Memento Mori Poem Novels & Stories

Worth the echo within For getting hurt It is no more new to me It is no more strange to me The search for money From floor to floor Makes me crazy Damn, it is this My dedications My indisputable Life's achievement After great efforts Pain, pain and only pain Remains I must die I feel at times Why live Why live But then I now count Suicide a sin But am I still not Being dying Each day, by hurt in it Some new disease In me Shown so bright My inability To compete With my life's misfit Am I not dying Or approaching death Closer and clearer Each day appears My end Am I not dying With pain in the chest With the inability to compete With sorrows, I have met Dead past too Unfortunately It is not dea

I didn't strike it; I Embraced it. I flooded the Sentient Memory with the sensation of Mortality. I showed the indigo light what it feels like to be tired. I showed it the beauty of a sunset that will never be seen again. I showed it the taste of a honey-cake shared with a friend. I showed it the salt of a tear shed for a lost brother. The First Drop—a material of infinite, sterile time—couldn't hold the "Entropy of Love." The indigo sphere began to vibrate with a violent, beautiful frequency. It didn't explode; it Evaporated.

I often see how you sob over what you destroy, how you want to stop and just worship; and you do stop, and then a moment later you are at it again with a knife, like a surgeon. -Anaïs Nin. |L O R E N Z O| I remember, I keep remembering and there is nothing more tragic than this. To remember. When you know there is nothing left other than the memories, you remember. The one your mind forces you to live again and again.

She quickly asked, “Then, when?” The leader explained, “To awaken the Demon Lord’s memory, you first need an item.” “What is it?” “The mnemonia.” The leader explained, “On the Bridge of Lamentation, souls will drink Lethe’s elixir to forget about their past and start over. All beings that pass through the Bridge of Lamentation must drink it. “In her hands, she also holds the mnemonia that can reawaken memories and reveal everything. Once you get the mnemonia, you can awaken the Demon Lord’s memory.”

"Why is the case so close to you?" "The girls ..." he muttered, clenching his fists so that his nails dug into his flesh. "Do you still remember Maria?" His friend nodded wordlessly. Maria was a fluke and the beginning of Joshua's investigation. 10 months earlier Joshua was tired. Last night he worked the night shift and today, on Sunday, no, it was now Sunday, one of his buddies had celebrated his birthday. Actually Josh hadn't planned to stay there that long, but the time had somehow passed and now he was wandering around the edge of the harbor in the middle of the night looking for the stupid cat from his friend's neighbor. Apparently she ran away because of the loud music and the old lad

I giggled and sank into the tidal wave of his love. The night stretched long, and so would our happiness. Not long after, I became pregnant. When Caleb and I visited our new villa, we saw Thomas and Juliet tending flowers in the park. Their old clothes were streaked with dirt. Adrian was nearby, drunk in broad daylight, with a crying baby beside him. Under the scorching sun, their former pride had long since vanished. Seeing me, they hastily pulled on their masks and hurried away with Adrian. Their aging figures were the very picture of desolation.

They began to be more biased toward her, until I couldn't even feel a sliver of affection from them. When Yvonne fell seriously ill later, she became even weaker and pitiable. They poured all their effort into saving her life. With so many years of attachment, they couldn't bear to let her go. And so, for her sake, they drove me to such a tragic end. Mom plopped down in the pool of blood. Her clothes were soaked crimson, but she didn't care. Over and over again, she cried out in despair, "Whitney! Please give her back to me! I'm really sorry!"

"But guess she ended up falling in love with you. At least, give her the befitting burial she pleads for." He smiled as he brought out a white paper that was roughly cut. "To love - to heal. Maybe after this day - I may wither. But don't leave my body to rot. For I fear turning into dust. But set me up a flowery caravan. Up the hill or maybe up the hill And set those beautiful incense, fifty in numbers. And light up the caravan while I sleep inside. And let the strong incense whiff be a lasting memory. To love - to heal."

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,

Suddenly, she noticed the lettering tattoo on his back. “memini? Latin? Do you even know what it means?” “You really want to know? Then I will tell you. ‘memento mori’. It means ‘Remember that you will die.’” He smiled at her coldly and continued, “I remember everything, Ingrid. I remember what you did to me and my mother.” He laughed out loud. “I will never forget. Do you understand what I’m saying?” Ingrid trembled in anger and fear. She sucked on her cigarette and replied heatedly, “You’ve finally lost your mind after seeing that Asian bitch. You bring shame to our family! An Asian bitch! What do you think your father will say when he finds out?”