surreal poetry
Surrealist poetry embodies the essence of poetry itself, drawing upon shocking imagery and lyrical incongruities to comment on the inner-workings of the mind.
Reflection Of Polluted Art
Dead living off this secret pain Dead living off this painted hate Tears are soul embedded Contrast of obsidian fire describes a painters brushed off
INFJ "The Mystical Analyst"
With introspective gaze and pensive soul, The advocate, a mind of quiet might, Doth delve in depths where shadows oft times roll,
Diorino GalvanoPublished about a month ago in PoetsINFJ "The Idealistic Visionary"
With introspective gaze and heart of gold, The advocator, a soul both wise and rare, Doth ponder life's complexities untold,
Diorino GalvanoPublished about a month ago in PoetsINFJ "The Emphatic Achievers"
With introspective gaze and heart of gold, The advocator, a soul of gentle might, Doth walk a path by intuition told, A silent guide, a beacon in the night.
Diorino GalvanoPublished about a month ago in PoetsFreak Day!
I loaded my washing machine, It made me swim; I think that's really mean! I vacuumed my room, But something went POP!
Carol TownendPublished about a month ago in Poetsthe sound of rain
The sound of rain on window panes constant, soothing, drip-drop-drips sends a calm into my brain as flowers drink, petals like lips
North/צפון/Tzafon
English version: Yesterday, I got lost in the south. My mind was clouded, so I couldn’t think straight. Moving forward,
Talia DevoraPublished about a month ago in PoetsBig Fat Lie
They sold the lies for a nickel. They sold the lies for a dime. Ever asking why? Begging me to conceal, Yet, I never understood the reason.
Mescaline BrissetPublished about a month ago in PoetsDragoness fires kitchen
The Reign Of Women A place where hearts are free Against the chains that once held in silence Gender equality, all we're meant to be.
The Dead Of Winter
ravens at the window fate sits on a sill the secrets of time blows wherever it wills branches reach like fingers long, thin and black
Kelli Sheckler-AmsdenPublished about a month ago in PoetsIn the End There is LOVE
Step One: Walk through the garden of peace and purity ⭐️💛⭐️💛⭐️ Step Two: See through the weak and progress to maturity
Rick Henry ChristopherPublished about a month ago in PoetsNirvanic Suicide
This overzealous pain is lucid foreign to me Its crucifixion of DE humanism illuminates encrypted flaws. I'm like a dying breed of inferior murdered souls