Novel & Cerita Poetry With Soul

she whispered, barely moving her lips, “is a debt no soul can repay.” (The grace of the homeland.)

They press together, soul on soul, and trade their wounds for sleep. One speaks in sighs, the other still, yet both are saying stay. For love like this—without disguise— won’t ever drift away.

I carried the boxes to an open space, and then Arnold handed me a lighter. "Cynthia…" he said softly, like he wasn't sure if this was a good idea. I gave him a smile, probably my first real smile in days. "It's fine. Out with the old, in with the new." I flicked the lighter and tossed it onto the pile that held ten years of my youth and love. The fire caught fast, growing brighter and hotter until it lit up the night like day. The flames ate up everything—my memories, my regrets, my stupid hope for someone who never deserved it.

The Soul-Fog clung to him like oil, seeping into his skin, dulling the bond that tied us together. I sang louder. The melody rose, richer now, harmonizing with itself in ways my human mind could barely comprehend. Life answered from every direction, moss bloomed across shattered stone, pale flowers pushed through cracks in the earth, petals unfurling toward the sound. Even the sky shifted, the bruised violet thinning as warm light bled through. The fog recoiled. It peeled away from Kael in ragged strands, screaming as the song stripped it of lies and false memory. His chest hitched, then rose fully, breath flooding back into his lungs as color returned to his skin.

incinerated by the fact that the Human Soul is Free. We floated in the center of the "Sovereign Soul," our breath coming in short, ragged gasps of crystalline air. The Eleven Sovereigns were no longer resonances; they were Authors of the First Day, their emerald-crimson eyes glowing with the prehistoric certainty of a soul that had finally owned its own "Malfunction".

Pools of ancient water mirrored the half-lit sky, rippling with the breath of something watching. Blotted out—not like the eye of a god, but like the soul of a star turning away. A celestial truth folding inward. As if the universe itself dared not watch what came next. And in that vast, holy shadow, Sniffia arched. Not in pain. In release.

That damned poem, that annoying Monk Deva Pran’s gift… …But hearing her now, her voice low and steady— I knew this was no theater. “Breathe like a flame that remembers its fire, Still as the root that outlasts the spire. Unhook the weight where memory clings, Let silence unfold your spirit’s wings. The soul is a shadow that longs to roam, Follow the pulse that calls you home. Rise on wings to claim the throne, Or let your spirit cling to bone.” She wasn’t reciting, she was becoming.

And as I navigate this world, seeking your true name, I'll carry your essence, your spirit, within the poet's flame. =======

The day didn't pass... The hours..didn't fly.. The minutes..didn't pause... The heart didn't beat till the time I didn't miss you, You were my soul.. My heart... My forever.. But now my body is just a mere ashes.. Living without you in the bare land.. With no signal of love, Wandering all around the dessert looking for the water.. Water of love And more especially you. ____________________________________________________

The most astonishing thing was that every title tried to minister to me so much more that I was confused. There is a poem titled 'HOPE', there was 'VAGUE AS AIR', 'DEATH AND IT'S PEACE' and other incredible poems all written by Trevor. I read each poem and felt as if he was talking to me directly. His choice of words, sentence construction and presentation of life scenarios embedded in words is just beautiful. Now this guy was not just a devilishly handsome man with a great sense of humor but a writing god. Then I came across the piece I termed my best. I read it over and over again muttering each line. The poem is titled 'SPEAK TO YOURSELF' and it reads thus...