a poem about love

A poem about love is the oldest thing we make.

The world is loud right now. War, hunger, people shouting past each other. This is a room for the other thing.

Send us a poem about love and we will publish it. Any country, any language, any kind of love — brand new, decades old, returned, refused, or never once spoken out loud. No contest. No fee. No critics. Just a wall where the good part of being human gets to take up space.

Share your love poem Read love poems free, always — one poem per poet
why this exists

Love is the only thing that keeps outliving the news.

Open any headline and the world looks like it's made of the ugly things. War. Famine. Cruelty dressed up as opinion. It is genuinely hard, some mornings, to remember that most people on this planet spend most of their lives quietly loving somebody.

They do, though. Every day, in every language, somebody writes something down for a person they love. Most of it never gets read by anyone else. It sits in a notes app, in a drawer, in the back of a notebook, folded inside a book on a shelf.

This site exists to give that writing somewhere to go. Not a competition. Not a magazine with a slush pile and a rejection letter. A wall, open to everybody, where a poem about love from a teenager in Manila sits next to one from a widower in Belfast and neither of them has to be good enough for anything.

Love poetry is the oldest continuous thing human beings make — older than the novel, older than the printing press, older than most countries. It has survived every empire that ever tried to shout over it. It will survive this news cycle too.

Come put something down. We'll keep it.

Everyone is welcome

No credentials, no publishing history, no MFA. If you have written something true about love, you belong on this wall.

Any language

Love poetry exists in every language on earth. Send yours in the one you think in. Translation optional, never required.

No judgement

Nothing here gets scored, ranked or critiqued. Poems are published as written. Your spelling is your business.

It stays up

Published means published. Your poem doesn't expire, and you can have it taken down whenever you want, no reason needed.

Red Tree · painting by Zachary Tye Wennstedt
the founding poems

Love poems to start the wall

Somebody had to go first. These were written by hand by Zachary Tye Wennstedt and typed up exactly as they sit on the page — the misspellings, the crossed-out lines, the second thoughts squeezed into the margin. Nothing has been tidied. Scroll and the pages turn.

the one it’s named after

Seeking Out Love

Seeking out love, to live forever above. Luscious greens and oranges, and unimaginable vineyard of every fruit in the world. Stars in your spirit, reflections of yesterday. Let peace in, taste. Its beauty. Flowing purity. Quench all are dry throats, cowardly calls. Overcome thyself, rebuked reflections, stained tears, walls, cascading, deep blues and reds, glowing as if a million tigers call to their young. My spirit like the thrashing of waves into the rigid rocks. Famine in my heart, joy I call yearning. Love, truth, and peace swallow me whole shredding, scratching, calling out to the spirit. Like a child's face glancing out at the ocean for the first time. Stare out into a million stars, cosmic dust falls on this page. Let light in, no longer mold along sheepishly hidden away. Let yourself go.
Ember & Ice · painting by Zachary Tye Wennstedt
one

Love poems about longing and devotion

The ones written toward somebody. Some of them arrived. Most of them didn’t. He kept writing them either way.

01 / 09

My Place Is Here With You

My place is here with you. The ones that can not only hear me / but feel my words. Taste my desire. desire me as I you! united we shall be! forever one.
the first attempt 02 / 09

As I Sit

As I sit... Empty... a shadow on the wall waiting If I could... I would fly. If I should I would If you want me to... I will but only for you... I want to say your true... but only you Will feel me for real Hollow as I may be I will forever be. My place is here with you... The ones that not only hear but listen... and feel my desire. desire me as I desire you. fire for me and shall fire for you. Eternally... Time is nothing but you are everything. Are you where I am or are you where you think I am

He wrote it out clean underneath. Both versions live on the same page.

03 / 09

My Words Are Written Next To Candlelight

My words are written next to candlelight It's a lonely night, a gentle breeze comforts, while distressing my light. I am like the candle, seperate yet have a warmth, and glow. I have been blown by you and everyone, but I still burn on. I just sit here alone, listening to the cars rush by. Everyone seeming to have something but me. I need somebody to love... I want someone to rub my shoulders as I write of her beauty in the midst of the candle that represents our seperation from and represents our flame an everlasting love.

The last four lines are written over each other three times. This is the one that ended up on top.

