Baskadia

Life is funny so is love

It’s actually funny how we got here How we’ve framed our fragile love story into existence And how fast our chapters went by with no trail It’s funny how the aspiration of wanting you Scares the hell out of me And still choose to want you anyways

Alone

I cried for help Hoping someone would hear me But to no avail I received no response I closed my eyes Trying to wake up from this tormenting nightmare Hoping to see the light When my eyes are opened For the first time in forever I have never felt so helpless and alone I couldn't bear the silence anymore So I started shouting I ran out of breath Thinking maybe I was about to die At that point I couldn't think of anything more Than to end my life

Soul

if you have ever walked crying in the rain if you have ever screamed with no sound at the top of your lungs if you have ever had a very deep wound with no rushing blood to show if you have ever felt your heart fall within your chest then I know your storm I know your song Even though I may not know your story Our souls though different they are one and the same

A shoulder to cry on

A shoulder to cry on A shoulder to cry on is better than gold, In dark times  it gives energy to go on. Lights that were turned off  will be turn on while it comforts like a mother to new born giving hope and erasing pain of what is gone. A shoulder to cry on help you to mourn providing company until you set on new dawn. It understand why you cry and what you lost. It doesn’t intent to show off hence it never fall short and comes from the least expected with no cost.

Social media

People are use social media

IS OUR FATE - ALEXIS KARPOUZOS

Poetry by alexis karpouzos

HEART OF MAN

The heart of man is sensational. The heart of man is emotional, it is magnificent. The heart of man is cruel. The heart of man is either fragile or desperately wicked. It signifies the nature of human cos man's attitude and characteristics is as a result of his heart. Every step he takes is from the thought he thinks, cos as a man thinks so he is. The condition of his heart is as a gives birth to what he vomits out of his mouth and exhibits. Should the heart be in a good condition, he pours or r

"Verse's Embrace: A Journey Through Poetic Wonderland"

"Explore a world of poetic beauty, where words dance and emotions come alive. Discover love, solace, and understanding as you wander through this enchanting realm of verse."

My Mother Has A Photo Album In Heaven

My mother doesn't read books, she reads people who read books. like she read my cousin who was pregnant at 16 because she tasted lemon dewdrops in early sunrise and the bittersweet experience of motherhood never left her palm like a written note. my mother could read fever just by placing hands on the forehead of her child, you could say she was the MOM in therMOMeter because my mom never kept us in a room temperature... to say, she didn't want us to get spoilt, she tightened up every corner tha

America

This is a poem about America, past, present, and where the author wonders about the countries future as impacted by the proliferation of TV. (and now, by extension, social media) Written by my father in 1990, posting with permission after his passing.

Serene Calmness

Amidst the chaos of life's demands, A quiet calmness gently lands, A soothing balm to ease the mind, And leave the clutter far behind. The stillness of a tranquil lake, The rustling of leaves in a gentle shake, The hush of morning's early light, All bring a sense of peace so right. In moments of stress and strife, The gift of calm can save a life, A steady hand to guide the way, And lead to brighter, peaceful days. So let us cherish this serene calmness, And revel in its pure, sweet essence, For

Give Your Black Boy A Flower

Your black boy Is a garden of stumps, his heart is rooted out of a fertile ground for you to plant a dream on his Humus skin. he Is a machine Void of human language. He understands solely, his breath on your skin and the sweet nectar of your pineapple lips. Again, he is an illustrative painting of your dad. He watches you grow Into his arms like sweet alyssums sprouting in early winter as he lays on your flower bed nurturing his lovelessness into something. And of all that he deserves... the ros

Mysterious memories

It's an original script written by me. In this poetry, the writer references to the power of memories and compares the drops of raining with memories and the fear of losing his beloved concerns the writer. In the end, As raining comes to an end and memories disappear. Then the mind becomes colourless.

Overwhelmed

i wrote this poem a while ago

Vengeful Flames

Burning bright with fury and hate, Revenge consumes me, it's my fate. I'll make them pay for what they've done, My anger rises like the sun. I'll plot and plan, I'll bide my time, Until the moment is just right. Then I'll strike with all my might, And watch them suffer in my sight. No mercy will I show to those, Who wronged me and caused my woes. Their pain will be my sweetest pleasure, As I exact my vengeful measure. But as the flames of revenge die down, I'll be left with nothing but a frown.

Atheism : Truth is like poetry, and most people hates poetry

Atheism is a belief system that holds that there is no deity or deities. It is often contrasted with theism, which is the belief in the existence of a deity or deities. While atheism is not a religion, it is a worldview that many people hold and it has a long history. Atheism can be traced back to ancient Greece, where philosophers such as Democritus and Epicurus rejected the idea of gods and instead advocated for natural explanations for the universe and human existence. In the modern era, athe

The New Modernism Fate

This poem is written by Jennifer Dowson from United States of America. Poet's photo is attached with the poem. 🔥

Summer breeze

The winter comes, In the disguise of a rainy day. I felt so cold, I can't make you stay. You gave me, a short-time warmth. a love I thought, would stay in my arms.

The points accounts only when, millions others, follow now and then

Let me spit these rhymes first, before I get, to the points, and topic worst, Then the pick, of your crimes, sicking artist, to rehearse, From the core, sweating pore, swearing shore, with the daily chore, To study, with a buddy, for a lady, to be daddy, and be quite shady, With the quiet passion, tearing nights, with compassion, wearing whites, onto mansion, Gearing diet, with a pension, while hearing, me right from, the pension, Cheating the bloody, diddy tension, to beat the Jade e-invasion,

The Echo Of Me

Is the person reflected in the mirror truly a version of yourself? Or are they merely a figment of your imagination? This piece touches on the subject of finding the best version of one's self in a world filled with doubt and dreams.