Write. Poems - Poems about Write.

Trees swaying in the breeze, with thick branches hanging over the land, carrying a solemn message for everyone. The roots run firmly into the ground and the extend troughout the town and form a cluster that no one can see, soon or later they will come pining after thee , get your pen and...

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Fingertips fall— not like stones, but like rain, plucked silver threading the air. Each string holds a hush, a breath not yet forgotten. The musician builds— not a score, but the curve of a heron’s wing skimming dusk softly vanishing in a single glissando. The guzheng does not speak. It spills: vibrato, a tide rising then breaking against memory. Sound leans back— not toward silence ——but toward a distant shore we once heard. ________________ Note: Guzheng is a traditional Chinese musical instrument....

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The strong thread of poetry runs through my long years. More precious it grows as the end of life nears. I'll keep reading your poems, and you please read mine, for the hand stilled by Death can't write one single line. ...

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Change was among the few of my concerns ... As I have lost, every human rights given unto me by entry of birth into this world . It was as if the communication of my birth right up to adulthood had... Oh well ! A broken telephone line connection , struggling to find common ground of...

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interstellar d u s t s c i n t ...

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Sometimes I wonder, if I’m wasting my seconds trying to prove love lasts longer when you drown it with gin. Her ghost circles back— again, again— the Poppy wears a saccharine, serrated grin— (oh, how I’ve missed it) nestled among my worn-out keycaps. I didn’t mean to write her— I keep pressing delete— But she never blinks. That's when I know– I must write and write and write and...

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Why I Write He asks why I write And I say I must Because the words, you see Flow as easy as blood in my veins The pen as natural as the air I breathe Without it, I explain The maze of my mind couldn't handle it He asks how I write And I say that my method cannot be taught For my...

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It was another night. It's around half past midnight. Windows are shut and doors are locked around the house. As I double-checked them to ensure the house's safety, my mind kept wandering back again. It's the year 2025, and every house around us either has tall fire walls, or has high gates. I remembered my...

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Today I live and think, Of all that could have been. A whiskey I may drink, To drown what I have seen. Greatness is what I seek, Yet despair is what I’ve seen. Hope is heavy, silent and sleek, Yet this burden is my sin. I choose this path to stick, Worth it all, if I can win. Today I live and write, Full of...

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I say the word and feign a Freudian slip From between its legs duplicities drip Often doubling as a quip and tasting chalky, just a bit History will record the troubling truth that I never existed if I don’t submit I’ll submit this thing as if it’s a soliloquy while being transparent with reverse psychology When transparency is brutal it packs a...

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nesting blue jays rest wooden homes secured with first ~ saplings of spring's birth...

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I am not sure how this came to pass, for now, my life's blood is a poem written on a ever moving cloud. I have lived, roamed and dared, now I am rooted within a poem that is as long as the time I have left. I awake and die, revive and render the fat of my soul. until a silent clock strikes...

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i come to mobilize my thoughts with pen in hand i wait for inspiration and it seldoms disappoints it's time well spent i leave renewed and happy at my core AP: 2nd place 2025...

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Words activate something in me even if I’m just thinking, not writing. So I soon find myself back at the keyboard. It seems that my life’s been a series of keyboards. My motor’s always running—I idle fast. But I’ve been untying my intellectual shoe-strings recently. Dissociatively avoiding intellective pursuits, and embracing entropy (since school ended). It’s been relaxing—I’ve felt new to my body. There’ve...

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For velvet vanity and silver sanity I write to unite mind and heart on sleeve To free myself while imprisoning God in me I write to escape at the same time I chase My own path and wrath just to save face I write to erase my sins and rewrite them But this time with a whimsical smile For a...

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