Novel & Cerita A Book Of Poetry

Kennedy POV. The weather was bad, but I needed to get that new book, it's Robert birthday gift, who'd knew a grown up man would kill for the newest werewolf love book. I got into my car, drove carefully toward the local book store, they had the new book reserved for me. It was supposed to one quick drive, until I walked into the library. A girl was sitting on a bean bag, her blond hair was covering her eyes with overgrown bangs, she tried to huff them away from her face but to no use. She looked young, maybe she's just here with her parents, looking down at the book she had in her hands it was a kids story. Does she read for the local kids? Or is it just for her?

She walked in with the reverence of someone entering a place that mattered to her and immediately disappeared into the graphic novel section without another word. I wandered toward the poetry shelves, drawn to them without quite deciding to be, and ran my fingers along the spines until one caught my eye. A slim volume with a navy cover and gold lettering. I pulled it out and opened it to a random page. I carry your heart with me (I carry it in my heart)... I smiled. E.E. Cummings. I had read this before, years ago, and forgotten how much I liked it. "What are you reading?"

“If I do need anything, I’ll let you know. Thanks for asking .” He slowly returned to the desk. She then moved to the bookshelf and straightened the spines. She saw Titles in law, finance, and travel. But there was a single slim poetry volume book tucked sideways; it was as if it had been hidden rather than shelved to be noticed. The vent whispered loudly. Somewhere down the hall, a floorboard complained. The manor kept its own soundtrack; today, it sounded like a held breath.

She's a nice girl, even though I'm more likely to remember the entire makeup routine than her name. The will to leave the room evaporates from my body. Strolling around, I find a book in one of the drawers. It's old, and the cover has faded halfway. I know not to judge a book by its cover, but this book looks less appealing than a sandwich without filling. With nothing better to do, I decide to read it. It turns out to be a poetry anthology with different poems. Surprisingly, they're interesting. I read a few before dozing off.

I was about to turn away—honestly, I’d already proven my point by existing in here—when something caught my eye. A book. Not just any book. It had a dark velvet cover, stitched along the edges, with delicate silver embossing. Fancy. A little dramatic. Totally Sebastian. I picked it up, flipping it open without a second thought. He should’ve hidden it better if he didn’t want anyone snooping. The first page stopped me cold. A poem. Not the gross, rhyming kind either. It was... good. Too good. The kind that actually made you feel something.

This was what contentment felt like. This was what having your entire world contained in your arms felt like. “What are you reading?” I asked, noting the way she relaxed completely against me, trusting me to hold her, to keep her safe. “Poetry. Some old collection I found in the back corner.” “Any good?” “Some of it. Though most of it is very dramatic. Lots of tortured souls and unrequited love.” “Sounds depressing.” “A little. But some of the love poems are beautiful. Listen to this one.” She opened the book and began to read in that soft, musical voice that never failed to capture my complete attention.

I said, pointing to the nearby shelf. I walked ahead quickly, hoping she’d stop to process what I said — maybe stand there for a second, pretending to browse while secretly thinking about it. But no. She was still beside me, pushing the cart like nothing happened. Seriously, what build did God give you, huh? We reached the poetry section. Sydney’s eyes softened the moment she saw the shelves. She reached for a book titled The Gift of Everything and placed it in the cart like she was laying a newborn down to sleep. I couldn’t help smiling.

Russell Samurai and Other Stories by William Meikle Stuck On You and Other Prime Cuts by Jasper Bark Poetry collections: WAR by Alessandro Manzetti and Marge Simon Brief Encounters with My Third Eye by Bruce Boston No Mercy: Dark Poems by Alessandro Manzetti Eden Underground: Poetry of Darkness by Alessandro Manzetti If you’ve ever thought of becoming an author, we’d also like to recommend these non-fiction titles: The Dead Stage: The Journey from Page to Stage by Dan Weatherer

Piper — cat, queen, bookstore menace — stalked over the counter like she owned it and plopped herself on the pile. "You're in the way," Aria said. Piper blinked at her, stretched, and knocked a paperback to the floor. "You're fired." The bell above the door rang just before noon. A woman stepped in, tall, sharp, her coat the green of frozen leaves. "Do you have anything that feels like winter?" she asked. "Genre?" "Poetry. Something cold." Aria nodded, stepping toward a shelf. She traced the spines until she found it: The Book of Hours by Rilke. She handed it over without a word.

Damn… I couldn’t help but feel a little excited and nervous all in one go but ohh goodness help me! “Um Yea sure, you can hang for a bit if you want." I opened the door wider and moved for him to come in, then shut it and locked it behind us. I sat back on my bed and grabbed my book as he sat beside me "what you reading then?" "well… it’s actually a book full of romantic love letters and poetry that lovers would send to each other during the war but the way they speak to each other, the love and feelings that are put into each letter, It’s amazing, like no matter how far away they are or how long they have to stay away... it’s like they know that no matter what, their love will bring them b