Novel & Cerita Poetry With Soul

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.

“Just all the fun things.” Still, I let them coax me down. The blanket scratched softly under my palms as I stretched out. The hill’s gentle slope cradled my back. Kael lay on one side of me, Rian on the other, all three of us shoulder to shoulder, looking up. The sky was a dark velvet, pricked by stars. Below, the last of the lanterns drifted upward, small moving stars joining the fixed ones. “I used to think my soul was a single lantern no one saw,” I said quietly. “Hidden in some cellar. Flickering. Waiting to go out where no one would notice.”

I glanced at Khloe first and she motioned me to go on so I gripped the edges of the book and read every word on the paper: " Ocean soul sparkles and lingers Silent cries whispering to the air Golden mare gliding between my fingers Her vast agony is too much for me to bear How could I cease her pain away? Why is it my heart aching hearing her wail? Eager to shelter her full to make her day The sole reason why I shadow her trail Touching her plump lips awakens my spirit Her beautiful voice brings essence to my ear Caressing her smooth skin under the moonlit Change the darkness of my night to disappear Needs of her presence are greater than seas The carnal of my longing far superior than eterni

Sometimes, the body remembers what the soul tries to forget. It wasn't the pain that broke me, but the way my body stopped belonging to me. Every unwanted touch was another crack. A piece of me vanishing without a sound. I arrived to Chicago months ago, and I still struggle to breathe. This city doesn’t embrace me—it watches me. Everything is clean, cold, precise. Neon lights flicker like fake stars, and the rain hits the windows with military discipline. It’s a world built to function, not to feel.

Some people even thought it replicated the actual Hell. Ruax planned to trap Hade in the stone. This way he could live another 150 years in this body without being put away in a dormancy. It was a curse that whenever the Alpha of the old soul had a child, the wolf would be put to dormancy within the child. The Alpha, on the other hand, would gain another newer soul in it’s stead. It ensured that the old souls would not be able to cause such chaos. It was a kind of safety lock for the amount of time an ancient wolf can surface.

It was as if the very essence of her being breathed life into my weary soul, infusing me with a renewed sense of purpose and vitality. In that moment, I felt as though I could conquer In the depths of the wilderness, where the moon's silver glow danced upon the towering trees, I found solace in the company of a kindred spirit. She possessed a wisdom that seemed to transcend time, her eyes holding the secrets of countless moons.

Where have I climbed, after a recent fall? To fall is no sin if it enables a later rise. What I have achieved cannot be announced or gifted a crown. Life has left me alone with hope. And now I dwell in peace with my role. This is my soul. My role is peace. Digging deep within, I find scope forever living. What is wrong with the world I need not believe. Let me correct the sword and the shield, for the deadly enemy is all within. Capturing myself, creating substance - I have enabled riches creation from the mud that sustains self-longer than the stone! I now witness longevity as a longing desire. If death can be fought, why not a trial? But no one listens to whispers or responds to life’s wan

I closed my eyes, forcing myself to calm down and shut my wolf. “Damn it.” I curled in pain after forcefully subduing my wolf. The pain was immeasurable. It was like I was being torn apart from the inside. We were taught how to subdue our wolves, but it wasn’t advisable to do frequently because it was believed to ruin our souls. It took almost an hour to recover, and it was still painful, but I could step out of the car to breathe. I feel suffocated until now, and my emotions are all over the place.

The pressure is suffocating, a weight that presses upon my chest, making it hard to breathe, hard to think, hard to live. In this prison of my mother's making, my soul is slowly withering away, a delicate flower crushed by the heel of ambition. My heart is a heavy burden, a weight that threatens to consume me at any moment. The tears I cry are tears of despair, tears of anger, tears of frustration. The tears I cry are tears of a life unlived, tears of a dream deferred, tears of a soul forever lost.

Her work at the local bookstore, once a mundane routine, now felt infused with a sense of meaning. She found herself drawn to the poetry section, her fingers tracing the spines of books she had never explored before. She discovered the delicate beauty of Emily Dickinson's words, the raw emotion of Sylvia Plath's verse, and the lyrical prose of Langston Hughes. Each poem, a window into a different soul, resonated with her own experiences, her own struggles and triumphs.