heartbreak
They can break your heart, but they can't break your soul; poetry about lost love that comforts and uplifts.
The Eleventh Petal
In the quiet garden of unnamed seasons, where morning light spills like honey over leaves, an eleventh petal once rose gently toward the sun— not to take the light, but to test whether the sky still remembers spring. Golden cloth moved like a field of mustard when the wind passed softly through the branches, and the trees bent slightly, as if an ancient forest were greeting a traveler who carried sunlight in quiet hands. Among the green constellations of leaves a small yellow bloom was lifted— like a star being returned to the heavens from which it had secretly fallen. Some petals are not flowers at all, but lanterns hidden inside gardens, guiding wandering hearts the way a cave once held light for seekers when the world outside had forgotten mercy. And perhaps that is the mystery of the eleventh petal— a silent cavern of calm, where storms pause at the entrance and even restless thoughts learn to whisper. The garden notices when that petal grows quiet. The branches wait longer for footsteps. Even the sunlight hesitates on the leaves, as if asking the wind: Where has the brightness wandered today? Yet seasons are patient storytellers. They know that petals sometimes change colors not because the garden failed them, but because the sky is preparing a deeper shade of spring. So the soil remains warm, the trees remain watchful, and somewhere in the hush between leaves a quiet gardener still believes that when the eleventh petal smiles again, the garden will bloom in colors it has never learned before. 🌿🌼 #Naturelovers#Arts#Petalstheeleventh#alonetime#alone
By Dr Hamza Yaqoob 4 days ago in Poets
Pornographic Venn Diagramming
It's all performative, all damned to death and back. Born we are into this system of crippled development. Portrayed as enlightenment, but the reality is anything but. . I have long rallied against such realities, despite the burial of my past innocence, forgotten sanctity. . I wrote down some thoughts: . Well hallelujah Spread thin Tongue twisting tautogrammic takes of trauma and triumph Male shame and toxicity mixed with a little alienation and Oh oh the resentment Wafer thin . Xenophobia and the hardened husk of hatred and illegitimate anger and distrust we have become . . Desperation . . The secret language of the sextape . . Pornographic Venn diagramming . The shame, oh the . Shame? . Generation after generation closed off and colder . Heart unresponsive as the irresponsible as the moral vocal cords for the majority . . Minorities kerbed, chided . . We become the grotesque we loathe . . All our yesterdays forgotten The abstract replaces the grounded In an instant . . We become the loathsome grotesque . . All our tomorrows forgotten The grounded replaces the pure In an instant . . We become the grotesque we loathe . . I have become that which I hate. As I bring down the hammer of the gods of inconsequence and their wards, the stupid and stationary, I feel the shame. . . Shame? . . Slàinte. . . Merci beaucoup Oui, oui Ventus, ventus. . . Lilith adores. Diana engorges the might of Artemis and the cynicism of Perseus. . . As I look to the mirror and dismay shoots through like a sgian-dubh of truth, claidheamh-mòr, I lift my Lochaber axe and punish the impure because I dare not face my own. Targe laid down. The dirk plunges into my neck by the phantom of reason. . . Fire. Fire. Fire. . . Water. Ice. . . Novocaine. . . Any D&D players available.Start writing...
By Paul Stewart4 days ago in Poets
Victim of manipulation
I thought you were a friend until you started playing mind games and I told you how I felt about you everything changed. You would become hot and cold and only reach out when you wanted something in return. My hopes and dreams of finding someone after years of being alone and focus on myself after a divorce. I prayed for true love. I thought
By Jennifer lindquist4 days ago in Poets
