#microfiction - Hello Poetry

I. Liturgy of Mechanical Courtesy Every elevator has a temperament. Some hum like bored librarians guarding the quiet hours, others vibrate with the weary impatience of someone already exhausted by Tuesday. But all of them – all – become solemn the moment your finger hovers over close door, as if you were about to sign a minor covenant. II. The Referendum in Stainless Steel There is a breath-long interval between seeing the running stranger and pretending you didn’t. A tiny moral referendum held in stainless steel, an ethics exam no one revised for, a vote with no campaign period and no recount. The elevator observes. It records. III. The Bureaucrat of Vertical Transit It keeps a private ledger – thin pages of invisible ink where it notes who waits with quiet grace, and who jabs the button like a panicked clerk trying to close the office before someone slips in with more paperwork. It remembers the ones who step back to make room for one more life, and the ones who breathe relief when the doors seal shut like a verdict. IV. The Descent of Judgment And when the doors close, the elevator does not accuse. It simply descends with the calm authority of a minor civil servant performing a sacred duty in a forgotten archive. Not cruel, not forgiving, just precise. A vertical magistrate with no appeal process, carrying you downward through the quiet record of your choices.

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Apr 17

Apr 17, 2026 at 12:39 PM UTC

VerseBuster

The Elevator That Judges You

I. Liturgy of Mechanical Courtesy Every elevator has a temperament. Some hum like bored librarians guarding the quiet hours, others vibrate with the weary impatience of someone already exhausted by Tuesday. But all of them – all – become solemn the moment your finger hovers over close door, as if you were about to sign a minor covenant. II. The Referendum in Stainless Steel There is a breath-long interval between seeing the running stranger and pretending you didn’t. A tiny moral referendum held in stainless steel, an ethics exam no one revised for, a vote with no campaign period and no recount. The elevator observes. It records. III. The Bureaucrat of Vertical Transit It keeps a private ledger – thin pages of invisible ink where it notes who waits with quiet grace, and who jabs the button like a panicked clerk trying to close the office before someone slips in with more paperwork. It remembers the ones who step back to make room for one more life, and the ones who breathe relief when the doors seal shut like a verdict. IV. The Descent of Judgment And when the doors close, the elevator does not accuse. It simply descends with the calm authority of a minor civil servant performing a sacred duty in a forgotten archive. Not cruel, not forgiving, just precise. A vertical magistrate with no appeal process, carrying you downward through the quiet record of your choices.

58

Once upon a tiny planet, a hunter and his rifle stalked their prey, It always got away, until the day he fired— Dropping dead, with a bullet in the back of his head.

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Sep 2, 2020

Sep 2, 2020 at 10:02 AM UTC

normancrane

Sphere

Once upon a tiny planet, a hunter and his rifle stalked their prey, It always got away, until the day he fired— Dropping dead, with a bullet in the back of his head.

6

Sofia clung tightly to the black tipped violet wings of the tenuous butterfly. She softly pleaded to the intricate friend. "Please stay," a tear caressing her cheek, "don't leave me." Her mother walked up behind her. "Oh honey, don't hang onto his wings, you will only **** him." Sofia turned to her mother's chocolate eyes and quietly muttered, "Let go of my wings mommy."

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Jun 17, 2014

Jun 17, 2014 at 12:53 AM UTC

born-of-fire

Wings (Let Go)

Sofia clung tightly to the black tipped violet wings of the tenuous butterfly. She softly pleaded to the intricate friend. "Please stay," a tear caressing her cheek, "don't leave me." Her mother walked up behind her. "Oh honey, don't hang onto his wings, you will only **** him." Sofia turned to her mother's chocolate eyes and quietly muttered, "Let go of my wings mommy."

8