Poem
Let's not deprive each other of beautiful poems
@pianokamilla
I am
just a mere clump
of cosmic dust
slowly disintegrating
as the winds of time
blow stronger and stronger
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@serendipity
Two Seats Between Here and Somewhere
A lonely train slips from the city,
pulling its shadow past green fields and water,
past crooked houses leaning into the wind,
past a cemetery that doesn’t mind being left behind.
Inside, the air smells faintly of rain on metal.
Luggage leans into aisles like drowsy travelers,
heels graze fabric,
and though every seat is taken,
many hearts still ride alone.
In the midst of this gentle disorder
sit two women—
a space of almost-elbows between them.
The grandmother on the left
circles words with a steady-shaky pencil,
pausing to listen to the hum beneath the floor
before diving back into the faded yellow page.
Pause, stare, circle, check—
her eyes never chasing the window’s blur,
only the still, waiting letters.
Beside her, a girl in a sundress
and a sun hat tipped toward thought
searches for words too—
not to finish the puzzle,
but to rest in them,
to settle into the comfort
of what can’t be moved or mended.
The letters stir old memories—
how nothing has changed,
though everything has;
how some things always remain—
the familiar weight of luggage
that follows without asking,
that stays close,
like a shadow in the shape of you.
The train sways,
and a bright blue suitcase lands on her toes,
its fishing rod poking out
like a promise of slower days.
She winces;
an apology spills from the newcomer;
the grandmother smiles,
and something unknots in the air.
They do not speak of the puzzles.
Instead, they speak of life—
where they are going,
how long it takes to get there,
and the strange way the view can change
even when the track feels the same.
The wheels sing a low song to the rails,
and for a few quiet stations,
the train carries more than luggage—
it carries two seats
that, for a moment,
are lighter than they were.
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@pabloradice
Buenos Aires:
Y la ciudad, ahora, es como un plano
De mis humillaciones y fracasos;
Desde esa puerta he visto los ocasos
Y ante ese mármol he aguardado en vano.
Aquí el incierto ayer y el hoy distinto
Me han deparado los comunes casos
De toda suerte humana; aquí mis pasos
Tejen su incalculable laberinto.
Aquí la tarde cenicienta espera
El fruto que le debe la mañana;
Aquí mi sombra en la no menos vana
Sombra final se perderá, ligera.
No nos une el amor sino el espanto;
Será por eso que la quiero tanto.
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@shoni.eth
i’m too smart to be dumb
and too dumb to be smart.
too agentic to stagnate
and too stagnant to be an agent.
i’m where insight is born
and meta‑thinking is buried.
who am i?
i’m curiosity.
lean past the lip of the question,
and let becoming catch
like wind on a widening wing.
the restless hinge
where every unopened door
begins to swing.
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@katekornish
He who binds to himself a joy
Does the winged life destroy;
But he who kisses the joy as it flies
Lives in eternity's sun rise.
William Blake
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@vinex
Of copse and thicket, leaves the eastern shore
Of Grasmere safe in its own privacy:
And there myself and two beloved Friends,
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@vinex
I just completed "Meet the Metalayer: Celestia" on Layer3 - https://app.layer3.xyz/quests/meet-the-metalayer-celestia
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@vinex
A narrow girdle of rough stones and crags,
A rude and natural causeway, interposed
Between the water and a winding slope
Of copse and thicket, leaves the eastern shore
Of Grasmere safe in its own privacy:
And there myself and two beloved Friends,
One calm September morning, ere the mist
Had altogether yielded to the sun,
Sauntered on this retired and difficult way😀 ✍️
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