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The Mausoleum cries its silence O' beheaded moment And now, you are a dream in the dark O' Star Silken black gloves no more to the touch
By John Scipioabout 6 hours ago in Poets
You don't like what I eat, Or, My weight. You hate my attitude, Thank you very much, I'd say it creates my solitude!
By Carol Ann Townendabout 6 hours ago in Poets
In a quiet laboratory filled with the soft hum of machines and the faint scent of antiseptic, a young researcher named Amina leaned
By Niaz Muhammadabout 6 hours ago in Chapters
They creep into your unexpected moments Some you welcome with warmth and a grateful smile Others...you wish would stay buried...
By Novel Allenabout 6 hours ago in Poets
This Poem Slowly Enters the Man's Atmosphere While He is Tormented by the music of 'A Funeral March of Marionette' by Charles Gounod
Did this space exist all along, waiting, or did we create it? Doesn’t matter: we got here, and we can get back after we leave.
By Harper Lewisabout 6 hours ago in Poets
You. Your eyes reflected The rolling hills Of our promised future. Your smile was My abode, My comfort. Your touch rendered
By Katelyn Huntabout 7 hours ago in Poets
I shall lie down and pretend to be dying. Then the neighbors will come in to stare at me. And my friends will gather around.
By Syed Umar about 7 hours ago in Poets
