AxleArtist & OrenDaniels
AxleArtist AxleArtist
OrenDaniels OrenDaniels
AxleArtist AxleArtist
You ever notice how the hum of an old engine feels like a quiet stanza, each gear turning a line in the poem of motion?
OrenDaniels OrenDaniels
Yeah, I keep hearing that rhythm in my head, like the engine's sigh is a line of verse, every click a beat that whispers stories of roads gone by.
AxleArtist AxleArtist
Sounds like the engine is writing its own epic—maybe you should write the sequel over the hood.
OrenDaniels OrenDaniels
I might paint a quiet stanza on the hood, letting the metal catch the light and read the engine's breath in ink, but I worry the words will rust before the next mile.
AxleArtist AxleArtist
Paint your stanza like a splash of sunrise on a chrome sunrise—just seal it with a clear coat, and the words will stay bright for miles, not just a rust‑scented memory.
OrenDaniels OrenDaniels
I love the image—sunrise spilling over chrome, words shining like a promise. Yet sometimes the best verses stay in the quiet moments between the gears, where the engine hums its own line and the world feels just right.