Original Prose Poem

Original Poem

I risk it, reckless, without a ticket— a leap into the liminal, limping on legality’s edge. My stomach tightens, fear flickers like scenes flashing by the window. Living on the rails, knowing I was wrong,

The world’s second-largest cryptocurrency by market capitalization, Ethereum appears to be entering a new phase

This time, we’re rallying to support @hivecreators on X

El Combate — Two Hercules beetles in battle. A symbol of inner conflict. What do you see?

Sketches from... Something is changing. What would you call this series?

Papilio Nigredo — an alchemical exploration in ink, collage, and symbols. One unique piece available.

Surreal print “Monje COT” explores the mental maze. A few physical copies available. Also — are NFTs dead? Let’s talk.

Surreal collage art in unique formats — from calendars to prints. All sold out, but more coming soon.

Hello Hive community! 👋 I'm excited to join this vibrant space and share one of my biggest passions: crochet! For me, there's a unique kind of magic in transforming simple strands of yarn into something

In a world where wanderlust implores, and the thrill of adventure knocks on weary doors, that sweet escape can change into burdens unsure. In meticulous detail, I plan my retreat, painting each moment,

In the stillness of early morn, where shadows soften, and birdsong fills me with the courage, to let go of burdens, set my heart free - you forgave me. My life is sewn with threads of pain, I pick out

It’s been too long since you’ve been gone, my memories reside in a quiet room, candles flicker, shadows of love in the early eve. We pour ourselves your favourite, a G&T in hand, I feel the bubbles

I hear you bad mouthing me. Resentment settles heavy on the chest like a night’s full ashtray, when your body is finally weary, and you slug off to bed. It rags at all my conscious states pulling me down

Mirror not framed, but edged by daybreak, reflects a world that only I can know. Where every line tells a story – mine, yet also a stranger’s face; two eyes, moonlit pools, care worn cheeks, a map of moments,

Splendid building from Victorian days, it’s columns conduit music’s sweet ways. The Town Hall, a cathedral, vast yet near vaulted ceilings prelude jubilant cheer. Excitedly come the musicophiles, up grand

Temporarily moved

10 am On a hot day they have the door open and hang the multi-coloured thingy up to screen the passers-by. The manager, Vic, in his short-sleeved shirt, writes tempting forecasts in thick coloured markers.

We love like words love a book. Our passion a plot, intricately devised, pages turned with urgency. Margins sculpted with scribbled dreams. Each chapter a new beginning; desires traced in inky fire. We