore as they do— I change with the seasons. Every time the clouds come, They somehow sink into my broken dome. The sun—
By Remi McDonald7 years ago in Poets
Even as the debris hindered my movement The first drops from the lead shower appeared in our vicinity They washed the homes
By Adam Khamis7 years ago in Poets
