Nautilus Poem Novels & Stories

Naomi The place they had brought me to was truly peculiar. As I stepped outside, my senses were overwhelmed by the vibrant sight of emerald green grass swaying gently in the breeze, the symphony of chirping birds, and the soothing sound of flowing water. It was a picturesque scene that could easily grace the pages of a fairytale. However, as I ventured inside, a stark contrast awaited me. The furniture, with its intricate carvings and exquisite designs, seemed more fitting for a museum than a home. Yet, amidst the grandeur of each room, an eerie absence of warmth and vitality lingered in the air. It felt as if every breath I took subtly drained my energy, leaving me with a sense of unease.

“It's a boy.” Clara raised her eyebrow, which was accompanied by one side of her lips. Then she separated her lips to say: “Miss Poetry, can you hit the nail wherever you want to?” “What don't you get? Natasha just birthed another arrogant blood.” “Ou!!” Clara gasped in awe. But soon, her face dropped as she noticed the frailty of dissatisfaction boldly spelt across Naomi's face. “Just cry all you want tonight, I won't lift an arm to wipe those crocodile tears. I need my sanity, too.”

His presence commanded attention, and his demeanor resembled the tranquil waters of an enchanted lake. Navana, the goddess of beauty and love, rose to greet him, her heart brimming with both curiosity and concern. Her celestial radiance illuminated the chamber as she spoke, her voice soft and melodious, "My lord, what troubles your noble spirit? It is a rare occasion for you to grace my chambers during the daylight hours."

The blinding magnesium glare vanished, leaving the harbor illuminated only by the dull, orange glow of the burning timber-wagons and the pale morning light of the salt-marches. Natalia cleared the final gap in a massive, bounding arc, her body descending through the thinning white vapor like a falling star. Her bare pads hit the iron plates of the dreadnought’s deck with a heavy, metallic thud that caused the grounded warship to shift slightly on the mud-flats below.

I began trying to push down the gasps that found their way out when Atlas’s finger slid over me again. “Yes baby. Go on,” he said and his finger showed encouragement as a little tip of his finger inserted and moved in slow circles. I moaned expectantly. “How pathetic to be envious of an object, a mere book.” The words came out desperate to be met with another encouraging touch. That was all the poem! Only two lines and now I wondered if he would touch me more,if he would- The sound of a door not too far away brought us both back to reality and I moved away from him very quickly. We could hear someone whistling, it was the janitor.

She sigh, assume the matter with a shaken heart, and said in a lowtone, “Afterall, I fail to expect I'll miss... home...” “Why do you journey this place, Nua?” Hawati said after he ponder the matter, barely her murmured the words. He have been looking at her as if she's a gem, and couldn't take his eyes away as she busy herself touching and feeling the damn thing. And he wish... it's him! “What do you mean?” Nuahanna's eyes widened, then reminded to the old man who introduce himself as a guardian of this place. She cry out when the same old man entering the deepest of the forest came to her mind!

Daphne took the time to glance at the enjoyable expression on her face, and asked: "Are you still going thinking about your sister..." .... .... .... Ah, love, let us be true To one another! for the world, which seems To lie before us like a land of dreams, So various, so beautiful, so new, Hath really neither joy, nor love, nor light, Nor certitude, nor peace, nor help for pain; And we are here as on a darkling plain Swept with confused alarms of struggle and flight, Where ignorant armies clash by night. She walks in beauty, like the night

It was surprising our Alpha and Luna had let her move there, considering she was very much human. Mrs. Juniper absolutely adored poetry, mostly the classics. I’d never forget the endless headaches I suffered trying to decipher what Shakespeare, Robert Frost, and Alfred Tennyson were trying to convey. Why poets had to make such simple lessons so confusing was beyond me. Why did they have to use pretty words to convey truth? ‘This doesn’t seem to be so hard.’ Rayna countered, murmuring the words to the poem in my head. ‘It mentions beasts twice, which has to be the bulls, right?’