Man of the future Flipping sound, yellow sea, count the ages and listen: I sang and tapped the dust, crushing my lips- A thousand years agone. We wore jibads of soft enamel, selling soft silk on my wilderness

creation, dear creation, guide your soul through life beautifier to you the beautiful, guide our earth through life there was me and expectation, and today i am failed fellow fighter, i am the wares of

Dear you, When eightlines was to join steemit, i had an idea of a platform where many people who feel they are creative in one field or another can interact. That sort of underground form of social media

Silence, like the real act of dangerous inaction , red as blood, quiet as its name. Drilling, a question of turgid craft , loud and comforting, smooth as the west wind. Solitude, A non-entity, large as

His graven foot and disco pants sweep the floor with the gracefulness of a majesty. His name is in another speech but translates to- fair skinned, beauty of black, god of women. -- I see his movement and

Dear Writer of lines, We are from today redefining steemit through the power in our words. Read on. Narrating experiences, inspirations, insights and anything conceivable through poems is no new way of