Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
It's time we paid the price It's time we faced our vice Confront our evils Ensure our peoples It's time we play it nice
By Semira Birke8 years ago in Poets
Act One Everyone is speaking out loud while I daydream in solitude, thinking about my words carefully before I said them to you.
By cheyenne 8 years ago in Poets
I watch you dance in my eyes, flickering but never extinguished. I see how you glow and I wait. I wonder. I hear the crackle and I feel at home. Candlelight, you know me. And I know you.
By Emily Valdez8 years ago in Poets
There are faces in my head. Ones I don't remember yet. People quite often turn up dead. There are memories in my head. Ones I'd like to forget. People aren't what they seem, quite often turn out mean.
By Baby Pat8 years ago in Poets
Reflections bathed in the glory of night Untouched...unaltered purity in the rarest form Face singing the hymn of a life well lived
By Ashlei Nichole8 years ago in Poets
Pile of clothes on the floor, Which ones have been worn? Who knows, so I throw them in a basket Before I throw myself in a casket.
By Ilana Weiss8 years ago in Poets
I sigh softly and tap my pen Against the metal spirals Of my notebook I halfheartedly write a word I stare at the word, doubting
By A. R. Ambrosi8 years ago in Poets
Another day at school and I am ready to retreat As the bell rings, I grab my things and head on down the street I stop by a soda shop nearby and get myself a pop
By Joshua Scott8 years ago in Poets
My poetry is simple My poetry is blind. My poetry is mine, Even if it doesn't rhyme. What? Poems can't see? The one who fails to see,
By Julia Severe8 years ago in Poets
She sat at her desk as she wrote her thoughts. It calls to her mind, stories of the past Memories forever, yet it's lost These misplaced memories have been amassed
By Britney Belcher8 years ago in Poets
Still as a stone angel in a forgotten graveyard, She sat without a single breath escaping her rigid form. The ache from lack of air was a welcome distraction from the all engulfing flames of her life.
By Alina Gallupe8 years ago in Poets
Gotta make my call to the universe Make it boom while I'm on this earth Putting in all this work to make it work Before I'm laid in dirt lay a lady first
By Chad L.8 years ago in Poets
