Nevermore Poem Novels & Stories

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.

Try me. ‎ ‎The door shut. Locked. The silence in the room suffocating me. I lay on the bed, Blood between my thighs, blood on the bed. ‎ ‎Morreti property. Ruined. ‎ ‎My hand was numb. I flexed it and something crinkled in my pocket. I pulled it out, a small note which wasn't there before ‎ ‎My blood ran cold at the words written on them. ‎

She asks, lost in his eyes, lost in the soft sensation of his touch. "I'm scared of an ending Even a happy one. I never finish a sentence Cause I fear you will not be there to answer. I never end a thought Cause I fear you will not be in the next one. I never feared death Cuse I thought I am imortal. But you, my love Are poison for the Gods." He whispers the poem in her ear like the rest of the world is not supposed to hear the words, like the wind is not supposed to carry them anywhere else. They are just for her.

Sky says as she jesters with her hands to me. I took a couple of deep breaths before I began to read my poem out loud. Gathering my nerves before I speak. Lifeless Lost and alone left empty without a home. Watching as the wind blows, chattering through hollow bones. Words are nothing but a sound cracking and breaking with each bound. A girl once set to sore left with oozing pores, born in a world torn in two. Amber eyes stare into the starry skies, locks of blonde hair ripped from a head now bare. A face that once held so much grace, revealing split flesh tattered like mesh. Words are nothing but a sound cracking and breaking with each bound. Tears shed out of so many fears, crying in the da

Leah opened it. The page was filled with jagged lines, crossed-out words, fragments of sentences. But it was there. A beginning. Leah read it slowly. It was a poem. About a girl who lived in a house full of silence. About a mango tree that listened better than people. About a voice that was afraid to be loud. Leah looked up. “It’s beautiful,” she said. Tala shrugged. “It’s not finished.” Leah smiled. “Neither are you.” Tala began attending every session.

With that we talked through the night . There are times that you would close your eyes, Those special memories of me will always bring back a smile, Calling my number repeatedly but with no response , If only you could have me back for just a little while you would say ,When I fade like the shadow of moon or like the whispers of the sea, The times of pain and the days of sorrow ,Miss me a little but not too long ,I want no cries, why cry for a soul gone to a better place, a home built with gold ,The time when living feels like dying ,Miss me but let me go , When I come to the end of the road and the sun has set for me , Miss me but let me go , For this journey is one we all must take , Bury

4pt; mso-para-margin:0cm; mso-para-margin-bottom:.0001pt; mso-pagination:widow-orphan; font-size:12.0pt; font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-font-family:Calibri; mso-ascii-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-hansi-font-family:Calibri; mso-hansi-theme-font:minor-latin; mso-fareast-language:EN-US;} (Laya P.O.V) “Are you cold?” Mr. Morrison asked.

My heart hammered a tiny, frantic rhythm. A sliver of sunlight, fractured by the chandelier, caught the polished floor, and for a terrifying second, the reflection wasn't crystal. It was the low, corrugated tin roof back home. The images were always the same: golden dust motes, the distant, muffled rhythm of the neighborhood drums, and then the shift. The unnatural silence. The kind of silence that swallowed people. My mother, beautiful and fierce, gone. Kian, my brother, nine years old, gone, too.

You always want what you can't have. My voice echoed through the venue, carried to every corner by the speakers. Terrence's face turned pale. He opened his mouth to explain, but I didn't give him the chance. "To you, the unattainable is always the most desirable. But once you have something, you never cherish it. Someone like you doesn't deserve to talk about love at all." In the end, Terrence walked away, looking utterly lost and broken. I thought that would be the last time our paths ever crossed in this lifetime.

What was left there for me to hold onto? One by one, I fed the flames with our photographs, watching as the fire consumed what used to be 'us.'