PoetryVerse - the poem and the meaning

Mikhail Moonasar

FIELDS OF GOLD Published: October 13, 2026

There are some people who walk into your life like they were always meant to be there, and then they vanish like they were never real at all. That is what happened to Julian. He was forty-two years old, tired of the world, tired of himself, driving down an old dirt road with no destination in mind. The kind of road that kicks up dust and leads nowhere in particular. The sun was hanging low, casting long shadows across the open fields. Then he saw her. A woman on a white horse, riding through fields of golden grass that swayed like waves in the

One Blue Jockey

The Siren of Death Published: October 09, 2026

The night was hanging over our head, A fear stopped her from going into the bed, She thought I had crossed to the realm of the dead. She thought I was cheating in her With death, And she is not to blame for this, It's not a lack of trust As death has been sending love letters Ever since life crumbled from in between. She thought that I had gone out From the kitchen window through the backyard, In the midst of the night, And made love to the darkness that always tried to smother me, Though lately this darkness has been gently embracing me, For

Mark Dicks

A Role I Know by Heart Published: October 08, 2026

One step further. That's all it takes, a step. But towards where? Into my heart, or into my mind? Or into the life of someone I've yet to understand? I'm never sure which way to go, yet always know which way works. A whisper here, a fleeting touch, and suddenly, I'm bound to her soul. But why does my end of the string grow duller with every pull? The words come easy, their weight, less so. I speak as though I mean them, and convince myself I do, until- Every movement feels rehearsed, every feeling, a familiar line. I've played this part so

Aldo Kraas

Another day bite the dust Published: October 28, 2025

Another day bite the dust Because my father brought down the Sun And I saw the sunset It was beautiful To my naked eyes Now my father brought Us the night It was my time to go to sleep I took my meds and Went to sleep I was already exhausted Yes I hope I have a good night sleep Yes the night is long And it has 24 hours Tomorrow I will be up Early And I will pray for my Father First thing In the morning

Vrab

La Fontaine Published: August 09, 2026

La Fontaine wrote his fables late at night, long after the world had dimmed its light; so he cannot claim the credit alone - his wife deserves some praise of her own. For had she kept herself busy with women’s affairs, he’d never have written of crickets and ants. Had she but focused on him for a moment then, La Fontaine would have written quite differently, amen.

Hxney

Real Man Published: August 05, 2026

Rough hands foreign amongst dime, Earned their throne through paths unknown to me. A thin veil which conceals, Like a viper slithering low, shedding its outer layer to what suits him best. My once kind seed, begone with all unwanted ways; she detests. All for nought, yearning for feather-light touches that may never grace. No son of mine is man.