TRANSIENT LIFE ~BY SARARANI GHUMARE
Life is like the waves that goes up and down.
Never be upset, as you fall down.
Money exists for a short period of time.
Stories
Creative stories written by poets
COME FLY ~BY EMILY SHIPP
Come fly away with me
To a world of our own.
Come fly away with me
To a land of hope.
WOMAN, THE BEAUTIFUL SOUL ~BY SARARANI GHUMARE
There’s a world of beautiful souls in the depths
Facial appearance or character traits it affects
THE SHOES ~BY MELANIA MENDROFA
Let the room mourn;
The heavy cloud of unheard prayer and tears,
Pain and hope,
Cascaded in this somber afternoon.
WHEN WILL SHE REALIZE ~BY HEDDA JONSSON PIHL MBGY
I have seen her with my own mortal eyes,
Walking around her own castle of dread, when will she realize?
With a bailey made out of her impenetrable fright, with knights standing alert all day and all night, how could she realize?
A CRASH WAS HEARD ~BY HEDDA JONSSON PIHL MBGY
A vase in the middle of a dynamic room is bound to shatter, but if it is in one way, rather than another, would that, in the end, matter?
Would the shattered vase continue to ponder its fate even after someone has left it feeling uncared for and scattered?
I SAID GOODBYE TO YOU TODAY ~BY BRYNN HUDSON
I kissed your hands today, to say goodbye. Those two beautiful hands, they raised me. They lifted me when I was down.
IT JUST GOT BAD ~BY LOUIS MARTONE
You know that it is bad,
When the thing you love becomes a chore.
You know it’s bad,
When your passion becomes poor.
It feels like your well has gone dry,
and all that you can produce is a lie.
No charming metaphors,
Or silly rhymes,
Can bring back your passion.
It is gone for good.
The thing that used to come so easy,
The crutch you used to hold
It’s rare now.
Rarer than gold.
I thought I knew what to do.
I thought this was my calling.
Every time I look at a blank page,
It is like I have frozen on a stage.
Everyone’s eyes were on me
and I forgot my lines.
THE COVEN AND TEA~ BY ANGELINA ROLSTON
A witch of the name Misty,
A kitchen witch,
Just arrived at St Tropez in France,
She,
Whose hair was coloured with the sun’s golden rays,
who wore earthy tones,
Layers of chiffon
SEVEN HUNDRED AND TEN ~BY SIERRA MAZZUCCA
Seven hundred and ten days ago, but it seems like just yesterday because shock from those days grip is only now starting to let go.
I have been in slow motion since the words of your exit were sent.
Stretching through radio waves and into the earpiece of my phone, which to this day doesn’t feel like it ever came to an end. Specifically regarding that feeling and sudden realization, your lights won’t flicker again.
- 1
- 2