Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
We're both a whisper Away from screaming the truth. Let me talk to you. // You were out of your mind. Now you're out of mine. See,
By Rachel Navarro8 years ago in Poets
To feel like a Cello Sonata sounds Would I have to climb a mountain? Or could I just sink into warm water With some roses and the scent of vanilla
By E. Lizbet8 years ago in Poets
"I have found a friend that never ages called Art, no defined sex or clothes, only dressing of the soul is Art. Whether the heart is being grated to shreds,
By Ed G8 years ago in Poets
Where I stand my feet cannot move, They are bounded to the floor as an anchor. Where I stand I have thought of many things,
By Chase Taylor8 years ago in Poets
A close friend says I'm "Poetry in Motion." I don't need to write things down on paper. The mystery is already there. I speak in metaphors. My eyes alone can describe something larger than life. Who needs a little black book and pen?
By Ra Dyv3rse8 years ago in Poets
Beneath what is deceived Abilities lie in weak performance With no desire to explore it Squinting at the sight of it's importance
By Sol Devereaux8 years ago in Poets
Oh, sweet, sweet music How you soothe me Your comforting sounds embrace me Your heartbeat drives my soul Your melodies excite me
By Lorraine Woiak8 years ago in Poets
A kiss goodnight, a wave good bye, a sigh of relief, or maybe a cry. Lay your fingers upon the keys and please, let freedom ring.
By Hannah Harrison8 years ago in Poets
I promise whenever I think of you I'll smile. A path of happiness down memory lane. Even though we won't see each other for awhile,
By Alexandria Aponte8 years ago in Poets
I look up She looks to the side He looks at the floor Oops there's an awkward meeting of eyes This is the daily life of an underground traveller
By Nazmul8 years ago in Poets
I could write a list of so many things I don't like about myself: how pimples shadow my face, how my boobs are a little too small,
By Danielle Knott8 years ago in Poets
Art is art, man. A beautiful bullshit That makes us feel Like we are something More than Smoked cigarettes in laundromats
By B Day8 years ago in Poets
