Every Day Poems

Catharsis The rain always poured relentlessly, Sun's presence vanished without a trace. Darkness veiled the scene, Cloaked by heavy clouds. Tears fell incessantly, felt in every drop. The cold, damp air enveloped, Sending shivers down the spine. A rich, earthy fragrance lingered, As the soil greedily drank the downpour. "The sky is crying once more," he remarked, With a tone of weary familiarity. Neither disdain nor affection stirred within him, Rain bestowed a serene tranquility, Echoing through the rhythmic patter of droplets. He stood as a mere spectator, Observing the precipitation's dance, Anticipating its eventual departure. Yet, he understood mere observation wasn't enough. Life beckoned him to action, To defy the emptiness rain left in its wake, To seek liberation beyond the confines of his shelter. One might suggest finding solace within his abode, But familiarity had rendered it mundane. His house ceased to be a home, Becoming instead a refuge from his thoughts. So, he unlatched the gates of confinement, His hand trembled as he reached out, Hesitant, yet resolve remained steadfast. Upon contact, the rain abruptly ceased. Confusion clouded his mind, Yet, he watched intently as the droplet cascaded down his finger, A testament to his newfound courage. With each step forward, he embraced the sun's warmth. Lifting his gaze skyward, His eyes sparkled with newfound clarity. Though the heavens remained unchanged, To him, they appeared transformed. He marveled at the sun's brilliance, Proclaiming, "The sky has never been more beautiful." His vision blurred, Whether from the sun's radiance or pent-up emotions he's been carrying. But amidst it all, he beheld a beauty uniquely his own. Suddenly, rain resumed its descent, But, it was not the sky shedding tears anymore.

How I wish solitude wasn't my best friend. Everywhere I go I'm tagged a certified loner, but what they don't know is that solitude sticks closer to me than humans.

Do you want to know why I picked up this quill for the first time and stained this piece of paper? I felt what words couldn't express, I felt what madness could not dissipate, Then I took this pen from behind my pillow. I wanted to transcribe the rage and get rid of my pain, But, he too initially declined. Like the feet of a giant buried in the mud, this pen refused to write on this piece of paper, So I screamed, I screamed but the silence was much more important than the noise, I responded with tears and crying. It is from these tears that I write to you, These are the tears that replaced the ink. These tears that wet my sorrow but do not drown it. #poet

We have accumulated enough stones for our doom, and yet we continue to add more. #random

From everything From nowhere, In every world In every way, To be lonely To be everything, To lose it all, To be empty To not be loved, To exist only In suffering; To realize it all In one thought, From this, then To the other? Uh, forget it. #ts #pgnt

The poetry I write has so much space in between the letters. Broken words that share what we have in common, They do not touch. Instead, these words stray in different directions. If I had to write the poems from the beginning, I would leave out the parts that meant "love is blind." Then, I'll replace the spaces left with braille, So then, only the blind will know how much I loved you. ~Noverse

Oftentimes I do wonder if I throw a love book in the blazing fire, what would the smell of its ashes be like? Would it smell like lost hope or a close rebound? Or will it smell like love that's born or the betrayal once found? Would it sound like facades that are being extracted of truth like the history books? To write a hundred trash pages but none close enough to define "love" Did I not experience it enough or was it just not right? But what or who decides which love is right? Is it the one you got and saw it slipped right through your eyes? Or the one you dreamt of having it beneath the fingertips of your hands, the one that went unrequited? I've reached a level where my own words get twisted, and it spells itself "a hopeless end". I guess its my dictionary that's messed up. Hence, I close my coffee lid to push down the smell of the betrayal and get something less to gulp the ashes that burns my throat. #thetruth ~©Darkpit

He didn't cry, when he was in the corner of a dimly lit room, deliberately switching off the lights and leaving his mobile phone still on. He didn't cry, when a song was still playing beautifully on his mobile phone, when a soft sweet song flowed perfectly. He didn't cry, that a smile still blossomed at the corner of her broken lips, letting fresh blood seep slowly and freely, he would wipe the puddle later, or maybe wait for it to dry. He wasn't crying, he was just fighting back against the past and those damn times, which were coming back to beat his up. But he was okay, actually he was more than okay. - Selfia

The heartache tonight, inspired me to cry and write, It's beautiful in sorrow, just like your goodbye. #moans #thesecond

I don't know if you will ever remember this stone when you will have the stars at your feet. When you will listen to those sweet voices praising about you, you might forget my dumb rhymes. When you will walk on that beach holding his hands, you will not realize my jealousy with that sand covering your feet. When the moon will be there in the sky and you will be talking underneath, you will forget you were once called half moon. But maybe, just maybe, in a quiet moment, you will hear my whispers in the wind. Maybe you will see my reflection in the still waters of a midnight lake. Perhaps you will feel my presence in the gentle touch of a summer breeze. And in that brief moment, you will remember the warmth of a forgotten love. #Abdo #Original #forgottenlove