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What happens to a broken promise?

Does it sting
like a bee?
or creates a wound
and leaves a scar?
Does it die in the heart
or grow as a seed

Maybe it just lives
like a ghost

Or it creates strangers?
This is my remake of  Langston Hughes' a dream deferred. I've been in love with the poem for sometime now. I dedicate this piece to those in search of true and meaningful friendships
I am poetry;
Sonata composed in fourteen lines;
Woven in a dilating sonnet.
I am poetry,
Anaphora riding on iamb's saddle
Echoing free verses n
From line to line
And singing metaphor's
ever-living  hymns;
Of then and now,
Dawn and rise.
I walked  in rhymes
Till my feet strikes the gleaming Volta
And sends me back
To gloomy Arden.
I am poetry.
Dedicated to all poets who inspired me during ma difficult moments. Dr lim, rose, Ayesha, Jay, Empire and a host of others. Thank u
Sleep, o little one
For nature morn will call
in your little garden,
chirping melodies,
Little Heidi sails
On streams of laughter,
Echoing verses
Of blissful feet
Sweet discord trumpets
"Heidi !
mother's countenance
strikes chord of labour lullaby.
forming rosy rivers round the sun.
Heidi swings a cockadoodle
Till the apple of the sky sets his blazing hand
And rest in nature's cradle.
This is a poem based on the novel Heidi and songs like Rockabye (clean bandit ft Anne-Marie and Sean Paul) and classical compositions like o little one sweet(Bach), kind I'm einschlummern(child asleep) by schumann
Well hung life's life's painting
Droplets of hope
Scattered  pages.
Leaves of fresh words
fall from poetry's summer
Love's unsung theme
Inked on chaptered scrolls,
We'll keep Shakespeare's signature;
painting mists of blissful autumn
in the sea of  our early dreams
  Shaded chrysanthemum smiles
and salty mistletoes.
We'll add the last piece;
pretty hues of yesteryears
and ringing tones of
cradle's  laughter.
Life's colourful stress
caught in the fluffy strokes
Of breath's brushes.
In our adios
Well hung life's painting.
Life brings unexpected valleys to us as individuals alongside unforgettable memories. It's our duty as poets to paint them into immortality. Dedicated to all poets on hp
Im dying....
So Is my poetry
Depression  is slowly killing my art.....perhaps my last words.
She was the pit
I couldn't fill.

Pilled up
Leafy  wads
Of notes
Baked with
Salty tears
Smoky hooks,
made soft bricks
That ached the heart

So I
stocked up
Walls of
faulty pillars,
Wolves  that gnawed
the hole.

Now I'll throw
In words,
Letters of beauty.
Bridges of rhymes
to salvage her,
The pit
Couldn't fill.
Have u lost something or someone that created a hole in u that nothing can fill not even money, drugs(hooks) and tears can't fill but poetry can????
  Jun 2020 arthur samuel papa
When you ship
There is someone who sinks down first
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