Write poetry. Get feedback. Discover poets.

butterflies and moths a myriad coloured wings all defined by names micro lepido red or yellow, black or white form colour defences eyes that do not see variable protection perfect symmetry distinctive markings amongst patterns unnumbered in that small scaled world ​​ now an admiral with very bright uniform he commands no ships​ colourful...

You may not be able to see me, but that does not mean I am no longer here. You may not be able to touch me, but that does not mean I am gone forever. The physical world may know me to be dead, but I am, in truth, very much alive – more alive, in fact, than I have ever been, In ways that you do not understand. You think that I am unaware of how...

It seems like I can’t be seen People always think I’m mean, No matter what I do It never seems to come through There’s evil behind every deed Or so they all seem to believe No one can just be nice Echos in my head every night What’s causing the illusion they see I need to know what’s in front of me

Are her eyes so ocean-deep? Do they sear into my soul, Each time I dare to fix my gaze? Should I feel such soft, sweet lips, On mine, and should I hear the words I Long for but she never says? Am I but the blinded sheep, Acheing on one fleeting touch, Denying truth I can't conceive? Ever but the silly fool: Silence meets my every try In which my...

I remember your perfume and how its fragrance and your essence made me giddy, like fine champagne from a crystal flute, sparkling, how they made me act the fool and not care as long as I could see you, touch you, inhale you, feel you open yourself to me, but time passed, the chill crept in, and you and my love are shells of themselves since you...

How easy it is to kill, So simple to destroy- The Earth, The Water, The hearts of humankind. How easy it is to hurt, So simple to break- The hope, The trust, The bond between you and I. Yet you care not For any plea Nor heartfelt cry, Not without an attached Bargain and dollar sign. The people's pain Fuels your greed, Our...

Delicate flowers don't last long in icy, Harsh conditions. They grip on tight to their roots But the cold always wins. Their fragile forms Aren't made to withstand such relentless conditions. Yet, they come back Year after year. I wonder if they're brave Or naive. And what is to be learnt From this perpetual cycle. Freesia, I have so many...