The rose I see is there for me and none smells sweeter than any I have seen. The rose is red and shows no dred , it joy does show when it opened I spoke no word. My body was still as was heard and all that saw now do say if you see a rose today make live with love so dear. The rose gave me hope and peace even when its thrones did poke me. Nothing more and nothing less but the rose doth live in my heart do never die and never part. To never die and never part from my heart.
About the Creator
Virginia Worthington
My poems speak for themselves
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The Night
The Night was a dark wave of stars in the sky. All I could do is say oh my and why if ever there were beauty to see. The Night it would be and wrap my mind deep in stars as they are. The stars swirl in ways I could not of imagined. The sky is filled with diamonds that twinkle and shine. Ever bright is the night as I see it in my beating heart. Even though it may be scary I shall never walk with such shock when night draws near. So never fear the night is filled with cheer and joyful sounds of imagination.
By Virginia Worthington6 years ago in Poets
Sleepless Nights and Autumn Roads
Haiku can transform heightened moments into existential insights. Richard Wright, the renowned African American novelist, turned to haiku later in his life and produced startling haiku while battling dysentery. Written in the final year of his life, Wright's haiku in The Last Poems of an American Icon show a perspective shift, blending natural imagery with introspective thoughts to reveal perceptions about time, longing, solitude, and the natural world. In haiku, such as "A Sleepless Spring Night" and "Autumn Moonlight," Wright takes simple scenes from nature and everyday life to unveil observations from the perspective of a dying man embracing life's end. Through thoughtful structural choices, Wright uses haiku's brevity to link the physical world with the emotional and spiritual realms.
By Geoffrey Philp 4 days ago in Poets
The Business of Nature
Dew drops reflected the light of the sun. The inhabitants of Whispering Woods woke up to the golden droplets of water on the leaves of the flora. The oaks particularly enjoyed the light and the maples did, too. Happiness enveloped all who lived there, even the rocks that cried out in the night delighted in the morning.
By Skyler Saundersabout 21 hours ago in Fiction
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