12 / 30 / 00 04 / 09

Our Thoughts Are Like Birds

Our thoughts are like birds, they fly away. Our mind oceans vast currents. Spinning endless fabric of colors Then we sit numb, and spin more. She sees me, warm eyes that feel my desire. Soft hands forgiving my tears. Her lips touch mine, Soft like a flower on a moist summer morning Her hands lead me to a open window. We both begin to cry, and then we start to fly. nolonger are we a line. We are nolonger constrained by time. Our Minds Are Birds, they fly away.

Written first as My thoughts. Every My and I was later crossed out in blue and changed to Our and we. The blue pen won.

2 / 14 / 02 · 8:35 pm 05 / 09

Another Arrow Shot Amiss

Another arrow shot amiss Cupid knows my life not Some will never taste love, My heart rages with dreams. To smell her hair of wild flowers. Together all will be gone. We savor the same— She knows my every detail, reading my eyes; not a word spoken. For language cannot explain our love nor will time end it. To know your word is stone and that youre love is true makes my soul glow with joy. Finally something someone real I love you.

There is a cupid drawn in the corner of this page. Not a good cupid. A very sincere one.

06 / 09

My Valentine

Today my thoughts were of you, like a cool calm breeze upon my face The one who reconciled my soul. I miss nothing more, than the flowers of your hair upon my chest. Everything I am, is nothing without you. To taste the salt of your stomach I desire. What is one broken heart to another, arent they all stones cast away. I've set sail, with no shore. Your love could ground me, your lies polluted our love as did mine. So I beg, bury the past begin a new. Our love will carry us.
07 / 09

To Be Of Snow

To be of snow. soft, white untouched by the world. A heart so strong a voice so true An Angel sent from God Answering every prayer I ever prayed your voice sets the rythme of my heart. You are my dreams you make the rain wet the sun shine You are the smell of meadows blooming in spring You provide the instinct to care for young. You are the emotion behind a laugh. you are endless and forever
08 / 09

I Wish To Love

I wish to love One love that is pure, one love that is forever, Endless eyes locked lips that cripple A voice heard anywhere you are my yoke.
09 / 09

like a lonely flower in a field

like a lonely flower in a field so soft and colorful. everything in the world to offer. but still alone.

Four lines, alone in the middle of an otherwise empty page.

Sea Glass · painting by Zachary Tye Wennstedt
two

Love poems for a broken heart

What love leaves behind when it goes. These are the pages with the hardest pen pressure in the whole book.

01 / 07

All That You And I Have Shared

All that you and I have shared. Your secrets I never told. laughter full of the richest colors Eyes that soothed my every ache. long and golden, soft like a flower. More beautiful then any. why was I such a fool. A wasted everything was I, broken like an old rusty bike. Bent wheels that still form a circle. that are still just circle yet to mangled to be used.
02 / 07

my price, there is none

my price, there is none my soul is weak troubles I've had and troubles I face life is so short gone without a trace ashes fall and the wind blows away time tracks me and I am not winning I try to be true and genuine at heart but its a broken heart and very hard to start
03 / 07

Poisened By My Own Hands

Poisened by my own hands in control of nothing a unchangable past that has hollowed my soul brougt to my knees by something that was so clear infront of even blinder eyes leave me in the dark thats where I feel the most losing myself. alone with my only shame.

There's a single leaf drawn underneath, taking up the whole rest of the page.

04 / 07

I cant stand your voice

I cant stand your voice, your lips are but rust — I hope you cry like I did. I hope your soul falls prey to pain. No regard for others your sour breathe that tells lies. Black hollowness is your eyes. A future of Evil. poisened times we live Strangers pry you. Cries endless, starved Skannked streets

Unfinished. The pen just stops.

05 / 07

what is different of me

what is different of me endless I would say. To know my home is very far away. I speak to a stone trampled and worn as I Love is to be forgotten to gain an eternity I will reap Pound my fists blood running away Meaningless is every click Physical pain laughs at my soul Would rather my bones turn to dust than my ears to befoll your lies Meaningless is My love for there is none for me
3 - 5 - 03 06 / 07

A Tainted Torn

A Tainted torn as a broken mollosk cast away without an eye fallen My soul rages fierce pounding fists numb complacence constant endulgence am eternal slakerd cast aside as ones garbage My life, spitten upon by my enimies, the world cold shadows surround me Vastness, emptiness As though falling in an endless pit Nothing overcomes the lonliness my heart bears the losts Ive endured the stones Ive tossed and been struck, endless thoughts I nolonger have fear

The word constant is written sideways up the margin, twice.

