Always breathing. Always learning. Always searching. Always dreaming.
They’ve all left
and the house is so quiet
it makes me physically ill
Sun rises bright
while birds sing their morning hymns
but all I can see is black
Day is done
and the room is empty, yet
I can still hear the voices
My head hurts
I make no move to stop it
At least I can feel something
Seven days
have passed and I have just one
last question to ask… what now?
April 22nd
Prompt: Write a What (Blank) Poem
The Poetry of Emotion
An Independent Non-Discriminatory Platform With No Religious, Political, Financial, or Social Affiliations
absolute drivel.
Because she can
Listen to your inner self..it has all the answers..
Bernie Gourley. Traveling Poet-Philosopher
Some thoughts from author and agent Marie Lamba
The home of poetry
Daydreaming and then, maybe, writing a poem about it. And that's my life.
Tori Dreamer 