art
Poetry and art go hand in hand; in fact, a poem is just art in the written form.
the whirlwind and the wildfire. Content Warning.
he is a whirlwind - chaos incarnate - torrents and turbulence filling the air with debris that now lands in my realm, before the rainclouds form. a massive front of low pressure dragged behind his highs. but he doesn't know i am a wildfire. his winds give me oxygen to breathe, but he doesn't like the heat and his emotions rain down. stormy tears to put the inferno out. the blaze of my fury subdued. his winds have changed direction, for now. exhausted by his own friction. the earth my fire burns left to renew as it needs to, parenting inventive convenience, for the cycle must continue. but the whirlwind returns, so curious, wanting to be close, and still unaware of how he affects my wild heart of fire. so, i burn and i hiss and i glow. a climax of explosive instinct - a natural reaction, but a hazard nonetheless. and the world demands i put my fire out and block his tornadic gusts. do it or they will do it for me, before they carry on about the weather, "... what a dangerous idea for the wildfire to be so reckless with the whirlwind..."
By ⸘jason alan‽2 years ago in Poets
The Artist's Promise
At some point in the far-off past, in an inquisitive town settled between moving slants and mumbling woods, there continued to be a young woman named Elara. Elara was known all through the town for her agreeableness and splendid smile, which could illuminate even the haziest days. She continued with a clear life, working at the town cake kitchen, where the scent of recently warmed bread and prepared products drifted through the air, drawing in people from miles around.
By Rony Sutradar2 years ago in Poets
