or sign in with e-mail
Don't have an account? Register Here!
I hear you knocking
to come in...
Drawing his nails
along the cell ground, striving...
I don't want to speak in circles anymore,
and lose visitors in my colourless corridors...
I hardly hear you
Like a clock you are silent...
It seems love's a gamble and rarely wins
But when I first saw you, I had to fall...
Red, my favourite
Didn't think it was right...
The saddest tears are the driest ones seen in the bravest smile.
Don't tell one who writes of grief to rethink their "I" statements. When you know they had tears on their hands as they wrote, don't say the poem could be better. You might as well say their grief could be worse.
If someone shares a poem with you that is meant to help close an open wound, they don't want your opinion. They want your hand on their shoulder, gripping it tight.