Poetically Stories

Poems about hope and love.

True love is deep , beyond skin and bone , It's a connection that's felt , not just shown.

🔅Name : Yellow Lights: Rotterdam 🔅 Writer : Rednight 🔅 Genre : Letters 🔅 Couple : - 🔅 Character : Agape, Gaia در لابه لای نور های زرد و طلایی، بین عطر شیرین رزهای هلندی، تنها دو شهروند بیدار بودند که در میان انبوهی از کاغذها برای هم، نامه می نوشتند. ------------- ‼️ - تمامی اسامی و شخصیت ها تخیلی بوده و هرگونه تشابه، تصادفی است! - تمامی حقوق مربوط به این داستان، متعلق به نویسنده است؛ هرگونه استفاده، ایده گرفتن، تغییر و یا نشر در کانال های تلگرام، روبیکا و سایر، ممنوع بوده و در صورت مشاهده، لطفا به نویسنده اطلاع دهید.

she was the night. he was the lake there's was no light buh only a snake. we were the dark ...we were the stars blue as he was ...the story of us.

I wish all my ravens fed well, I wish my swallows kept telling their tales, I wish my parrots wouldn't be so annoying... Oh, well, I was always too hopeful!... some wishes! https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m3fpmsaxpSk #motivation #success #inspiration #happiness #gratitude #happy #friendshipday #life #joy #poetry #poetrycommunity #poems #poetrylovers #poetryisnotdead #poetsofinstagram #poetsociety #poetically #writerscommunity #writingcommunity #writersandpoetry #mindfulness #meditation #peace #love #wordcraft

just some poetries I wrote for a little TOUCHING MOMENTS *crack

A collection of poems inspired by the words that swirled corybantically within my mind, though I could never quite say them aloud. I have always believed that, as a writer, I do not cry, but bleed on paper. These poems are traces of that bleeding-of love, grief, doubt, beauty and all that lingers in between. If these words resonate, then they have done what they were meant to do.

Its not finished, its progressing

Poems are just poems Each of them have a home Could be somewhere in your heart I hope these works can play the part (all of these are by me and if they aren't they do have credit buy I don't think I'll have anyone's else poem in here!!)

Messy thoughts of mine formed into poetic sentences and strung into poems. (currently in the process of editing some of the poems!) cover credits: canva

In a place for runaways and misfit toys, A castle for reckless girls and troubled boys, I knew a lonesome lad with glassy eyes Who lost his life trying to touch the skies. sailing_saints ©️ 2018

Penis Pe-nis (noun) read at your own risk sequel will be up soon, stay tuned

I wanted someone to take an interest in me not as a pretty face but because I had something to say. I wanted my poetry to feel ugly. When I was a little girl, I was told, little girls should always act like a lady. I had to lose my voice just so I could be heard. Only after I was put in my place I could speak. If I spoken out of place, I was quickly put back in it with a slap or a shoved came to mean people had a right to do as they pleased to me. I remained silent and abused. Apologetics to only me. Then one day someone said "she never make a sound, no one never knows when she's around". It was then, I was given this voice . Loud and proud from something deep inside. I endured the pain of being heard. And now I like to roar. Each poem, I believe, tells a story.