October 14th · round 10:00 pm 07 / 07

No Longer Sweetness

No longer sweetness encounters my tongue. a crystaline sphere is my reality. Gleams in the eye of the world as it passes by. No home I have, endless squandering a pathetic excuse and compromise. It's like trading everything for nothing at all. Memories of life and love, how it has passed me by. Tears know they had their chance. An unquenchable heart that has been devoured by the world. With no feeling is there life? Numb from my light, to low My ears call for love but hear no sound, hands that reach but do not find, A heart of toil that must someday love.
Colour Columns · painting by Zachary Tye Wennstedt
three

Spiritual love poems — faith, doubt and the search

Love pointed at something bigger than a person. It is the one thread in these notebooks that never breaks.

2 / 7 / 01 01 / 08

Unknown Thoughts By The World

Unknown thoughts by the world curiosity like a little boy or girl flowers that stare at me I will no longer wait I have tasted many tastes time has toiled my mind I keep looking although I may not find. Irrelivent to my dispositioned eyes but mine will always be For you not the same and I will never blaim Potentcy running through my red blood hoping, over turning, discovering a new way not today, nor tomorrow I nolonger know sorrow, although with my two eyes I will not demise untull my maker stakes his claim Fruit will be found, not tainted with pain.
11 - 4 - 16 02 / 08

A Shimmering Reflection Of A Man

A shimmering reflection of a man. Taste but rust and bloody addiction. there is no end to this desire. Extinguished it must! Drown out the evil with good. My your heavenly waters flow from me For nothing except — God can fulfill. There is no hope without God. Storm clouds gather with peace in your hearts, It's like a huge beast. Pounding and Pounding in your head. Trying to defeat you. Raise your head and have no fear. Trust in the Lord. Turn inword. Love overcomes hate. Peace is greater than war. God is love.

The last dated entry in the book.

12 - 13 - 15 03 / 08

Where Do My Words Travel

Where do my words travel? Peircing my side, focus eluded. Pour down love on my head. May love light my path. Widows and orphans cry as hunger ravishes brethren. Peace and comfort for all. Tis my dream
04 / 08

Cast Away Everything

Cast away everything Toothless coward as everything will effect, become dust. Those in which you cannot touch will not become dust. Those of love in which you cannot touch will fall in which you build. Chores of love be your life. Everything will fall into the sea, why called it prepare — even God says do not worry of tomorrow. Pointless is your society, business, organization, wealth. Toothless is your cities & buildings. Tis where you will be here in 100 years? None of us. Progress is a must but weigh upon your minds greatly is to your sacrifices of such. Don't let what really counts pass you by. Your delusions created by this world or environment. To love & Life

Signed ZTW at the bottom, sideways, running off the edge of the page.

3 / 26 / 02 05 / 08

How Will I Ever Live

How will I ever live? When will my eyes see? from east to west Happiness to tears of pain Hungry thoughts prowl around illusions. Does the question have an answer? Is the pain my life knows worth the weight upon my shoulders when will my senses be filled no longer tastless days Dull grey is the world color knows not this place As if tied down, lift my spirit from this reality. Show me the Potential. Bring color to this world, show the hatred love. Give greys, yellows and reds away Turn smoke to clouds, that rest upon sun setting once again Turn taking into giving let your tounge know only truth
06 / 08

A Deep Heavy Breath

A deep heavy breath crystalizes as It travels foward to convince. To prove... what you say enivitable is. is not.
07 / 08

theres a stillness within myself

theres a stillness within myself a wonder that needs a answer possibilities that go unseen a voice that goes unsaid. tears that fall with no problem over a past that is far behind.
08 / 08

To Find Life

To find life, is all I ask. reshape the roads to find the strait path. No wa—

A fragment. Half the page is torn away and the rest runs sideways up the margin.

four

The world as he found it

Not love poems. Kept here anyway, because a notebook doesn’t sort itself and the anger is part of the same voice.

