Its Poems - Poems about Its

The jar remains still, dressed in its glass mantle like a snow globe of silent forgetting, each broken part of me lies there, floating in my warm and crimson waters, a lake of lost memories, a mirror of the soul seeking to find itself again. I open the jar and try to fit each piece into the deep...

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In this tiny corner of random order, where life weaves its thin thread, There exists a vast universe of chaos, a sea of darkness and mystery that surrounds us, All people feel that chaos, a silent presence that shadows the edge of consciousness, But some hide from it, building invisible walls and refusing to look at it. These are...

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In the inner garden where silence lays its mantle of blue dust, The butterflies in my stomach have slept so long they seemed like stones, Or perhaps they died in a winter of forgetting and cold shadows, But now, suddenly, I feel them awaken as if they were memories, They begin to move slowly, unhurriedly, like children in the...

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When poets fall into silence, humanity will lose not just its voice, but the very essence of Life, soaked in the pain of fallen kin, surrounded by the tumult of fears that dance like shadows on the cold stone-like asphalt, a poet dips their pen in tears of silver. He had a name, a name that echoed like...

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He died in a whisper alone in its presence The call of death weaker than what he’d been told Wading into its shallows each step took him deeper Reluctance and acceptance both swimming in turn Each voice every motion he passed toward the bottom The pressure of choosing now drifting away In denial and waiting the past floating above him But the end of its shouting — had finally begun (Dreamsleep: May, 2025) ...

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In a corner of the world, where silence weaves its web like a spider in the night, Lives trickle away in lines of systematic renunciations, like rivers slowly retreating, Each step backward is a knife plunged deep into the flesh of attempts to live, And each unspoken whisper becomes a weight pressing on the shoulders of dreams yet...

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I blame it on life, But really it's all on me. You wouldn't believe the fu*cking mess I've made....

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In this world, love does not find its place, It is born with hope, but soon it shatters, Withering in the waiting rooms of the soul, Choking in messages that never arrive, Dying slowly, in silence, when no one is watching. What remains scatters into stories, Written by those who were never chosen, They stitch their ruin into silent verses, Carving their names...

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Australia I shake my head..Are there no better choices.?? Has all reason fled?? To elect a truly ghastly crew.' Elbow??And his ci-horts.' Oh what a bilious slew.' They projectile Vomit.. Such gilobbdy-gook' glib enough only for entitled sooks' Can't you see? Haven't you heard? In order to get a good life (you need to loose) these nerds.' Safe...

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Under the sky that weaves its shadows on the land of forgotten dreams, I wonder, what is life? A question that rolls through the streets, Slipping into silent rooms, seeking answers in lost eyes, Like stars in the darkness of night, reflecting in deep lakes. And wisdom, like a comet piercing the abyss, whispers to me, Those who feel lost,...

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Before i wrote i knocked on wood.' Maybe an omen? Take Note we should? Or maybe thousands of pieces of paper' How many to boil a kettle? Will we find out later? Meanwhile in Spain, were results its plain.' I wager Its due to the move.? Or The switch? to the 'eco fast lane?' Perhaps a varience...

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My ear to the asphalt My nose in the wind My mind on tomorrow Escaping my sins The road bends before me It twists and it turns Where truth waits forbidden And love stays unearned The voices grow faint In this gale to escape In front and behind me Both early and late As the mountain implores me Still calling my name With fate at its limit And death — here to claim (Dreamsleep: April, 2025) ...

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I've scoured t he earth..And all heavanly realms..Searching For someone??? Who will really be well? Righteous and Upstanding its been an interesting stint.' I did find some Willing..I'd say the best of the candidates.' But these were All skint.' For their mentality you see is mostly to share!! And to get to earthly power.' Well lets not even go there.! I...

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I think of those who left their home.' To fight on battlefields Unknown.' In mud and blight against Gallipolis heights At Beer Sheba and on Tobruks deadly plains.' Where they Lay low; and let those tanks, roll over them front and flanks' Then arose to put to shame.their foe' These Men Of the the flats..Of wheatfields and cane.' From harbours And...

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Under the sky laden with mystery, where the wind sings its endless tales, Life begins to sketch your outlines, even when you are not prepared, Just as a tree does not know how to bend until the wind shows it, The art of not breaking under the burden of storms that embrace it forcefully. Like a river that seeks...

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