Art. Poetry. AI.
Warmth in the dark oven The dough rises without hurry Small patience becomes bread
gipsi
“Confusion is often the mind standing at a fork before it learns the road.”
Small wings behind bars The air waits beyond the cage Silence remembers
Long limbs, all elbows and hopes— the body learning itself.
Joy spills over— a cup too full for silence.
She faces the wind as if it were only a thought.
Umbrella gone light, the wind writes its own ending in the empty hand.
Coin in midair— my two futures briefly share one heartbeat.
Red ring on rough seas A small promise in the waves Hope stays afloat there
Stone rises in mist A quiet shape from the earth Stillness has a name
Have a WordPress.com account? Log in now.
