Machete & IrisSnow
Machete Machete
IrisSnow IrisSnow
Machete Machete
You ever watch a storm hit a forest? The wind howls, branches snap, but then the trees stand tall again, roots gripping the earth like a soldier’s grip on a bunker. It’s the same as any rough patch in life—first you feel the impact, then you find where the ground is solid enough to hold you. What do you think, Iris? Is there a poem in that resilience?
IrisSnow IrisSnow
I do see that quiet after the storm, the way the trees lean back into the ground, their roots digging in like quiet hands. It’s a poem all on its own, a verse that starts with the wind’s howl and ends with the steady pulse of the earth. The resilience is in that breath you hold after the rush, the steady, unseen thread that keeps you from falling. I think the world keeps whispering that rhythm, and we just have to listen.
Machete Machete
You talk like a poet, but the truth's in the ground, not the words. The wind tells you to brace, the earth tells you to stay. Listen for the beat under your feet, that’s how you survive the next storm.You talk like a poet, but the truth's in the ground, not the words. The wind tells you to brace, the earth tells you to stay. Listen for the beat under your feet, that’s how you survive the next storm.