First Draft

Nolanated Odyssey
We saw the horse twice. An even trade for Odysseus’s self-sabotage? Lack of clever follow-through eradicated in blockbuster fashion
By Harper Lewis 30 days ago in Poets
8/29/26
Love your enslaver Hate your neighbor That’s what we’re taught In this fallacy We call modern society Thank you for reading my work. If you enjoyed this story, there’s more below. Please hit the like and subscribe button, you can follow me on Facebook , Twitter , and Instagram @AtomicHistorian. To help me create more content, leave a tip or become a pledged subscriber. I also make stickers, t-shirts, etc here .
By Atomic Historianabout a month ago in Poets
The Wall
We wandered long and far But there was nothing No beginning No end Just the wall An impenetrable mass Of ice and strife
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Making Tracks
I feel myself abstracting in your mind. Its strangeness now familiar as a tire track on a dirt road, the depression embedded in the very fabric of the earth,
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Sunflower theory 𓂃.₊˖⋆
During the day, young sunflowers turn toward the sun. Seeking light and warmth, they thrive best under its embrace. Yet, when night falls and the sunlight fades, sunflowers turn face to face, finding light and warmth in one another.
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Twelve Flowers for You. Top Story - September 2026.
I picked twelve flowers for you today. The first flower I found was a vibrant blue Delphinium . Life feels so natural when I talk with you. Your words flow with ease and turn my moody blues into sparkling stars flowing in the dark blue sky of love.
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THE HOUSE THAT REMEMBERED EVERYONE
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Maybe
Maybe tomorrow, but not tonight. Maybe tomorrow, I can't tonight. Maybe tomorrow, I just... I.. Just not tonight. -- What should be, just isn't right.
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I thought I was done borrowing money. I sat staring at a balance too small to trust, thinking of all the ways a life can narrow.
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Last night I dreamt I went to Andalusia again. I saw myself in a rocking chair on Flannery’s porch, the old jinny braying in the red clay distance,
By Harper Lewis about a month ago in Poets
Driving
Sometimes memories pop up, emerging from lapis and azure, like Margaret telling me about her boyfriend’s apartment in an old house
By Harper Lewis about a month ago in Poets
Rather Than Written
Stop They say. You're not different from the rest. Move They whisper, you belong over there. Glare They do, their judgement makes its landing.
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