Liberty stands weeping, trembling, as her once firm resolve wavers Her Flame flickers, her right hand trembling, like a caged bird's wings
By Novel Allen4 months ago in Poets
Like a slumbering flame awakening into breath A yearning stirs, raw yet tenderly, and consumes the lover For love melts the boundaries lingering close to death
By PĆlani Monderen 4 months ago in Poets
All my tales spin like ghost stories Passed around a campfire in my mind Anyone who's ever burned has lost trees ~ If I try hard, will there still be no glories
By The Invisible Writer4 months ago in Poets
I shouldâve said â I love youâ On the day that we first met Instead of âhow do you doâ. What was I supposed to do When my future wasnât set
By Cat the Autist4 months ago in Poets
I long for the old days Filled with strength and independence What age has now taken away Oh how I long for the good old days
By J.W. Baird4 months ago in Poets
Purposely looking for the right man to be my base Where I am relaxed from all plights A strong man that can keep me in pace
By Sarah Danaher4 months ago in Poets
words are not useful anymore i release them, they never come back i wallow in this pit, rotting at the core . honest excuses i planned to implore,
By Lamar Wiggins4 months ago in Poets
I watched the night swallow the day Forced to let the outcome be And thought of things I didn't say My whispered ruminating led me astray
By Aaron Morrison4 months ago in Poets
My children are loving. My heart does soar. They wait for me to come home. I am late. They greet me with their hugs right at the door.
By Elliott Robertson4 months ago in Poets
She didnât die. But she did not wake. Born sleeping, she did not cry. I wracked my brain, continuously asking, âwhy?!â
By H C Banks4 months ago in Poets
Green and greyâthe colors of your beautiful eyes; a softness I remember, though now our vows have died. I kept my ring; you tossed yours in the river dividing sides.
By Mannix Dunn4 months ago in Poets
I keep reaching for the girl she was before the world broke her open again. The past returns in splinters, small enough to pierce but not to name.
By Stacey Mataxis Whitlow (SMW)4 months ago in Poets