01 / 06

Why Are You Here? To Harvest Gold

Why are you here? To harvest gold. Empty you Are.... As am I. empty words hollow souls My words seem so mixed as without aim. forever hollow forever stained. I find it funny those who spend their time rymeing and rymeing to find the perfect ryme. Those who judge and say shame shame... Are you really proud of your name. No ryme / no reason. Please do as you please. Poison your children and plauge them with desiese. All for Money and political gain. Its really sad 100% ashame, Its funny how you say. do what I say and not as I do... but all we want is to be like you.

an eye for an eye — you and I is written up the side of this one.

5 / 25 / 09 02 / 06

A Very Complex And Vivid Soup

a very complex and vivid soup is life. We create fiction, when the truth is always stranger and more interesting. I sit numb, frozen, hardened yet humble, and weak. To dream of a day, in which joy will be felt, time frozen, just a glimpse. Aspen trees blowing winds, summer nights in the rocky mountains. No one cares, people kill with no remorse, everyone is m— bomb, tanks, weapons of mass destruction. Why kill when there is love? Why fight when there is peace? Why take when you can give? Tick tock on to another, past constantly accepting new memories.

One word is lost off the edge of the page.

4 - 26 - 98 03 / 06

My Voice Is Getting Fainter

My voice is getting fainter and fainter. I am nolonger attached to reason. Everything I see is glazed over revealing itself as a fake hollow. I have been here before, rich ideas flowing from my soul forming a perfect thought. To understand this unreason you must free yourself, no thoughts that can be explained by language, a feeling thats strong. A feeling you have as a child, that one day you will do good to others, but then life kicks in and those colorblind wonderous thoughts fade away, then you were molded by your racist, egotistical, selfish, lying parents, or were you? We are the next generation, we are what will soon be old. Are we going to believe what we believe because—

Runs off the bottom of the page. The next page is gone.

04 / 06

a cold pail face

a cold pail face, peddles effortlessly on a old outdated bike. Grey clouds floating beside watching without interest. an empty can, tossed to the side blown, dented, and scared by the days. a stillness passes, as one zombie to another. expressionless faces moulded by monotony. Cold hands wrinkled, dirtied by pollution reach lathargically forward for handouts. Once bright, energy playing in the meadows. Dreams that made fabrics of life. To lose such gifts, broken backs, faded smiles. The sun nolonger knows everyone.
05 / 06

To When Does The Dust Settle?

To when does the dust settle? For what is all this Pain? greens and greys blues and reds days go by, nothing to be said. your knives that cut with no notice, devouring the world. Not one to stand could cause falter only when our tounges are nolonger tied will we see eye to eye from my thought to yours make them alike. An idea to hold Nothing is real, this and that are meaningless our lives pointless Driving from here and there Blind rats in a cage Nothing but hollow phoney lives words spoken for self always you are our demise, pollution, lust, lies, Hatred, war, Adultry, self loathing—
marked song at the top 06 / 06

I Was Sitting By Myself

I was sitting by myself watching the sky go by. Wondering where I lost myself and how am I alive. where do I go from here to shed my other tears where can I go to find a friend of mine. to a simple place, with a simple taste so I was sitting by myself alone with myself. wondering what is to come.

The only page in the whole book labelled song.

the closing page

Looking Glass Eyes

last page

Looking Glass Eyes

Staring out onto a golden blue space. Calling rhythmically, following no reason. Mind is of no value without heart. When your eyes no longer lend foresight, but vibrations within your soul guides, the storms too bright yellow Suns, a perched face peeking over the edge, running away from love, To find a new beginning, letting all go.
a short education

The different types of love poems

You don't need any of this to write one. But knowing the shapes helps — each form was invented to do a different job, and picking the right one is half the work. Here are the twelve that keep coming back.

The Sonnet

14 lines · argues a case

The most famous love poem form in English. Fourteen lines that set up a problem and then turn — the volta — into a resolution or a sting. Shakespeare's are the ones everybody knows, but Petrarch got there first. Use it when your feeling has an argument inside it.

"Shall I compare thee to a summer's day?"

Free Verse

no rules · most love poems today

No meter, no rhyme scheme, no fixed length. The line breaks are yours to place, which means every break has to earn itself. Almost everything on this wall is free verse, and it's where most people should start. Freedom, not laziness — a free verse poem still has to be built.

Break the line where you'd take a breath.

