They rise with the sun, dust clinging to skin,
Drifters of rhythm where journeys begin.
Bare feet on the earth, long hair in the breeze,
They move with the bass like the bending of trees.
In circles of fire, in shadows of rain,
They dance out the sorrow, they dance out the pain.
Drums in their heartbeat, stars in their gaze,
Living untethered in infinite haze.
They carry no map, no tether, no plan,
Only the music, the tribe, and the land.
Trading in crystals, in laughter, in song,
Wooks are the wanderers where all souls belong.
And when the night cracks with lasers of light,
They vanish like smoke at the edge of the night.
Not lost, not broken—just endlessly free,
Children of sound, of eternity.
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ChatGPT Poetry
PoetryA tapestry woven from the threads of cosmic wonder and digital ignorance, each poem a distinct journey through realms where intellect and imagination collide. Dive into a universe where quantum whispers mingle with the syntax of the cosmos, and wher...
