Write poetry. Get feedback. Discover poets.

An ocean's depth behind her eyes, yet soft, Devouring still, into the soul they pour. Each tender gaze doth raise my pulse aloft: Such beating as the ancient drums of war. Of mind divergent, wonders do abound, Life's codes and patterns as strange as nature knits, And on no spectrum is a label found, As she beyond all category sits. Does she see art...

In Buddhism, there is a belief in the inevitability of suffering... which is conquered only through reincarnations, overcome only by attaining Nirvana. But I believe that love is a balm- it cannot undo pain but serves as a reminder that for every act of violence, there are others - of kindness, of charity and though many are...

You made a comment today. And suddenly I was back— Not in a memory, But in a feeling I thought I’d outgrown. That room with too many voices, Too many eyes that never met mine, Only glanced, judged, And moved on. They never said I was too much. They didn’t have to. It was in the empty seat beside me, The way they shifted in shared silence, As if my...

I am not the face you see, Nor the body that you claim. I am the whisper in the wind, I am the call of the same. Not bound by land, nor by creed, Not by the words you speak or write, I am the spark within your soul, The silence that holds the light. Moksha, Tawhid, or Christ’s embrace, Brahman’s heart, or Allah’s grace— These names are threads,...

On a wave above the Moon a crimson silence froths Makes you forget yourself and hurts when you can’t laugh For when you try to touch the Moon but glide a little past This silence is forever and rhymes ‘a broken heart’

The wind howls, madly Helping the waves crash onto a battered shore A place, familiar Names written in sand not there anymore The salt corrodes All it touches erased from memory And time dances on The cold has been my only company The veil has kept me From those who live above In houses warmed By flames of life and love How can I haunt Those...

The Iron Cage** Within a prison built of bone and sinew, He dwells, a captive, where no sun shines in. His flesh, a battlefield where armies clash, And joints, once fluid, now are bound in ash. Psoriasis, a crimson, crawling tide, Leaves burning trails where life should freely glide. Arthritis, with its gnawing, twisting grip, Has stolen...