Just for the thrill, the laugh caught mid-breath, the stumble, the jump— not for the finish, not for the prize. Just for the joy of motion, of being here, alive.
By Gideon Kiprutoabout a year ago in Poets
Rough lines, loose words, stumbling toward meaning— a map not yet drawn, just ink smudges and ideas hovering between worlds. It's not done, but it’s begun, and sometimes, that’s enough.
Five lines, one spark— words quick like a match, a flicker, then the burn. Poetry, sharp, clean— breathe.
For days lost, for voices fading in the hum of time, we lay flowers of memory on empty spaces. Nothing fills absence like more absence— we hold the silence close and call it peace.
Slices of lives, small moments torn from the whole, just enough to wonder— a voice in the rain, a laugh in a crowded room, footsteps retreating. So much more remains unsaid, unwritten, left in the margins.
Dirt under nails, grit in every crevice, mud-streaked smiles and laughter. The joy of the unwashed, of grime gathered on the skin like stories we wear until the next rain.
Glimmer and glitter, a constellation of eyes watching every misstep, adoring every smile. They shine, burn bright, until they don’t— names once golden drift like stardust to the quiet unknown.
When the lights blink out, shadows take the lead, whispering secrets to walls in the heavy dark. A match flares, temporary sun— fingers cradle its glow, but soon enough, silence returns. In the absence of light, even silence hums.
Aiden was a thief of the extraordinary. Tonight, he eyed his prize: a star, shimmering in the sky. With a wave of his hand, the star dimmed and floated down to his palm, its warmth thrumming against his skin.
By Gideon Kiprutoabout a year ago in Fiction
Every night, Ethan heard it: whispers from the woods outside his window. His parents dismissed it as wind, but he knew better. One night, he ventured out, flashlight trembling in his hands.
Golden rays on the seaside shore, Waves lap soft, I ask for more. Laughter spills on sunlit sand, Leaving prints that time will strand.
In the quiet of night, memories churn, A love once bright, now cold as stone. Words we whispered, burned and blurred, Echoes linger though you're gone.
