my poetry - Best Free Stories

MY TRUE LOVE

MY TRUE LOVE To love is to lose To love is to pain and ache If not so tight, you get loose How I miss you pearl How I adore your lips on mine Locked together for pine That spines my chest I dream of us A dream to chase Occasionally I forget My roots of this passion That burns like coal But I never betray my person Sum up my wait, one plus two See through it, believe I Run into my arms, And sum up to three.

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The Tattoo On My Ring Finger (Inspired from TXT's Song)

020 Together, we bought that shiny ring, our promises and dreams, on this piece of metal cling. The smiles and laughter that we shared, the warmth of your kisses and hugs are now lost in the maze's dead-end. Your traces are gone, vanished without a trace. All that's left is this mark on my ring finger that I always caressed. Your place beside the bed feels cold, I'm missing your smell, my life feels void. The tattoo on my ring finger is now a memory, a memory where you are mine in my every day.

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CRAVING FOR MY EX 😭

About love ❤️

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Behind My Pillow

My world is peace My world is harmony My world is growth My world is joy My world is love My world is the future My world is my dream. Freedom comes after You find what enslaved you. In a realm of no pain Only inner peace That clover around your imagination Back to present Stained mud imitates blood Role play is left Unattended to, TV's no Longer have a function The movie is right in front of your pupil For now the apocalypse Has not yet come. Back to my pillow In nights of after Struggled days,

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My poem on stars

Beauty of STARS

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A Broken Heart: For My Friend (Girl)

Everyone has a bittersweet memory with the beloved one. We can be friend with anyone we feel comfortable with. Somehow, the feel we kept for so long can kill us inside. Crush culture, stranger-friend-stranger. That's all

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My anxiety

Some challenges lead us to anxiety but we survive

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my father

poetry for father in heaven

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THE PEN TO MY HEART

Title: •••— THE PEN TO MY HEART How would one suppose — feelings couldn't be engraved in prose, but, in selected verses — only when one feels unpleased once on the verges? If the pen cannot seduce — what's the essence of its use? It risks to reduce the potency of the words spoken to the ears when the motif isn't the fruit of our ideas. Sometimes, the heart has its conception — which the pen seems often to ignore. But, it[the pen] aspires to become an inspiration and transmits on pages what the heart's enamoured [with]. Isn't this pen a little bird; a factor? Isn't this a lucky emblem of Art? Isn't It this a benefactor — to poets? Such, is the pen to my heart.

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