The Ode

praise · unashamed

A poem of pure celebration, addressed directly to its subject. Neruda wrote odes to socks and tomatoes and made them love poems anyway. The ode gives you permission to gush — it is the one form where too much is the right amount.

"Ode to the woman who leaves the light on"

The Haiku

3 lines · one held image

Traditionally three lines, seventeen syllables, and one turn of season or attention. A love haiku doesn't announce love — it shows one small thing and lets the love live in the gap. Perfect for a text message, a note in a lunchbox, an inscription.

Your coat on my chair —
I didn't move it all week.
The cold came anyway.

The Ghazal

couplets · longing, repeated

Arabic and Persian in origin, perfected by Rumi and Hafiz. Independent couplets bound by a repeated end-word, each one able to stand alone. Built specifically for longing and for love aimed at the divine — which is why it never stopped being used.

Every couplet ends on the same word, and the word keeps changing meaning.

The Villanelle

19 lines · obsession

Nineteen lines with two lines that keep returning like a thought you can't put down. The repetition is the meaning — which makes it devastating for love that won't leave you alone. Dylan Thomas's "Do not go gentle" is the famous one.

Say the line. Say it again. Mean it differently.

The Elegy

love after loss

A poem for someone who is gone. Elegies are love poems written too late, and they are often the truest ones anybody writes, because there is nothing left to win. Grief and love turn out to be the same material seen from different sides.

"I still set out two cups."

The Aubade

dawn · the goodbye poem

A poem about lovers parting at daybreak, cursing the sunrise. One of the oldest situations in poetry and one of the most human: the night was enough and now it is over. Any poem about a morning you didn't want is an aubade.

"The light is early and I resent it."

The Letter Poem

epistolary · written to

A poem in the shape of a letter, addressed straight to one person. It gives you the intimacy of correspondence and the compression of verse at the same time. If you have ever drafted a message at 2am and not sent it, you have written one.

"Dear you — I'm writing this instead of calling."

The Blason

the body, part by part

A Renaissance form that praises the beloved one feature at a time — the eyes, then the hands, then the voice. Its opposite, the contreblason, mocks the same tradition. Both are alive and well in every song about somebody's smile.

Start at the hands. Everyone starts at the eyes.

The Acrostic

a name down the margin

The first letter of each line spells out a name or a message. It looks like a children's exercise until you try to write a good one, at which point it becomes a genuine constraint. Unbeatable for anniversary cards and proposals.

Their name is already the poem's spine.

The Prose Poem

no line breaks · full pressure

A paragraph that behaves like a poem — image-dense, rhythmic, compressed, but never breaking the line. Ideal when the feeling arrives in a rush and stopping to break lines would be a lie. Several poems on this wall are prose poems.

Let it run. Punctuation does the breathing.

start tonight

How to write a poem about love

Most people who say they can't write poetry have only ever tried to write it the hard way — starting from the feeling. Start somewhere else instead.

Start with one real image

Not the feeling. Something you actually saw, smelled or heard: their coat on a chair, rain on a car roof, the sound of a key in the door at a familiar hour. Love is invisible. Objects aren't.

Write it to one person

Address somebody specific, even if you never send it. Poems written to everybody reach nobody. The strange private details are exactly what makes strangers feel it.

Let the rhyme go

If a rhyme turns up on its own, keep it. If you're hunting for one, you've stopped writing the poem and started writing the rhyme. Sound matters; forced sound doesn't.

Say the embarrassing part

The line you want to delete because it's too much is almost always the line the poem is about. Leave it in. Nobody has ever been moved by a poem that played it safe.

Read it out loud, then cut

Your ear catches what your eye forgives. Read it aloud and delete every line that doesn't surprise you. What survives is the poem. It is usually shorter than you thought.

Let somebody read it

A poem isn't finished when you stop writing — it's finished when someone else reads it. Send it here if you don't have anywhere else to put it.

something for you

Scratch here

Since you came all this way.

You are loved.

drag across the silver

the long answer

What is a poem about love?

A poem about love is a short piece of writing that holds a feeling too large for an ordinary sentence. Not only romance — attraction, devotion, longing, grief, the strange relief of being fully known by another person. A love poem compresses that feeling into image and rhythm so that a stranger reading it years later feels something, rather than simply being told about it.

