Mysteries Poem Novels & Stories

That’s what saved you from ending up like those other poor guys. I just grinned and tapped my nose. Sitting alone at the kitchen table, I popped open a pack of ramen and flicked on the TV. "Today, our city was rocked by a spree of break-ins and murders, all targeting rich single men. The cops cracked the case wide open, rounding up a whole gang of suspects.” As I listened to the news anchor's report, I could not help but think there was some truth to the saying that after the storm is when the flowers bloomed.

Writing the words and the warning she gently utters from the light of the full moon. “Seven Mysteries.” With the drop of the ink of her pen that smudges the corner of the paper, she’s writing at. A poem can be heard as its curse is being delivered, yet a clue and away is shed unto the light. “THE CURSE ROAD” Follow the trail on the old treasure map, As you will find the x mark that says “Dig right here.” And four-six feet down my spade struck wood Just where the treasure would appear and near.

"Twinkling spoons in a teapot's dream, Jellyfish waltz in a cosmic stream. Pickles hummed a secret rhyme, Moonbeams whispered cheese and thyme. Penguins danced on rainbow clouds, Unicorn whispers in mushroom crowds. Bananas wore polka dot shoes, Stars played chess, swapping hues. Toasters sang opera in the key of green, Elephants tap-danced on a trampoline. Butterflies knitted socks for the moon, Balloons recited a backwards cartoon. In a world where logic takes a break, Nonsense reigns, a merry mindquake. A symphony of chaos, oh what a treat, In this realm of whimsy, where absurdities meet." The smile on her face was oddly serene as she sang, her eyes gleaming with an enigmatic gleam. The w

Rolling gently up to repeatedly break upon Magical banks girdling Nivians lakeshore. For what be this odd muse That upon my aging senses does so readilyEnthuse...And to my inner soul so inextricably Implore? Ahhh...But this much I may be allowed to Say, Before darkly gathering skies extinguish Over weak flames of the last spluttering Ray, Perhaps it is our inner voice That seeks out the solitudes of Tranquilities choice - To witness and record and dutifully store... Those rare and fleeting moments We all too briefly adore.

She starts blotting the mess with her apron The floor glistens The smell shifts—muted, but not gone I crouch beside her “Next time warn me before you play hero” “Where’s the fun in that?” she murmurs We work fast clearing the shards of glass and soaking the floor so nothing remains but damp stone and the faint scent of herbs Jennifer glances at me “So, what exactly was it?” I hesitate “A test mixture” “Of what?” “Of how far a secret can rot before it kills its keeper” She laughs softly “Cryptic and terrifying as usual. You really should write poetry”

For one breath, blood and light spoke the same language. The Hall, suspicious of poetry, tried not to notice. We noticed. And the noticing will cost us.

A call to adventure, to secrets untold A journey through the ages, where legends unfold In moonlit gardens, where dreams take flight The wind whispers secrets, of a mystic night A night of wonder, of magic and might Where stars align, and fate takes flight In ancient forests, where trees whisper low The wind carries the whispers, of a long-forgotten glow A glow of wisdom, of knowledge and old A tale of a world, where myths unfold Here's a poem: "Echoes of Eternity" In realms of twilight, where shadows roam A mystic whisper echoes, a timeless tone A call to adventure, to secrets untold A journey through the ages, where legends unfold In moonlit gardens, where dreams take flight The wind whisp

Crystal fortress of missing stone, Find by the stealer of the sacred bone, Once you leave, consider it the last, For no one sees her more than once. The rhyme makes me uneasy. The lines tangle in my head, meaning nothing and yet pressing on me with a weight I cannot explain. A prophecy, perhaps, but hollow without a key to unlock it. Witches’ words meant for witches’ eyes. Still, I tuck it back inside the book with a shiver.

I asked so he wouldn't feel like he was talking to a ghost. He shrugged. "Sunsets are mysterious. The way darkness slowly creeps over the horizon gives me a sense of mystery." His eye bore into me. Strange as it may seem, his gaze didn't make me uneasy. "And I've always been fascinated with mysteries. I love things that puzzle and confuse me." I swallowed a lump. The sun hitting his face emphasizes his features, and if it's a crime to say that he looks majestic at this moment, then I plead guilty. "I love things that make me question my sanity."

She asked I suddenly remembered the small poem in the book I have shared with Lea "Think of me, our time might come to an end. In a blink, you might be blind to see me." "I am on the brink of the cliff, can you catch me? I am shrinking, will you see me?" "In a wink, there's only one eye. In a heart, there's only one side" I haven't given attention to it but, it did affect me. Little did I know, it was the end