There is a library of thoughts unsaid, where sentences go when they're left for dead. Ideas you had while in the shower,
By The 9x Fawdi3 months ago in Poets
I am the last book on the shelf, the final paper friend, holding all my words myself as digital worlds descend. My pages smell of ink and time,
I speak in rhymes and mysteries Because that’s how I think My brain shittles riddles because it titillates my neurons It is how I do my best to get along in this world
By Atomic Historian3 months ago in Poets
In a world of screens and endless noise, Where every thought was just a click, There stood a library of special books That made the weary souls feel sick.
brother where have you gone lost in the shadow lands slumped deep inside time's cruel quicksands come back * * *
By M. Lee3 months ago in Poets
I don’t write poems I am possessed by the them I speak for those that are otherwise silent I speak for the nonviolent I write as witness to those hemmed in on all sides
Introduction I think Emerson Chambers is one of the most impressive buildings in Newcastle, and it is occupied by Waterstones.
By Mike Singleton 💜 Mikeydred 3 months ago in Poets
I want to feel normal again Not to go back where we began But the ephemeral euphoric place between The then and now The only question is
It is not enough just to close the tab but to understand the hollow it tries to fill inside you. You do not have to
By The 9x Fawdi4 months ago in Poets
When time has compressed me to stone, and my skeleton’s part of the cliff, the wind will begin its slow work, composing its elegy if.
You clicked for a thrill, a escape from the stress, A moment of pleasure, a way to decompress. But the minutes turned hours, the buzz didn't last,
Forget the grand and fiery inspiration's spark, Forget the motivational words that ring in dark. For discipline is not a feeling, not a mood,
