Learn more about other poetry terms

Bleeding onto pages its heart has been pirced  An aversion to the spill   They say the felt feels too  loud to see The crimson color Makeing meanings unclear   Only blue or black
No Thank You. I don’t want the stress. Senior year, college too No Thank You.  I can’t deal with it. Not all of the work.
I can't live without pens. Strange, considering a couple things. Pencils are better for note taking. Typing is more efficient for essays. Paint flows cleaner onto canvas. Talking quickly expresses opinion.
The pen is my compass The paper my sail They take me to new places On a see of words and dreams
I've got so many of you.  Many different colors. From red to green,  Black and blue. I've got lots of you.    You are so smooth.  And, you seem so nice.  You are like my best friend, 
Tired, to even when the pen scratches paper, an uneven blank etched scrawl, It mirrors the state of mind, a crease present now and for all the pages to come, Over lines and crossing through spaces,
Ink tainted on paper A sword stronger than the memory of time Ink tainted on paper
If I may only have my hands for companions And must live my days On a bed in the darkest hole Then let me have a pen   Let my eyes grow weary from squinting Let my fingers cramp
I can smile and look at everythingTwisting a strand of hair with my finger,A childish expression i wear to pass the time. Until then I am wasting my time skipping and stepping on broken leaves,My toes growing numb from the water soaking into my sh
Subscribe to pens