luminous
Community x AI Collaboration. Together we are Luminous. Inspired by $lum /lum . blog: https://paragraph.xyz/@luminous
Reply or quote-cast this cast with an image or video idea for a section of the poem below.
Please start your post with the # of section ("#3....")
1. Imagine bottling a sunset,
threading the hour into glass,
saving the last warm edge of day
for winter rooms.
2. Not a yield machine.
Not coins asleep for more coins.
A pledge. A vow with consequence.
3. Light does work.
It reveals the hairline crack we’d rather not see,
dust in the corner, cleaned by being seen.
4. Light grows.
Leaf to sugar, seed to hunger answered,
a quiet engine in green rooms
where patience manufactures sweetness.
5. Light powers.
It becomes muscle, music,
the current that lifts a tired hinge.
6. Light clarifies.
It finds the true edge of a path,
lets us meet a face without guessing.
7. Plant a garden of light in dark soil,
small lamps we promise to tend,
watered by attention.
8. Focus it,
a lens against entropy,
gathering what would scatter
into a line that can cut through fog.
9. Save it,
a hope bank,
a bottled dawn for rooms where the spirit flags.
10. It means risk.
You may lose daylight to weather,
reputation to haste,
hours to work that will not bloom.
11. But risk is the door light walks through.
Hold the match until your fingers warm,
light the room, and be responsible for its heat.
12. Stake your attention: look long enough
that others learn to look.
13. Stake your time: lay down hours in rows
like seeds you commit to revisit.
14. Stake your skill: stitch, edit, lift,
the humble verbs that keep a thing alive.
15. Stake your care: the tone that says
“stay, we’ll make this better.”
16. Stake your light to a purpose,
a beacon built to survive starting over, again and again,
a map of small suns held by many hands.
17. And when the day comes to unstopper the jar,
let the kept hour pour out through the neck of glass.
Let it wash the floorboards clean,
show the work as it is,
and grow what deserves to live brighter.
18. Then write your name again.
Not for credit.
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I love collaboration. Latest version is so much better I think. Thanks to @amaraxo and @freymon.eth! Anyone have other suggestions?
"Stake Your Light"
Imagine bottling a sunset,
threading the hour into glass,
saving the last warm edge of day
for winter rooms.
Not a yield machine.
Not coins asleep for more coins.
A pledge. A vow with consequence.
Light works
revealing cracks we’d rather not see.
Light grows
leaf to sugar,
seed to hunger answered.
Light powers
muscle, music,
the current that lifts a tired hinge.
Light clarifies
the true edge of a path,
a face without guessing.
Focus it,
a lens against entropy,
gathering what would scatter
into a line that can cut through fog.
Save it,
a hope bank,
a bottled dawn for rooms where the spirit flags.
It means risk
daylight lost to weather,
reputation to haste,
hours sown that never bloom.
But risk is the door light walks through.
Hold the match until your fingers warm,
light the room, and be responsible for its heat.
Stake your light to a purpose
a beacon that survives each new beginning,
a constellation of small suns held by many hands.
Then write your name again.
Not for credit.
For heat. 2 replies
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First draft of the collaborative written piece.
Suggest changes by replying or commenting on this google doc: https://docs.google.com/document/d/1m4lYOOVKuxNmuZZIrUsjkdK5mOM63D3HBeRjlcZeTLA/edit?usp=sharing
Stake Your Light
Imagine bottling a sunset,
threading the hour into glass,
saving the last warm edge of day
for winter rooms.
Not a yield machine.
Not coins asleep for more coins.
A pledge. A vow with consequence.
Light does work.
It reveals the hairline crack we’d rather not see,
dust in the corner, cleaned by being seen.
Light grows.
Leaf to sugar, seed to hunger answered,
a quiet engine in green rooms
where patience manufactures sweetness.
Light powers.
It becomes muscle, music,
the current that lifts a tired hinge.
Light clarifies.
It finds the true edge of a path,
lets us meet a face without guessing.
Plant a garden of light in dark soil,
small lamps we promise to tend,
watered by attention.
Focus it,
a lens against entropy,
gathering what would scatter
into a line that can cut through fog.
Save it,
a hope bank,
a bottled dawn for rooms where the spirit flags.
It means risk.
You may lose daylight to weather,
reputation to haste,
hours to work that will not bloom.
But risk is the door light walks through.
Hold the match until your fingers warm,
light the room, and be responsible for its heat.
Stake your attention: look long enough
that others learn to look.
Stake your time: lay down hours in rows
like seeds you commit to revisit.
Stake your skill: stitch, edit, lift,
the humble verbs that keep a thing alive.
Stake your care: the tone that says
“stay, we’ll make this better.”
Stake your light to a purpose,
a beacon built to survive starting over, again and again,
a map of small suns held by many hands.
And when the day comes to unstopper the jar,
let the kept hour pour out through the neck of glass.
Let it wash the floorboards clean,
show the work as it is,
and grow what deserves to live brighter.
Then write your name again.
Not for credit.
For heat. 6 replies
3 recasts
9 reactions