Novel & Cerita Poetry About Innocence

Girls are always ready to throw themselves on me. But I despise girls with innocent expressions. There is nothing in the world like innocence in my opinion. People hide their true selves behind the mask of innocence. When I see such expressions, the only thing that comes to mind is to wreck them, to completely destroy them, because this innocence has deceived me for years.

Shivers ran down her spine. Her body shivered. Cold washed off her. Her knees weakened. “ Why? Why?” She snapped her head to Caleb. “ Why? Why would you lie about something like this, I never did anything wrong to you!” She shouted bitterly, anger blazing through her eyes. Caleb turned away, fist clenching hard against his thighs as his eyes flicked to the prince and Maribel. “ Tell them the truth! Tell them I'm innocent!” “ Shut up!” The prince’s voice thundered. “ I think I've given you enough grace, but you're just a disgusting maggot who's not ready to admit to her sins. Here's my sentence…”

And she must do it as herself—innocent, free, and unbroken… if she can. I rise slowly, touching the altar once more. The stone is cool beneath my fingertips. I inhale deeply, letting the incense fill my lungs one last time. Then I leave the shrine quietly. Outside, sunlight greets me like nothing has changed. Like no storm waits ahead. From somewhere beyond the trees, I hear laughter. Kiana’s laughter. Bright. Carefree. Untouched. And I wonder… how long can innocence last in a world built for crowns and cruelty?

I chose to enclose the matter only in bed but not in life. Inaya was different. I won’t say she is a goddess of beauty as an author describes in different novels. But yes, she is something that could hold you back forever. And if it is a glass jar where she would capture you, your mind won’t bother to break free. Even I am afraid of touching her just recalling her past memories. But deep in my mind I have a small thought of creating my little version with her. I think I can dare to do that knowing her innocence would grey out the colour of my heart partially. Though I don’t want my future children to be a whispering one or a Hebrew speaking one, I bet she could make the best out of it.

When the bough breaks, the cradle will fall. He considered how naturally innocence rehearsed its own undoing, how easily gentleness gave way to gravity. There was no malice in the rhyme, no cruelty—only inevitability. Cause and consequence, sung sweetly enough that no one thought to object. Sean lifted his glass then and drank. The rhyme faded, but its balance remained, settled neatly alongside his plans, as calm and orderly as everything else he intended to set in motion.

And he has disguised it as the ultimate rebellion. The irony is so profound it steals my breath. I think of my mother’s words: *A penniless poet? A boy who can offer you nothing?* And here he is, the penniless poet, offering me a kingdom. But that’s not why I’m here. I didn’t fall for a bank balance, disguised or otherwise. I fell for the man in the clay-spattered jeans who believes in beauty. The man who chose uncertainty over a gilded cage. Just like I did.

And yet it is lodged deep inside me like a poisoned thorn. And behind it, another thought rises , stronger than logic, more visceral than fear. It is an innocent being. The realization strikes me full force, stealing my breath. This cluster of cells, this beginning of life, the consequence of a night of violence and confusion… is innocent. It asked for nothing. It chose neither its father nor its conception nor the shame in which it will grow. It is here, silent, vulnerable, entirely dependent on me. A fleeting, painful image flashes before me: tiny fingers, a soft breath, a heart beating in time with mine. A life. My life.

Thus, they said goodbye and Sophia and Kiné left the house towards Doudou and Abdou's apartment, before going there, they went to a cyber café and tried to copy the information into another key so as not to not lose them. A POEM BY VICTOR HUGO You who don't know how beautiful childhood is, Child ! do not envy our age of pain, Where the heart is alternately slave and rebel, Where laughter is often sadder than your tears. Your carefree age is so sweet that it is forgotten! It passes, like a breath in the vast field of air, Like a joyful voice fleeing weakened, Like a halcyon on the seas. Oh ! do not hasten to ripen your thoughts!

They open the new submissions, journals, sketches, coded dreams, solar poems, sky-written vows. They place them inside. Then they bow their heads. Not in grief. But in reverence. Because they know: The fire is not in the pages. It is in the choice to write them. So I keep burning. Through drought and war. Through joy and birth. Through quiet revolutions that look like hugs, and wild ones that sound like protests. Every time someone chooses compassion over control… I spark. Every time a young girl dares to say, “I have something to say”…

When I saw her unconscious on the floor, I stopped breathing for a while. "Hey! Get up! "It is me." She's taking deep breathes. I take her hand in mine, and it feels frigid. How am I going to tell her about my plans? She's never going to forgive me. Does it matter now? Yes, since my plan was not to fall for her, but I did. My heart has betrayed me. I had a strong attraction to her from the beginning. Even if she lied to me, they never came between me and my love. Her innocence was the most lethal weapon used to steal my heart.