Poetry With Soul Novels & Stories

” he asked and turned on the radio before I could reply. let my baby stay by Mac DeMarco. It was the same song he played when we went hiking on Monday. Our song. So we sang along as he drove, and my mind drifted back to Monday. Before the blood moon. Before the chaos and deaths. Before the walls of my life crumbled. Many things happened before the blood moon. And the days went by too quickly. But the days after the blood moon moved slowly. It was still the second day, but I felt depleted as someone who mourned for a year.

"The life that perishes shall be made alive again, sacred from the skeletal remains, oracle's flesh, and soul that flew, created in the most untamed depth of a meadow and crafted by the best creator, Few people are aware, In descending darkness, lamented the breathing mallow's offspring Harden in the crow's beak. Pain from the never-ending seek Look for the truths' melodies. Betrayal, suffering, and flute beacon Try to locate the light that sheds its skin. Maybe it's you who comes out on top?”

But I am the one he feels. He doesn't speak. And I say nothing either. But in the silence, I replace. Inch by inch. Minute by minute. Clara may have conquered the soul. But I conquer the body. And the body… always ends up pulling the soul along with it.

She was sure some idiot must have tasted it. "... And I love you so much, I guess it's because I love you the way I do that's causing this, maybe you feel suffocated by it considering it isn't mutual..." And has anyone thought of how the earth would be like if the moon didn't exist? What would light up the night? Well the stars, but don't the stars light up the sky and the moon light up the Earth? So without the moon... "Amirah!" She flinched and looked at him questioningly.

Everything disappeared from my sight, leaving only blinding white light, which scorched my eyes. ‘’You are being punished for playing with the power which should never be in human hands. Your hun* souls will be cursed, and you won’t be able to find peace. You will be cursed to repeat your miserable life while the other parts of your soul die in great misfortune unable to find happiness both in life and death.’’ The dread coming from these words was enough to make me forget the horrible pain. This sounded so familiar but, at the same time, so strange. I didn’t have time to think, though. The pain slowly disappeared together with the lighting, and somebody’s voice was floating in my mind.

His face contorted into one of discomfort. "Small world." David murmured. Small world, too small for Asher's liking. He had found the girl he missed for so long, but it seemed like she was still miles away from him and forever out of his reach. At that moment all he could think was, fate was truly a cruel and heartless bitch.

He gave her his widest grin and pecked her lips this time around. "Hmm, lemme pour my own new poem for you. It's a lonely night Silently watching the heaven above that has no gap Quietly wishing it also has the small crack That is separating my heart from being one and whole The stars are getting acquainted to each other Helping the other twinkle And I wish they'd look down at me and flicker the dying Light in my soul and bring it back to life Still watching as the old dry palm branch shaped moon Slowly drifts down to the appointed term

I remembered a passage from one of the few books I had ever read: “A soulmate is a being bound to you by destiny, a perfect mirror of your soul. With one look, they become your center, your orbit, your reason to exist. For them, you would move mountains, cross oceans, bend the world itself. Two souls united in perfect harmony,together, they form something eternal.” Bruce had lied to me all along. Sobs shook my chest,loud, uncontrollable. I didn’t even know if they came from joy or terror. My voice trembled as I whispered:

"If it was a piece of paper, I would tear it. If it was a bottle, I would break it, if it was a wall, I would tear it down - But it's my heart" ~Mahmoud Darwish The words sunk so deeply, creating a large gap in my soul. There was just something so devastatingly beautiful about romantic poetry, I loved it to no end. The idea of loving someone to the point that you yearn for them, their very person, every inch of their skin, every habit of theirs, every peculiar trait is picked, loved and immortalized.

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.