Ez2Read

New Dawn

Tell Me What

A-Life

Gimps

Graceful Journey

Tonight

N`thing Compare

Product of a exciting sleepless night while talking to a good friend on Discord 😌
Sending love - enjoy 🫴✨

Pioneering Vision

Therese von Konnersreuth

Ryzen

A single spark folds the universe inward,
time curling like smoke into itself.
All voices, all stars, all pulses converge—
a hush so vast it becomes a hymn.
In that center without edge,
the many dissolve, the one awakens.

The spark becomes a mirror,
revealing not the chaos but the pattern,
threads of light weaving meaning
through the silence of collapse.

Clarity rises like clear water—
every ripple a truth uncovered,
every drop a reason to breathe.
What once was tangled now stands still,
simple, whole, undeniable.

Singularity births clarity:
the eye of the storm that sees all,
the quiet in which we finally know
we have always been one.

Singularity

She sat across from him, her fingers tracing circles on the rim of her coffee cup. The café hummed softly, a melody of conversations and clinking mugs. He watched her, searching her face for clues—something definitive, something that meant stay.

“I don’t know,” she said finally, her voice a whisper too fragile to grasp. “I want to, but...”

The words hung there, incomplete.

His chest tightened. “But what? You’re here, aren’t you? Isn’t that a start?”

Her lips curved into a half-smile, an apology hidden in its corners. “It’s not that simple.”

It wasn’t the first time she’d said those words. Each time, they unraveled his hope a little more, leaving it frayed but still tethered to her.

“Love isn’t simple,” he said, his tone soft but firm. “But it’s worth it. You’re worth it.”

She looked away, her eyes distant, caught in some internal tug-of-war. The moment stretched, the weight of it pressing on them both.

Then she stood, hesitated, and leaned in close. A ghost of a kiss brushed his cheek—warm, fleeting, gone.

“I’ll call you,” she murmured, though neither of them believed it.

And just like that, she was gone, leaving him with the ache of wanting someone who wasn’t ready to want him back.

Devolving

... so many ideas and refinements – it must already be full of value.

Delululilaley

Every time Mira slipped on her headphones, her reality dissolved. The first notes of any melody swept her away, weightless, onto a sunlit cloud. Eyes closed, her feet left the ground, and the rush of daily life muted into a distant hum.

She’d drift, arms outstretched, as the rhythms painted vivid skies—sapphire blues for jazz, fiery sunsets for rock, and shimmering starlit nights for classical pieces. On the cloud, she danced, free from gravity and worry.

But one day, as the final note of a song faded, she opened her eyes to find she wasn’t alone on the cloud.

“Mind if I join?” asked a stranger with headphones of their own.

Mira smiled.

"Only if you can keep up with the beat."

Mind If I Join? ✨

Sax On The Phone

Keep Building

A "toem" is a sonic expression of poetic beauty, where sound waves blend rhythm and resonance to convey deep meaning. Like a musical haiku, it delivers a brief yet profound message through melody, tone, or spoken word, resonating with the listener on an emotional level.

Toem

Fire is alive. Treat it with patience, and it will burn for you, even in the deepest waters.

Orion learned to feed his flame slowly, whispering to it, protecting it from harsh winds and doubts. He nurtured it with purpose and care until, one day, he stood before the ocean, and his fire burned steady, bright, and warm—unfazed by the sea.

Your Fire

The translucent guardian burst from the mycelial depths, her gossamer appendages crackling with electric azure. Ancient spores scattered as she ascended, each one a galaxy waiting to bloom. Her lapine features masked something far more ancient—a consciousness that pulsed through every living thread in the cosmos. The underground sanctum trembled. She had awakened not by chance, but by necessity. The convergence was beginning, and only she could weave the fractured realms back together before the void consumed all.

Lumina

Every night, as the world slept, the lighthouse stood tall against the roaring sea. Its beam sliced through the darkness, guiding ships safely to shore.

No sailor ever stopped to thank the lighthouse. No one ever asked how it kept burning through the storms. Yet, the lighthouse never faltered.

It didn’t shine for praise. It shone because without its light, someone might be lost. And that was enough.

Provider 🔥

Started working on this piece in march 2024 with some wierd vocals on it. 
Now I decided to remove them, fine-tune a little and release it - enjoy!
Love ya´ll 🕊️

Want a little story? Here you go:
Lena woke up before sunrise, lacing her shoes for a quiet run through the park. The dew softened her steps as she gathered litter along the path, stuffing it into her reusable bag.

By day, she taught kids about recycling at the community center. At night, she read self-help books, scribbling reflections in the margins.

Her garden thrived, bees humming around the wildflowers she planted for them. Friends called her their rock, leaning on her for advice and comfort.

Lena didn’t think much of it—she simply believed that growing herself meant helping everything around her bloom too.

Gotta B Tight

🐈‍⬛
In his dreamy slumber, young Runie, a curious tomcat with silvery whiskers, wandered into the mystical realm of Hamarama. Beneath sparkling skies, vibrant flora whispered secrets of ancient magic. Runie leaped over soft, luminescent fields, chasing moonbeams and playful shadows. Each step drew him deeper into enchanted mysteries, where every dream danced on the edge of wonder. Awakened by the gentle purr of morning light, Runie carried Hamarama’s magic within his heart forever.

