Heavenly Poems Novels & Stories

I realized, after walking on the empty, deserted road, that walking and crying was not a promising idea. The desolated path was shrouded by a dense canopy of towering trees, their branches interlacing like skeletal fingers reaching towards the heavens. The moon, hidden behind dark clouds, cast intermittent shadows that danced eerily along the uneven pavement. The chorus of chirping crickets filled the night air, their relentless symphony punctuated by the occasional croak of a frog from a nearby pond.

He knew how much she love listening to poem, anytime she was down, poem heals her. "Really? Please tell me. Am dying to hear it." Her face got brightened with a very cheerful smile, "sweety by who?" "Samuel Taylor Choleridge." "Oh. His poems are not bad either." She sat up, leaning on him. He cleared his throat and started. "All thoughts, all passions, all delights, Whatever stirs this mortal frame, All are but ministers of Love, And feed his sacred flame. Oft in my waking dreams do I

A white seam opened across the heavens. Not lightning. A clean crack. The first drop bled through: cold silver, bright as a knife’s eye. “Aetheria,” I said—the high realm, light above law. It was bleeding. The brilliance widened. Night splintered. Stars slipped. The seam yawned, and for the first time since gods learned to speak carefully, the world saw what sat above its roof. The veil split. --- POV: Priestesses We were taught the sky was a bowl with a lid.

He gave her his widest grin and pecked her lips this time around. "Hmm, lemme pour my own new poem for you. It's a lonely night Silently watching the heaven above that has no gap Quietly wishing it also has the small crack That is separating my heart from being one and whole The stars are getting acquainted to each other Helping the other twinkle And I wish they'd look down at me and flicker the dying Light in my soul and bring it back to life Still watching as the old dry palm branch shaped moon Slowly drifts down to the appointed term

Although no one knows what a song actually is, the word ‘’song’’ is still passed down and is kept even after the DEOS is revised. The yawning of sky puts the wind twirling, leaves a circle mark in earth’s soils. leaves dance as the heaven sings, with the sound of his voice, It is there, up above. It is there. The sky river, its coming down is rich cold drops that heals the lair. The harming flares disappear when it pours down, The tears from heaven, when it falls down is a beautiful sound. The life it us give us, in it, we will drown