Curled petals in sync
I gave you a piece of blue
It sprouts from your hands
How does it work?
More stories from K L and writers in Poets and other communities.
Mountains use mirrors They push back soil like hair strands Rocks are their sole comb
By K L3 years ago in Poets
Of course we're locked Into our sufferings, Said Cohen / Yet I've loved you of A love with no name And couldn't be
By M.7 days ago in Poets
Being Poor Sucks. Every Thursday morning, I receive my paycheck. It’s a day that I used to look forward to. Nowadays, the first thought that enters my head is
By Jebus! about 15 hours ago in Poets
“There’s the train!” he yells excitedly, squinting off into the distance. The train rumbles into the station, and the doors slowly part. We hop aboard, take a seat, and our Sunday excursion has begun.
By Sandy Gillman2 days ago in Families
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