Write. Poems - Poems about Write.

flames erupt blocking light bathed in ashes death ...

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Secrets cling to the shadows, the light Softly glowing, flowing against a soft night While the melancholy dreams breathe, stirred By the distant thunder, the storm’s heard Revealing the silence, the story so inviting Soundless images of hope I keep writing! ...

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Why do so many old pens love to write, bright light comes from a lens. Many write to their old friends. How about to boyfriends?...

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IN ORDER TO SURVIVE Sensitized fingertips Unstopping Trembling hands keep writing To write those words unending A writers lament When the force is within And the words just tumbling All over the page scrawling What the writer is feeling In that moment of time sharing For the anxiety is easing Somehow the pain relieving Hence we write We always write GOD help us We need to write In order to survive No...

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So far away but my heart you shine through. Stronger, swifter, and wiser, I am better just because of you. As the past reigned with the man kings your glow reign in me too. I'm passionate to be directed by my compass, water, and shoes. Your nose loud as tunes i can only offer a fife. From a distance...

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Every sunrise held a whisper, a silent call to ink the day. We chased horizons, not for gold or glory, but for the thrill of the narrative unfolding. Each step, a verse; every challenge, a turning page. We lived, always, for the story that begged to be told. ...

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I bowed for the story line. Hunched over in suspense, I hung-out for the punch line. The twists of plot lured me to the edge. I could see the lede lying buried below me. Reaching in to grab it, I toppled over, fell right in, and became the story line....

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My tears and ink mingle as one, I write sadness from my grief and heart; there is no stopping my words once begun, 'til my pen is empty and...

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True writers write from their heart ~ AI does Not have a heart to write with....

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The last poem I'll ever write before I burn this whole system down And if this gets me killed so be it I'll burn down the world If that makes you listen And if you think just because of my skin I'll back down and let you win You would be sadly mistaken I will burn down the system And...

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I write my illusions, not out of cowardice, but from that stubborn mercy I owe to my own spirit that withers under the weight of time, reality, with its arithmetic of pale bones, rarely adds up to salvation, it's merely a tally of sorrows, debts of silence, and interest paid in insomnia, I lie to myself, not to deceive,...

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cursive letters pale fade into weathered parchment— they were stories once....

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When I take off as a raven, the branch wobbles my dark figure melts into the night. No pack, no company aside from the starlights— they were once alive, but now all there’s left are fragments of tears from somewhere above, is it heaven? I wouldn’t know. Wearing shadow of night itself, I glide through the air. Beneath me, a city in neon fire. Cars rush below— one place...

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Your smile is where sunrise sings, Secrets of soft gold. Break the night with silent grace, And sculpt the light on her face. A heat breeze, such a soft silence, The world feels young when she smiled. No poet pen, without the painter's tone, I could hold the brightness that her lips let go. And when she smiles, the stars lean closely - Because...

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Poets have multiple aims, modes, reasons to write, Which may match what readers want downright. Some poets are simply lovers of words and language. How they twist and turn, and meld on a page. Some readers love the sound of words that beat, A tune where rhyme and rhythm softly meet. Some write to teach, profound knowledge to bestow, They search for...

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