poems are small moments of enlightenment
~ Natalie Goldberg
There's two ways to become a famous Poet, find that one person that knows somebody, that knows somebody, that knows somebody.Or die trying
~ Stanley Victor Paskavich
A hallowed frequency withinThat, even in your darkest hour,You can always turn to.
~ Scott Hastie
Through windows,in wishing wells,whispering in the wind...that's where I find you.
~ Jessica Kristie
In that wounded place,buried betweenmy ribs and letting go,I miss you.
I die a little,In the echo of your silence.
I was just an option.Blown easily to piecesand offered to the skyby the sweet laced painupon your lips.
I can't love anymore.Except for you...I love you so much it hurts to breathe.
Bridge burned from end to end,and I don't miss you anymore.You delivered silenceI've birthed freedom.
You are the poemthat sticks in my throatteaching me to whisperwith the voice of my heart.
I've never seen beauty so devastatingas in the linesthat trace our hopeand fall from the stars.
Steep fall to the groundshatteringlike clay pigeons missed by bad shotsand unsteady hands.
Broken.As I search for hope,In the same eyesI lost it.
I build boxesand place them at your feet,to measure the distance between dreams and reality.
I bleed to un-break you,un-mending me.I fall to save you...now who will save me.
I balance you on the end of my pen.Teetering between loveand letting go.
Careful.The fall is quick,steep,and permanent.
I need to work on me.The mewithout you.
Birthing hope from the madnessthat perches on the fenceof our once perfectdreams.
We will read books together inside the blanket and stay warm. And keep writing poetry in our respective journals. Time will fly but we will still remain inside the blanket forever.
~ Avijeet Das
What do you do when the alienating silence deafens your 'bootless cries'?
~ Solange Nicole
It is something to have gazed on the constellated white, felt it running from the eyes and the pores: the salt of love. It is something to have whispered wild thank-yous in the only ways we know how.
~ Bryana Johnson
We had scar-tissueromance and ours wasa relationship of sayinggoodbye—every timewe fought, every timewe fucked, and every timewe called it quits, beforepicking up our knivesagain
~ Phil Volatile
