Poetry With Soul Novels & Stories

The pain her heart and soul was feeling. Some things break but don't make a sound. Like her soul shattered into pieces but no one heard it. ______________________________________ Next will be updated soon. Do like and give feedback. Spread the purple heart. 

I am a ghost running through time and space, looking, always looking in the blackness for a sacred spark. And all this world becomes noise, a distraction from my task to find the one - the one who went alone into the dark. For should all she be is a fragment of fire, barely a cinder, it doesn't matters anymore, because I will become a river

Her legs wrap around my waist and her hips meet mine in a passionate rhythm. She lets out a soft sob and I look down at her. She wasn't crying because of pain, but of pleasure. I felt it too, the intimate connection between us, a connection I never felt with Jess. I loved her, yes, but this feeling was different. It felt as if my soul was blending with Kelly's, as if it were two pieces of a puzzle coming together. Tears roll down both our cheeks and I kiss her passionately. Her hands grasp at my short hair as she moans through her sobs. Moments later we came in unison and it was the best orgasm I ever had with someone else.

His head throbbed, pulse quickened and blood flowed through each of his veins at the speed of light. His body was burning in fury just like the dry dead branches burned caught in the flaming fire. Burned till the monstrous flame extinguished at last satisfied by turning the branch into ashes.

"It's difficult to choose just one. But there is a particular book of poetry that holds a special place in my heart. It speaks of the complexities of the human spirit." Catherine's interest deepened, and she approached him, her gaze fixed on the shelf. "Would you mind sharing it with me?" Shawn reached for the book, gently pulling it out from its place. The cover was worn and aged, a testament to the many times it must have been read in the past. “This is 'Whispers of the Soul' by renowned poet Alexander Sinclair," Shawn said, holding the book delicately in his hands. "His words have a way of touching the deepest parts of one's being, unraveling the mysteries of the human experience."

Galene paused next to a group of older men who’d gathered around her largest work. “The strokes seem natural and fluid. What is the student’s name?” One of them leaned forward and squinted. “Galene Bennett.” “There’s a dramatic intensity here that touches a higher plane.” “I like the contrast of light and dark—this dark energy—a marine creature is luring me to my watery death.” “Yes.” Another critic responded. “This work is all about the deep caverns in our soul.” Galene’s pulse picked up, and she took a step back.

She was so shaken up that she felt rather nauseous. “This is your alter-self,” Emerald began to lie, “this is your inner being that is revealing herself to you. She symbolizes your purity and free spirit. She is the light within you and the soul which inhabits you. She has revealed herself to you as a sign of light and love. You need to embrace her and know that she belongs to you, deep within your soul.”

Souls whispered their stories, and Alec could sense the intertwining narratives weaving a tapestry of experiences. "Sasha," he said, his voice carrying the weight of countless echoes, "do you hear them? The stories of love, of loss, of dreams that echo through the ages. It's like the very essence of existence is singing to us." Sasha nodded, her eyes reflecting the myriad emotions coursing through the cosmic currents. "Alec, every soul we encounter adds a new note to our journey. It's overwhelming, yet beautiful, like a celestial choir revealing the depths of the universe's heart."

Perhaps it is good to inform that the kings may be alive. In a dirty and smelly cell, a woman sang a lullaby, while cradling a small, old, dirty blanket in her arms. In the next cell, her mate looked at her with pain, love and pity in his eyes. It would have been fairer if the Moon Goddess had taken them. He runs his only hand over the stump of his arm. His wolf had almost disappeared. What was left of him was weak and depressed, never speaking to him, and whining for his mate, who had completely disappeared from within the woman.

The vibrant hues danced across the surface, creating a tapestry of emotions that spoke volumes without uttering a single word. In that moment, Ayana felt a profound connection to her art, as if each brushstroke was a brushstroke of her soul. She felt alive, invigorated by the creative energy that flowed through her veins, washing away the weight of her worries and filling her with a renewed sense of purpose.