The Poetry of Lights
Where there is light, there is life.” ✨ It’s wild how a small shift in illumination transforms a room’s story. Lightbeam makes that story modern, functional, and quietly magical. Explore: thelightbeam.com
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seen from Malaysia
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The Poetry of Lights
Where there is light, there is life.” ✨ It’s wild how a small shift in illumination transforms a room’s story. Lightbeam makes that story modern, functional, and quietly magical. Explore: thelightbeam.com
Announcing @illuminationsfantastic MAGAZINE ISSUE 2 titles and authors, May 1st release. #poetry #fiction #essay #americanhistory #lightpoetry #horrorfiction #shortstories #shortstory #naturepoetry #poetsofinstagram #epicpoetry #epicpoem #warhammer40k #magazine #literarymagazine #issue2 #secondissue #nashville (at Nashville, Tennessee) https://www.instagram.com/p/B_FxB89Bdcv/?igshid=3hbj9fkclt1v
There is a fountain inside you. Don’t walk around with an empty bucket. 💧
Wherever you are, and whatever you do, be in love. 💙
Dance, when you’re broken open. Dance, if you’ve torn the bandage off. Dance in the middle of the fighting. Dance when you’re perfectly free. 🕺
Sunrise fog, #fallcolor in #Wisconsin #theamericancollective #fotocatchers #lightcatchers #trees #foggymorning #lightpoetry #alive
La legge di Acquaviva
C’era un’aria di acciaio al pomeriggio e sgranavo in silenzio le mie perle: acqua pietra e erbe, acqua pietra piante che non valgono acqua ferma pietra dura verde cupo. Mi sedevo sopra il bordo e allargavo un braccio a stringere la scena: chi non viene qui adesso resta fuori e non scopre la terra che prometto. Io divido lascio spazio solo ora in quest’aria abbandonata dalla gente io divido l’acqua e verrà notte un’intera notte di salvezza poi richiudo. La vasca torna colma e torna gelida.
Valle Piola
Di giorno qui dentro si lavora: si apparta l’acqua che si trova non puliamo gli angoli né i vertici smontiamo la sostanza di ogni superficie. Col buio dormo tra i fiori geometrici uguale mi inabisso scendo come certe volte scesi nella macchia a macchie di spine. Ogni cosa all’apparenza è un paradiso il verde sulla terra e il blu al soffitto il fosso coperto dalla casa ma regge poco all’umido e all’impresa centrale di me, unicamente cambiare posto alle cose spostarle altrove a oltranza se qualcuno arrivando le vede.