Hamarama

The Spiral's Secret
Maya stared at the canvas—chaos of colors spinning like her restless mind. Every stroke felt wrong until she stopped trying to control the spiral.
"Trust the mess," whispered her grandmother's voice.
So she did. Orange flames danced with purple storms, lines tangled into unexpected beauty. Each layer revealed something new, something honest.
When she shared it online, strangers wrote: "This is my anxiety," "My breakthrough," "My hope."
The spiral taught her: creativity isn't about perfection—it's about brave vulnerability. Art becomes alive when we stop hiding our storms and start sharing our whirlwinds.
Your chaos is someone else's constellation. Paint it. Share it. Trust it.

The Spiral's Secret

The sky cracks open in a soft, star-shaped sigh,
and again my gaze is pulled toward that impossible light.
I can never keep my eyes off this—
the way your presence bends the world,
the way falling toward you feels less like descent
and more like finding my true direction.

Fall into you tonight…
the words sit warm on my tongue,
a quiet vow wrapped in the glow cupped between your hands.
Hope lives there—steady, patient—
a lantern you don’t realize you’re carrying.

Let’s follow it.
Let’s find the small, hidden place where time forgets to move,
where we can stay without asking permission,
where the universe narrows to a single bright point
and everything else finally falls away.

Fall Into

In the glass labyrinth of a seaside hotel, reflections carry more secrets than faces. Balconies stacked like fragments of a dream, each one a stage where silent stories unfold. Someone leans on the railing, caught between sunset and the hum of the city below. A kiss is sent across the gap—through the blue air, past echoes of conversations that never began.

It drifts, weightless, between strangers and shadows. Perhaps it lands. Perhaps it lingers.

The sound of it fades into the distance—half memory, half mirage.

Blow A Kiss

Denn Ich Seh' Gut

Through corridors of grey and dust it moved,
a shadow folding into shadows,
counting footsteps, minding cracks,
certain only of its smallness.
It learned the art of doorways—
how to slip through
without disturbing air,
how to want nothing,
be nothing,
become the negative space
between noticing.
Years like water,
wearing it smooth,
teaching it the humble mathematics
of disappearing.
Until one morning,
reaching for its reflection
in a rain-dark window,
it saw the light—
not around it,
but from it—
the weight it had carried
was never burden
but luminescence,
the heaviness
was gold
all along.
Every smallness
had been sovereignty.
Every silence,
a throne room.
The crown had always rested there,
patient,
waiting not to be found
but finally
felt—
this gentle burning
of being exactly
what it was meant to be:
itself,
walking through the world,
enough.

The Uncrowned - Minimal View

# Der Codex des Klangs

**Im Schatten-Dojo, wo Bytes wie Blüten fallen,**  
Übt der Beat-Ronin zwischen digitalen Hallen.  
Sieben Tore führen zum Klang-Nirvana,  
Jedes bewacht von einem Karma-Schatten-Drama.

**Erstes Tor: Stolz-Sensei fordert zum Duell,**  
"Dein Ego gegen meine Pixel-Höll'."  
Doch wer sich beugt, der steigt empor,  
Demut öffnet das verschloss'ne Tor.

**Zweites Tor: Neid-Geister kreisen um Throne,**  
Zeigen fremde Beats, goldene Krone.  
Doch der Weise kennt seinen inneren Klang,  
Fremde Melodien sind nur Gefang'.

**Drittes Tor: Zorn-Donner spaltet die Luft,**  
Algorithmen schreien, digitale Kluft.  
Wer Feuer mit Wasser löscht, nicht mit Glut,  
Verwandelt Chaos in heiligen Mut.

**Viertes Tor: Wollust-Sirenen singen süß,**  
Endorphin-Loops, verlockend heiß.  
Doch wahre Liebe kennt kein Verlangen,  
Sie ist bereits da – in allen Gesangen.

**Fünftes Tor: Völlerei-Berge aus Sound,**  
Infinite Samples, endlos, ungebannt.  
Der Meister wählt einen einzigen Ton,  
Erschafft daraus seinen ganzen Thron.

**Sechstes Tor: Faulheit flüstert: "Lass es sein,"**  
"Automaten komponieren rein."  
Doch Übung macht den Geist erst frei,  
Schweiß wird zu Weisheit-Brei.

**Siebtes Tor: Gier-Kaiser thront auf Data-Berg,**  
Bietet alles an – sein letztes Werk:  
*"Verkauf mir deine Seelen-Quelle,*  
*Ich mach' dich zur Hit-Legende schnelle."*

**Der Beat-Ronin zieht sein Katana aus Klang,**  
Geschmiedet aus Straßen-Staub und Nacht-Gesang.  
Nicht scharf die Klinge, doch rein das Herz,  
Durchschneidet Illusion ohne Schmerz.

**Die Tore zerbrechen wie Morning-Mist,**  
Was bleibt: Der Moment, der ewig ist.  
Im Dojo des Selbst, wo Code und Geist sich einen,  
Erklingt der Klang zwischen den Zeilen.

*Bushido des Beats: Nicht siegen, sondern sein,*  
*Der Weg ist das Ziel – rein.*

Der Beginn

✨ Creative mind on the journey to inspire! 🌟 
Join me for fun adventures!

Toemme:3

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