Why is poetry dying
when we still have the gift?
If we still have water
then we still have a ship.
We can sail to the places
these words take us.
We are still shaken
by the words that make us.
Why should we let poetry die
when there is so much to explore?
If only people read it
and discovered more.
Jan 25, 2021
Jan 25, 2021 at 6:11 PM UTC
Whether a comma, or colon:
Punctuation slows my rolling
I need no period. When I end
no Capitalization when I begin
Rulelessly I flow my art
Not a single!
Exclamation mark
Are you not the one
Who'll know?
Where a question mark
No longer goes
Warp the structure
Bend the lines
Put in repeat
Let emotion unwind
Make yourself
Your poetry's the best
Be your own ruler
Pass your own test
Take your own road
Where ever it leads
Lover or hater
It's all poetry!
Jan 25, 2021
Jan 25, 2021 at 6:09 PM UTC
yes-
diamonds are the most beautiful collection of atoms on this version of earth;
but how would you feel if everything you touched break down?
Jan 25, 2021
Jan 25, 2021 at 6:00 PM UTC
he asked if i ever smoked
because my eyes are always teary
and my lips are pale and dry
with my hands always shaking
i told him no
but my mind's a constant cloudy haze
and it's caused by something dangerous
to both our health
when it burns, it has this unpleasant smell
and tastes bitter on my tongue
much like your bitter lips
spitting out unpleasant words
it's us bygone,
it's we
in the past tense
it's ****
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 7:59 PM UTC
It was a cold time. I lay in the frost
alone, immobile and blue from the treacherous
air, but then you passed and lay with me just
to keep me warm, seeing something worth saving
in my empty eyes. It was a cold life.
Yet movement came back to me, dispelling
the ice and banishing it from my heart.
You were the fire for me, the fire that gave
me my sight and filled my eyes with starlight.
The fire that heated me and danced with a
scarlet tranquility in the night, calling
me forward into safety and saving
me from the wind which so harshly froze my being.
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 7:47 PM UTC
seven
we're always counting
six
...counting to life, to death, to peace, to health, to have fun, to true love, to have *** to ending, to be yourself...
five
we're always counting
four
even if we don't
three
we actually are
two
but really
one
someone else always does it for us
zero
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 7:07 PM UTC
They taught you to read the lines
Did they teach you to read between them?
Sometimes the empty space
Contains more meaning
Than the sharp shock of loud noises
Made by people in distress
Sometimes those who have more to say
Can't say it
Because they are tired from the fight
And only wanting to sleep
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 5:05 PM UTC
I was an abandoned home until I heard your voice. My walls were crumbling until you reminded me what it's like to be held. I had almost forgot that darkness is followed by sunlight. With the warmth you bring to me, I no longer need to be whole. I've accepted that some things just get lost over the years and the people who spend too much time trying to find them, get lost themselves. I'm not saying I haven't wandered but it feels **** good to be home again.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 5:03 PM UTC
it was a time of new and innovating burglar alarms for houses,
she bought one
and she became a part of the modern culture then.
everything seemed nice;
she thought no stranger will ever be able to come to her home
or even take something from her.
well, she was right,
no one did,
except her.
her foolish imagination made some stranger in her head.
but after a while he wasn’t a stranger anymore,
in her head.
even if he was just a stranger,
she was prepared to let him see her home.
and she did.
she let him.
alarm went on.
but it was false alarm.
no one actually came,
except her,
and her imagination.
no one will ever come,
not one intruder will ever be close to her house.
she understand now.
why?
well, regardless of modern alarm or unique furniture
that house wasn’t so beautiful from the outside,
and the interior wasn’t so well-set,
it was a little bit messy.
but at the end, it was all her fault,
she decorated that house by herself.
Mar 6, 2016
Mar 6, 2016 at 4:51 PM UTC