Novel & Cerita Beautiful Poetry Books

Small sparks of magic dance in the air, swirling around me, creating an atmosphere of expectation and latent power. I walk to my private library, where rows of ancient, forbidden books rest on weathered wooden shelves. Each of these books is a source of power. But there is one book in particular I seek, one that carries within it the weight of generations of enchantresses, the most potent and forbidden of all: the Bloodbound Codex.

“Particularly works that focus on nature and beauty. Byron might be too… intense for her tastes, but Wordsworth or Keats would be well-received.” Sebastian nodded thoughtfully. “Keats. Yes, that seems fitting.” “’A thing of beauty is a joy forever,’” Isabelle quoted softly, glancing toward Amelia. “The sentiment would resonate with her.” “You know her well.” “She has been a dear friend these past years,” Isabelle confirmed. “Her heart is as lovely as her face.” “A rare combination,” Sebastian murmured. “Indeed.” Isabelle swallowed hard. “She deserves happiness, Your—Sebastian.”

It’s beautiful, the kind of beauty that sneaks up on you, quiet and devastating. In the low light, she looks almost unreal, her long lashes resting against her cheeks, the faint shimmer dancing across her veins. There’s something fragile about her in this stillness, but it’s not weakness. It’s like looking at lightning trapped in a bottle, delicate, but capable of burning everything it touches.

At that moment, I knew I wasn’t walking toward a marriage. I was walking into a cage And what was waiting for me… was the devil himself— with secrets I'm not ready to face.

Things forgotten touch me now— & they’re clouding me w/ forgiveness, rethinking the time I was asked the question I knew I would never understand, but that question brings things—slow walks, time & space, Fleetwood Mac glistening living rooms w/ home & midnight specials—wrapped w/ the cellophane intention that such question I wouldn’t forget could somehow become a beautiful title for a first book in poetry.

5 years ago, I was blessed to open a publishing house as well. E.H. Publishing has had success with multiple top-selling books, and awards. I am grateful for my success, and the benefits packages that accompany it but, were I being honest with myself, I feel empty. It has been several decades since I felt a woman embrace. I have tried, I have tried to move on but, soon all becomes dust in the wind and I have yet to find someone who touches my soul just as my sweet Eliza did. I will never again be able to see her, feel her again.

I wish… that Hunter would be able to see again. I knew that right at that moment, there was nothing I wanted more. I wanted him to see, not for me… not even to see me. I wanted him to see because he deserved to see the beautiful swans in our garden. He deserved to look up the sky and watch meteor showers again. The peak of the shower came soon and I watched star after star shoot across the sky. “It’s beautiful,” I whispered to Hunter. “Thank you so much for this.” He smiled at me and then he slowly leaned his face towards mine. I leaned forward and met him halfway.

If the spine of the book was with gold, the other side of that is painted either with a mesmerising landscape or scene, or a pattern that was so beautiful it might as well be a wall paper for the houses of everyone. “Wow,'' I mumbled to myself as I made my fingers glide from one book to another. They are all so beautiful. This is how books should be treated— with grace and care and all the special treatment there is— not left somewhere in a dark corner to collect dust and rot as the paper gets shredded by rats or by the time. I was so mesmerised that I was not able to notice that another person was also with me inside the Royal Library, browsing through the contents of a shelf labelled— fina

The books were mostly collections of poetry, with a powerful presence of works by William Shakespeare. “The Tempest,” she murmured, excitement evident in her voice. It brought back memories of her school days when she had wanted to borrow the book from the library, only to find it unavailable. She had never bought it herself, worrying about the burden of moving with too many belongings during her frequent relocations. Her fingers hovered over the spines of the books, dabbing them but refraining from pulling any off the shelf. “Let it go, Chom,” Ladapha sighed to herself, attempting to shake off her longing. She turned to leave but startled with a soft gasp, “Oh!”

My heart started to beat fast in my chest. How many times had she seen us at our worst? How much had we hurt her without even realizing it? Feeling overwhelmed, I turned to the next page and found a short poem scribbled in her neat handwriting. It was about stars, rivers, and memories. Reading her words, I felt a sense of peace and calm wash over me. It was as if Val was speaking to me through her poetry, reminding me of the beauty and wonder of life.