Beautiful Poetry Books Mga Nobela at Kwento

“Please.” She stepped inside, her shoes making no sound on the thick rug. She wandered slowly into the living space, her fingers trailing over the back of a sofa, soft as butter. She saw a well-loved copy of a book of Mary Oliver’s poetry on the side table. Her favorite poet. A coincidence? She doubted it. “It’s beautiful,” she said, and meant it. It was the first place he had ever shown her that felt like it had a soul.

* I saw the beauty of the sky Colors so vibrant you'd think they never die * I saw the beauty of the waves Every splash telling a story of younger days * I saw the beauty of the rains Every drop falling freely like horses without reins * I saw the beauty of the night For only then were the stars alight * I saw the beauty in the flames of a fire Each one burning with a different desire * I saw the beauty of Gold Glistening with bitter stories untold * Oh I saw the beauty of dust and clay Simple reminders of our end someday.

I was a sucker for pretty faces. The only reason I agreed to date Isabelle was because she was passable-looking as partner material. It had only been a few days since junior year started when my roommate came over to me and awkwardly said, "Damian, I just spotted your girlfriend getting pretty close to that well-known broke pretty boy by the campus lake." I immediately rolled up my sleeves and rushed toward the lake. From a distance, I saw Isabelle standing very close to a slim young man. But the moment I got a good look at his face, I froze. "Damn! This guy was insanely handsome!" He was so good-looking that even I, as another guy, was jealous. Isabelle frowned and stepped in front of me.

I had never really observed them when I was here before. Most of the titles were academic—thick volumes on economics, finance, business strategy. But there were also novels tucked in between. Literary fiction, some thrillers, a few poetry collections. "Didn't know you read poetry," I called out. "Everyone needs a little beauty in their life," he called back. I smiled and continued browsing. Then I noticed something odd. There was a gap in the middle shelf, like several books had been removed. "Adam?" I walked toward the bedroom.

Her hands tingled as a thought popped up in her head: her fingertips have some glow to them, as if she just dipped them into some periwinkle glitter. "I want to have a book," she whispered. "I want to be able to write something that nobody else can see." Before she could even properly say her wish, her hands moved on their own. As she drew waves in the wind, a book appeared out of nowhere, floating right in front of her. It was a blank book, with covers made from gold, it seems. When she opened the pages, there was nothing written. The blank pages were waiting for her to input something.

I prompted. “I am reading the epic poems by the Fae Sage Yric of Cynraed, most particularly the Paragon of Theodghar and the Deceit of Elovyn.” “Poetry,” I sat back on my heels and regarded him in bemusement. The beautiful golden-haired man was absorbed in reading poetry, or all the unusual things for him to possibly be reading in a dragon’s cave, poetry had not even entered my speculative list. “I did not imagine you would read poetry.”

The one woman who was going to spend eternity with him. He gazed down at her, tracing every contour of her delicate features. Despite her being sick and undernourished, she was the most beautiful woman in all the realms. He had seen plenty of stunning beauties before, been with some intimately in his teens and early twenties but no one could ever compare to her. Her scent was like a drug he was forever addicted to. Roses and violets. Yes, that was her delicate scent. He will ask the world's famous le nez to create that exact perfume for her and surround every corner of their various houses with her fragrance.

Em gifted her a lavender, knee-length sleeveless dress. "Of course it is. After all, I chose it." She boasted a little. "James, this is another great gift. In fact, your gift is my second favorite after Justin's. And why before you speak, Em, I can't decide whose gift I love more, yours or James." Her passion for books is indescribable. So James gifted her with the Fi Percy Jackson series. Apparently, she was having trouble finding that series, so James gave it to her.

I close the door quietly. I spend an hour in the smaller library looking at the books. He has everything. Fiction. Nonfiction. Art books. History. A whole shelf of poetry that looks like it has never been touched. I pull out a volume of Mary Oliver and flip through it. Someone has dog-eared a page. I read the poem. "Wild Geese." I read it twice.

she asked, her concern evident in her voice. I looked up, a smile tugging at the corners of my lips. "Yes, everything's fine," I replied, the warmth of the poem still lingering in my heart. "I just found something unexpected in this book—a beautiful poem about white tulips." In every petal, a story is told. Of love's embrace, both young and old. So let us cherish these bright flowers. Their beauty is pure; it is a guiding light. In their bloom, we find a sign, Even in darkness, hope will shine.