Welcome to Poetree, a place where poets and poetry lovers meet each other. We have been doing our best to make a website where poets could write their poems, publish them and share with their readers. Please sign up to add your poems to Poetree!
In the dead of the night,
I venture the dark alleys and streets,
Broken are the lights,
Each home is a memory of serene deceit,
I see the playground,
Where we as kids used to play,
you kill a bug.
it’s ugly and disgusting.
It’s small but it’s still a threat.
to what? you don’t know.
it’s just disgusting.
the bile of thoughts
fuels hatred
indifference of action
fuels desire
A portrait without a face,
A ghost without a spirit,
A phantom never feared,
An assassin who leaves no trace,
A song with no music and lyrics,
A form that was never mirrored,
a bug, stuck in a jar.
in a struggle to escape
it crawls around.
to no avail.
after all it’s so frail.
frail, this bug still climbs.
I'm a writer,
A poet,
Screaming to the world that I exist,
I'm not a silent relic floating around,
Not some puppet to be fiddled with,
Not a sculptor's grotesque creation,
if someone described me as a broken glass i could agree,
Newly elected, in more than 20 hours,
- I decided to read the lines of the prompter to everyone,
"Who is to blame?! - Tajik with Zelensky, mass
the empty soul of dashed hopes
still try to walk through mud of life
the roots of doubt are deeply rooted in you
you’re losing touch with real life
and each arrow
that pierces your heart
just a reason to feel alive
your blue eyes
are like a paradise,
your eyes hit my heart,
you became a light in my dark
moss grows on a log.
it spreads and thrives.
if dry, it dies.
but this moss, never dies.
no matter how hot or dry,
it doesn’t die.