Memento Mori Poem Novels & Stories

“That vision was your first loosening. The tether stirred. But now… you must choose whether to keep untying it.” I didn’t answer as I tried to focus. The monk crouched beside me and held out a folded cloth. Inside it, an ancient scrap of parchment. A poem. Inked by hand, delicate and worn. He recited it slowly: Chant of the Third Tether; ’Breathe like a flame that remembers its fire, Still as the root that outlasts the spire. Unhook the weight where memory clings, Let silence unfold your spirit’s wings. The soul is a shadow that longs to roam,

As you look upon a flower and admire its simplicity - remember me. Remember me in your heart, your thoughts, your memories of the times we loved, the times we cried, the times we fought, the times we laughed. For if you always think of me, I will never be gone. Margaret Mead “Let us never forget those who gave all to Skatom Mochain,” I said and lowered my glass to drink. I can say one thing for sure, this stuff wasn’t for the weak, it burned a bit going down.

Life is earnest! And the grave is not its goal; Dust thou art, to dust returnest, Was not spoken of the soul. Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, Is our destined end or way; But to act, that each to-morrow Find us farther than to-day. Art is long, and Time is fleeting, And our hearts, though stout and brave, Still, like muffled drums, are beating Funeral marches to the grave. In the world's broad field of battle, In the bivouac of Life,

I looked outside the window and saw a lot of herbs and flowers around the mansion's garden. Well, I know where mom planted those herbs. This is fun. I went downstairs and saw aunt Melinda reading a book with a bloody title. Let's turn everything bloody then. You love red anyway. I am looking forward to it. "Good morning Melinda, I want to go outside." "Sure, do what you want." She closed the book she was reading and stood in front of me. "Tus días están contados." She whispered behind my ear. I smirked and replied, "Memento mori."

Elora (unwritten but nearby) I’ve stopped assigning names. Now I wait until something returns to me more than once. A shadow across the same stone. a recollection of multiple breaths. A warmth by a doorway. And then I press my palm to my own chest and murmur: > "You've occurred once more. So I’ll remember without trapping you in ink.” That’s the only rite left to us now. Memory that does not capture only companion. Lila We gathered that evening without asking who was missing. We laid five riverstones beside the basin not for balance. For rhythm.

Through laughter and sorrow, through birth and death, through silence and storm. I am no longer a name, no longer a queen, no longer the rejected child of the moon. I am what remains when everything else fades— the echo between light and dark, the pause between fear and hope, the heartbeat between one breath and the next. And when the people look up at the night sky, when they see that the moon is whole again, they don’t pray to me. They remember me. That is enough. --- Because I was never meant to be eternal. Only remembered.

Back at home, I found myself lamenting the few thousand dollars we’d spent that evening, only to get dragged away after barely two minutes of fun. I couldn’t hide my dismay as I sighed dramatically. Julius frowned at me. “What’s this? Feeling regretful?” I froze, shaking my head furiously. “No way! Not at all!” “Good,” he said with a sly smile. “Because I’ve decided to teach you a little lesson—something to keep you too busy to ever think about looking at anyone else.” My heart skipped a beat, but before I could protest, his lips silenced me. That night, I paid dearly for my escapade. I was left sore and utterly exhausted by morning.

"Do you wanna know what dying feels like? " Raïna didn't want to know but knew the little bird at her side needed to talk, to get something out of her chest. She nodded. " It hurts. " Raïna presumed so. " Only at first, tho. After, it burns as if you were in the middle of flames. Hell, flames. It hurts even more " Raïna didn't expect that. " And after, when you think it has calmed down, you see memories, but not in the way everyone thinks. You relive them. It's like replaying a theater in a minute, you are the main character and the storyline is your life. " Raïna was getting interested as Quivelerin continued talking. " But when you are reliving everything, the feelings, emotions, and ... e

"I'm sorry. I was too weak. I couldn't admit that Mom died because of the revenge they took on me." Hearing that, I finally felt a sense of relief. It turned out that Zack wasn't perfect at all. And maybe, I didn't need him at all. As I came to this realization, my soul turned transparent and began to fade away. Zack panicked instantly. He desperately tried to hold onto me, but it was no use. Before my last trace of consciousness faded away, I said, "Let's not meet again in our next life, Zack."

Every breath she drew felt like a bargain: inhale memory, exhale grief. At the foot of a towering statue, its inscription long worn away by time and neglect, a single Deathroot bloom stood defiantly. Its petals were a pale, ghostly white, veins of obsidian tracing through them like scars. Seren crouched beside it, fingertips brushing the fragile bloom. It quivered beneath her touch, a living thing in a world that had forgotten how to grow. “Today, it ends,” she whispered, her voice low as a prayer.