Flying sub

sketchfab

The poet sat quietly on his porch, a crumpled pack of cigarettes between his legs, the afternoon sun beating down upon his face. He was a man of few words, but when he spoke, it was with a quiet authority that commanded attention. He had spent years wandering these streets, watching as the city changed around him. He saw the rise and fall of empires, the birth of new ideas, and the death of old ones. And through it all, he remained steadfast, a constant presence in a world that was constantly shifting. His poetry was like a reflection of his life - raw, honest, and unapologetic. It spoke to the struggles of everyday people, to the hopes and fears that we all share. And though it may have been rough around the edges, there was a beauty to it that was undeniable. As he sat on his porch, lost in thought, a young woman approached him. She was a poet herself, and she had come seeking guidance from this master of words.