Frankenstein Poetry Novels & Stories

The cursed wolf breathed love. The light breathed love. Love was the flow. And it moved. In the hush. In the fleeting. In the boundless. Always. The manor breathed love. The garden breathed love. The light breathed love. In the hush. In the fleeting. In the boundless. And that was the all. The rhythm. The spaciousness. The completeness. The all. Always. The cursed wolf breathed love. The light breathed love. Love was the movement. And it flowed.

She gulped and walked backwards, her hands were trembling and her feet were immobilised by terror. Whether it was the sudden change of temperature or the fear within, her forehead grew a chilly perspiration Before she could decipher anything else, the figure appeared in her front and gripped her neck He lifted her by the neck like she merely weighed anything. Gradually, her respiration became shallow and she stopped trying to break free, her hands fell lifelessly to the side and her legs stopped waggling. The figure dropped her to the ground and leapt away

"No, they're not good. And they're more of quotes anyway, they're short." "Okay, so tell me one. Tell me your favourite one." I bit my lip and look at him, contemplating whether I should or shouldn't. I have one in mind, the most recent one. As I watch him driving, his brown curls not falling over his eyes for once because he gelled them, the poem comes out by itself. "She couldn't understand," I begin, whispering, and gulp, still observing him, "why she found comfort in the dark, when all her life she had a fear of darkness."

I took out my sword; the creature eyed me with a stony stare. "You think you stand a chance against me?" the creature hissed. "You're brave or foolish or both at the same time." "Who knows?" "Ravens cry in the night, When someone is gonna die. The devil prepares the graves. The wolves, Heralds of the Wolf God are coming. Footsteps coming closer. The wolves, side by side… They come… They come…" I looked blankly at the creature. "What? Never heard this song?" "No."

Straight into the fracture above. Connecting earth and sky. Reality and whatever waited beyond. The beam struck the wound in heaven. And the fracture began to open. Not crack. Open. Like a door. And from the darkness beyond— something started walking toward the light.

“Let’s see it.” I turned the paper over, and revealed the poem scrawled in pencil on the back. Down the streets of woodland black I wander, earth to hearse In every tree I see a wave A looming tidal curse On the cusp of something greater Stood ankle-deep in floodwater Stagnant pools of brown and red The onslaught is coming; I dread For each dark night and each pearl day The mist does clear too soon The floodplain is drown’d again The water, torn from its ocean womb

I calmed her fears, and she was calm, And told her love with virgin pride; And so I won my Genevieve, My bright and beauteous Bride. "Bravo." She clapped for him, "not bad at all." "You love it?" "Of course I do. And guess what? I have a poem for you. I memorised it here in the hospital, I got bored and decided to learn something new." "Really? Am all ears." He rubbed his palms together in anticipation. "It's titled Annabelle Lee and was written by Edgar Allan Poe." She cleared her throat and started. All thoughts, all passions, all delights,

Weary ye shall be, Seeking redemption Like a bat, Blind in the day, Never to walk the earth in the morn Or ye shall burn A living dead, Bloodsucking monster, Causing the heart of your beloved to bleed In the turmoils of Hades Never to return!~~ Poem written by Afeare Adesuwa ~~~~~~ "I'm sorry, master." Dracula shivered, rushing down to bow. "It's not what you think?"

"Alright, see you later!" Sylvie soon arrived, and Frank told her everything. To his surprise, Sylvie was not surprised! "What, was there a precedent?" Frank asked. Sylvie nodded. "Not everyone is a poet, and in all likelihood, they plagiarized someone famous. It's not just Slender Shade—the Verselet Works is a well-known target too." "Anyway, you can fly, can't you? Take me up to the skies and check out the surroundings!"

An hour later, after searching for anything to help us within books that ranged from brand new to hundreds of years old, I huffed with disappointment and decided to stretch my legs; my pale finger trailed over the spines of books, dust painting my fingertip. Once I reached the poetry section, I smiled brightly. All around me were books from Silvia Plath, Edgar Allan Poe, Emily Dickson, Robert Frost, and many others that were like my old friends. Taking a random book off the shelf, I flipped through its contents. "(...) Sing your death song, and die like a hero going home." ~ Tecumseh "You enjoy poetry too?" A familiar voice spoke behind me, making my heart speed up as I jumped slightly. Turn