It is the oldest continuous literary form on earth. The Song of Songs. Sappho's fragments. Rumi's ghazals. Shakespeare's sonnets. Neruda's odes. Every culture that has produced writing has produced love poems, because every culture contains people who feel more than they can say. Poetry is where the overflow goes.

The more precisely you try to describe love, the further it retreats.

Neruda admitted his love poems were always secretly about something else — the sea, bread, fire, the stars. That's the trick of the form. Love can't be approached head-on. It has to be circled, caught in peripheral vision, described by what it resembles. Which is why love poems everywhere reach for candles, birds, snow, rusty bicycles and mountains: they are all attempts to say one thing by pointing at another.

Short love poems and deep love poems do different jobs

A short love poem works like a struck match. Four lines, sometimes fewer. It's what you want in a wedding card, a set of vows, an anniversary note, or a message sent at one in the morning. Short love poems survive because they can be read aloud in a single breath and remembered afterwards.

A deep love poem takes the long road — memory, argument, loss, and the slow arrival at something the writer didn't know when they started. Both kinds are complete. Length isn't the measure. Precision is.

Love poems for her, love poems for him, love poems for yourself

The most overlooked kind is the one written not to another person but to yourself: I love what I am becoming. I am worth the love I keep giving away. In a culture that treats love as something you receive from outside, a self-addressed love poem is a genuinely radical act — and it's the foundation the others are built on.

Why nature keeps turning up

Nature supplies the metaphors love demands. Seasons carry longing and return. Oceans carry depth and unpredictability. Stars carry distance and permanence at once. Flowers carry beauty that's already dying. When a love poem reaches for the natural world it isn't decorating — it's borrowing the only vocabulary every reader already speaks.

And the star imagery isn't only romantic. The carbon in a human body was forged inside ancient suns. A love poem about stars is, quite literally, a poem about where two people came from.

Love poetry as a way through something

Expressive writing has a long track record in grief work, and love poetry sits at the centre of it. Writing about a loss gives the feeling a shape and, more importantly, a witness. It turns something unbearable into something that can be read aloud and survived. It's not a replacement for the people who love you, or for a counsellor if you need one — but making something out of pain is itself an act of care, aimed at yourself as much as anyone else.

If you've written one, put it up here. It costs nothing and nobody is grading it.

questions

Love poem FAQ

A poem about love is a short piece of writing that holds a feeling too large for an ordinary sentence — attraction, devotion, longing, grief, or the relief of being fully known. It compresses that feeling into image and rhythm so a stranger can feel it rather than simply be told about it.

Yes, and it's free — always. Use the form near the top of this page. One poem per poet to start with, so everyone gets room on the wall; if you'd like to share more, email info@eyetoad.com and the answer is usually yes. You keep the copyright and no money changes hands in either direction.

No. There is no contest here, no fee, no judges and no critics. Nothing is ranked or scored. If it's true, it belongs. Spelling and grammar stay exactly as you wrote them unless you ask us to change something.

Please do. Love poetry exists in every language on earth and this site is open to all of them. Send it in the language you think in. You're welcome to include your own translation, but it isn't required.

The best-known are the sonnet, ode, free verse poem, haiku, ghazal, villanelle, elegy, aubade, letter poem, blason, acrostic and prose poem. Each does a different job — the sonnet argues, the ode praises, the elegy grieves, the aubade says goodbye at dawn. There's a breakdown of all twelve on this page.

Start with one real image instead of a feeling. Write it to one specific person even if you never send it. Don't force a rhyme. Say the embarrassing part. Then read it out loud and cut every line that doesn't surprise you. There's a six-step version above.

Writing about heartbreak gives the feeling a shape and a witness, which is why expressive writing is used in grief work. It isn't a replacement for the people who love you, or for a counsellor if you need one — but many people find that making something out of the pain helps them carry it.

None of those. No entry fee, no reading fee, no prize, no ranking, no shortlist. Publishing a poem here costs nothing and earns nothing, on purpose. The moment money is involved, people start writing to win.

It was started by Zachary Tye Wennstedt, a poet whose own handwritten poems make up the founding collection on this page. The site is published by Eye To Ad Media and reachable at info@eyetoad.com.

Because most of what's loud in the world right now isn't love. War, hunger and cruelty take up the news. Love poetry is the oldest thing human beings make, and it's still the clearest available evidence that people would rather build something for each other than against each other.