At first for a little while, the weather cannot decide. It wants to be cold but it still wants to be warm too. And so do I.
By Christopher Falcione3 months ago in Poets
Warm and shaking, scared of the light. They come out in the stillness, like flowers at dusk. They only open when no one is around.
By Emily3 months ago in Poets
Rise now Oh winter winds Rise! send forth your frosty vanguard drain the moisture from the air before it ripping the breath
By Matthew J. Fromm3 months ago in Poets
I listen to the rain fall. On rooftops where no one pays attention. Each drop writes a letter to the ground. Each puddle holds a world of secrets.
I put my thoughts into threads that come at night. Making quiet stories that the dark can read. Each one holds a heavy feeling.
I fold my thoughts into paper boats. Set them drifting in the bathtub of dusk. They carry whispers I can't say. Secrets are too fragile even for the wind.
I trace the quiet in my chest. Where words fall softly, unspoken. A shadow hums beneath the skin. A story left unwritten, hidden.
The moon keeps its secrets well. It watches us as we shine under borrowed light. Holding our wishes like quiet confessions.
There’s a hush that lives between waves, a silence shaped like breathing. It waits for the moon to remember its pull.
Filled with sunlight Fresh and bright Emotions love, very tight Glowing into the night Until summer departs
By Marc OBrien3 months ago in Poets
I used to ask him, when I was a kid, about the war— what it meant to him. ~~~ His smile would falter or alter politely
By SUEDE the poet4 months ago in Poets
I. The Mirror Isn’t Me (Philosophical — AABB) . I look into the mirror’s face, A quiet, silver, borrowed space. It copies me without a sound,
By Peter Thwing - Host of the FST Podcast4 months ago in Poets
