inspirational
Inspirational poetry is just the thing to lift your spirits or rejuvenate your creativity.
The Killing of a Muse
You may kill off the muse early on in the story, but you can’t get rid of her. She will forever be there, engraved on the typewritten paper, embroidered on the readers memory, the light shadows of her name or description being cast through the thin sheet of word covered paper.
By Scotch Vaughan8 years ago in Poets
Washed Through
There I stood, numb, in the dimly lit shower. The room was filled with hot steam that covered the mirror, and the water cascaded onto me. Drips of water ran down my face and off my nose. The longer I stood, the less numb I felt. The humidity was pressing against me, filling the empty space with sustenance, while the shower floor collected puddles of dirty water. Not physically dirty, but the soiled sin filled mind getting washed away. The longer I stood, I began to realize that it wasn't the steam or water filling the void, but the one who whispers into my ears at night. The one who greets my waking breaths with sound and light. The one who spreads a fog among the forest trees bathing it in mysterious wonder. No. I wasn’t numb at all. The shower tempo had not changed, but the beat of my heart had, the space around me became heavy, heavy with emotion, as if something electric was sitting in the air, waiting to burst forth in. It wasn't water that streamed down my face anymore, but tears. As I now sat, in the mechanic rain, eyes closed engulfed in blackness hearing the water splashing against my ears like violent drum beats, it all seemed to fade… hope came to me, in the rhythm of my soul. “You can do this”, he gently said, “You are not alone….You are loved..
By Jordan Belville8 years ago in Poets
The Power of Poetry
I had been reading poetry for several years before I came to the decision to actually write some. I was going through a strange time, with lots of emotional highs and lows (I still am to this day). I'd had enough of boring, monotonous diary entries reminding me of how sad my life was. I was some kind of modern-day Bridget Jones, without all the men falling at my feet, and a lot less funnier.
By Samantha Nicholson8 years ago in Poets
