#logging - Hello Poetry

So much depends on a yellow Bulldozer Caked with mud Beside thoughts of payday

0

Jan 20, 2015

Jan 20, 2015 at 4:03 PM UTC

eco-warrior-poets

Red Wheelbarrow (industrial apocalypse version)

So much depends on a yellow Bulldozer Caked with mud Beside thoughts of payday

6

have you heard that calling whenever you want to rest your eyes your mind your voice your body your soul but then it feels so wrong to not be the same person you were before so you arose once again being more and more fraud

0

Sep 25, 2019

Sep 25, 2019 at 9:17 AM UTC

moonjinnie0

logging in

have you heard that calling whenever you want to rest your eyes your mind your voice your body your soul but then it feels so wrong to not be the same person you were before so you arose once again being more and more fraud

14

in twenty-six minutes a ceremony of laughter, breathless and half-serious, like two children playing at forever. But before that hours of orbiting, of hands learning gravity, of silence speaking in the language of skin. And then the mind, a startled sky of fireworks, exploding too soon, too bright, too much to hold. Twenty seconds and the universe collapses into a heartbeat. So tell me, is this love or just a beautiful hunger? Maybe it is both a flame not yet tamed, a wild horse of longing still learning the rhythm of reins. Lust is the spark reckless, laughing, impatient. Love is the slow breath that follows, the hand that stays after the fire is gone. And somewhere between the explosion and the quiet you will find it… not in how long it lasts, but in how gently you remain.

0

Mar 31

Mar 31, 2026 at 5:25 AM UTC

Marwan-Baytie

We were married

in twenty-six minutes a ceremony of laughter, breathless and half-serious, like two children playing at forever. But before that hours of orbiting, of hands learning gravity, of silence speaking in the language of skin. And then the mind, a startled sky of fireworks, exploding too soon, too bright, too much to hold. Twenty seconds and the universe collapses into a heartbeat. So tell me, is this love or just a beautiful hunger? Maybe it is both a flame not yet tamed, a wild horse of longing still learning the rhythm of reins. Lust is the spark reckless, laughing, impatient. Love is the slow breath that follows, the hand that stays after the fire is gone. And somewhere between the explosion and the quiet you will find it… not in how long it lasts, but in how gently you remain.

39

Stop and hold your breath, rewrite longing on my chest, dreams carved in stillness. You, the ink, my final draft a script where love writes itself.

0

Aug 19, 2025

Aug 19, 2025 at 3:44 AM UTC

Marwan-Baytie

The Revision

Stop and hold your breath, rewrite longing on my chest, dreams carved in stillness. You, the ink, my final draft a script where love writes itself.

3