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I burn in silent flames,

Gazing at an endless static sky.

Bugs crawl beneath my skin,

As I am betrayed by my own fragments.

Even if the body could be spared,

The mind is still impaired.

Who could see me and say,

That I am still a human being?

Broken things are tossed away,

Perhaps it is the same for me.

I wonder when,

My fate shall be decided.

As I lay,

In my raised bed,

Propped before the eyes of God.

Gaze upon me.

Allow me to reach,

Heights above.


But mercy has never met me.


I have suffered for so long.

Will you move this along?

Why must we prolong,

The misery of the sickly,

Just like the anguish of the lonely?

I eat the blessed food and drink,

But holiness escapes me.

This fragile vessel,

Rejects its blessings.


Honored to be so close to heaven,

But I am not so privileged,

To have a taste of paradise.

So I remain,

In my raised bed,

A sanctuary of suffering.

Closest to heaven,

Furthest from,
                                                           ­                       
                                         ­                                                               Pa­radise.
What's worse than a *****?
A girl who wants friends and nothing more.

What's worse than a rake?
A guy who craves love but no bed to shake.

What's worse than fleeting romance?
A bond with no pull, yet endless expanse.

What's worse than shallow lust?
A touch freely given, yet no spark to combust.
"𝑛𝑜𝑡ℎ𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑒" 𝑑𝑖𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑖𝑠ℎ𝑒𝑠,
𝑅𝑒𝑑𝑢𝑐𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 𝑡𝑜 𝑙𝑒𝑠𝑠𝑒𝑟 𝑔𝑟𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑.
"𝑏𝑢𝑡" 𝑟𝑒𝑗𝑒𝑐𝑡𝑠,
𝐼𝑚𝑝𝑜𝑠𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑓𝑎𝑢𝑙𝑡 𝑜𝑛 𝑙𝑜𝑣𝑒 𝑢𝑛𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑛𝑑.
"𝑦𝑒𝑡" 𝑑𝑖𝑠𝑡𝑜𝑟𝑡𝑠,
𝐹𝑟𝑎𝑚𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑑𝑒𝑝𝑡ℎ 𝑎𝑠 𝑐𝑜𝑛𝑡𝑟𝑎𝑑𝑖𝑐𝑡𝑖𝑜𝑛.
"𝑔𝑖𝑣𝑒𝑛" 𝑓𝑎𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑠,
𝑇𝑢𝑟𝑛𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑠ℎ𝑎𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑖𝑛𝑡𝑜 𝑠𝑢𝑏𝑚𝑖𝑠𝑠𝑖𝑜𝑛.

𝘓𝘰𝘷𝘦 𝘵𝘩𝘳𝘪𝘷𝘦𝘴 𝘣𝘦𝘺𝘰𝘯𝘥 𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘮,
𝘌𝘲𝘶𝘢𝘭 𝘪𝘯 𝘥𝘦𝘱𝘵𝘩, 𝘥𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘤𝘵 𝘪𝘯 𝘣𝘦𝘢𝘶𝘵𝘺.
𝘈 𝘣𝘰𝘯𝘥'𝘴 𝘦𝘴𝘴𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦 𝘵𝘳𝘢𝘯𝘴𝘤𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘴 𝘮𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘶𝘳𝘦,
𝘐𝘵𝘴 𝘯𝘢𝘵𝘶𝘳𝘦 𝘪𝘯𝘧𝘪𝘯𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘦𝘯𝘥𝘶𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨.
In a world devoid of meaning, she wandered alone,
A soul forsaken, lost in the void, a heart of stone.
Her eyes, once bright, now dimmed, like stars in the night,
Reflecting the emptiness that consumed her light.

She walked with steps of lead, her feet heavy with despair,
Her laughter a hollow echo, her hopes a distant, fading air.
Time, like a thief, stole away her dreams, leaving only ash,
And darkness crept in, a slow and silent crash.

It didn't come all at once, but trickled in like sand,
Grain by grain, until the light was lost in the land.
Her smile, a forced and fragile thing, like a blade held sideways,
Couldn't pierce the shadows that enveloped her, like a shroud that wouldn't fade.

She didn't scream, she didn't cry, she simply stopped shining,
Her light extinguished, like a flame that's lost its spark, its meaning.
The world around her lost its shape, its color, its sound,
And she was left with nothing, but the echoes of a hollow ground.

But then, one day, an ember appeared, a spark of light,
A small, yet fierce, flame that flickered in the dark of night.
It didn't promise, it didn't call, it simply existed,
A tiny, glowing point, that beckoned her to follow, to resist.

She reached out, with a hand she thought was lost,
And touched the ember, feeling its warmth, its gentle cost.
It didn't move away, it didn't fade, it stayed,
A steady, pulsing light, that guided her through the shades.

She followed, step by step, through memories like thorns,
Through fear like fog, that shrouded her, and kept her from being reborn.
The ember led her, through the dark, through the pain,
Until she saw, a glimmer of light, a world reborn, a new refrain.

The darkness peeled back, like a curtain, like a veil,
And air, sweet, warm, alive, brushed against her skin, like a gentle gale.
She blinked, and the world bloomed, like a garden in spring,
Colors she had never seen, spilled from the sky, like a rainbow's wing.

She stood, trembling, on the edge of something new,
A world of wonder, a world of beauty, a world anew.
And there, in the gold-soft hush of morning, she met a heart,
A heart as gentle, as soothing, as the morning breeze, a brand new start.

He didn't ask for her story, he just listened to the silence,
Between her words, where the truth resided, where the pain existed.
He didn't try to fix the cracks, he just held them, like a work of art,
And showed her, that even broken, she was beautiful, a masterpiece, a work in progress, a brand new start.

His laughter was rain on a window, his voice, a gentle stream,
That flowed through her, like a river, and washed away her pain, her scream.
His eyes, like the morning sun, shone bright, and warm, and kind,
And when he smiled at her, she saw herself, reflected, redefined.

She, who once flinched from affection, like a wounded thing,
Now leaned toward his kindness, like a flower, that needs the sun's warm wing.
She let herself soften, let her hands learn to hold,
Without shaking, without fear, without the weight of her past, her gold.

He showed her, that love didn't have to be loud,
To be real, to be true, to be a love that's proud.
It could be the quiet way, he stayed, even when she tried to run,
The way he said nothing, when her fear said everything, when her heart was undone.

The way he called her beautiful, not to convince her,
But because he simply saw her, like a work of art, a masterpiece, a treasure to discover.
He saw her, like a sunrise, like a sunset, like a work of art,
A beauty, that's rare, a beauty, that's unique, a beauty, that's a work in progress, a brand new start.

She still gets scared, still waits for the light to leave,
But now, she holds his hand, and the journey, is a different beat.
It's been a journey, of magic, stitched into the mundane,
Of coffee cups, and stargazing, of midnight confessions, and slow dances, in messy kitchens, in the rain.

It's been a journey, of missteps, and meltdowns,
Of moments, she nearly ran, but he was there, to catch her, to hold her, to love her.
He's been there, through it all, through the laughter, and the tears,
Through the fears, and the doubts, through the moments, that seemed to last for
It's a long one, a bit like a story of sorts but I hope you all like it, I got inspired after watching numerous movies in the past two weeks and I've wanted to write based on that.
Hope you all love it and that you all have that special someone in your life
I met an old man
who spoke with such hesitance
all the world's meaning

I met a young girl
who spoke with such confidence
all the world's nothing

To speak of expertise
as if one does not know
seems to be a sign of experience

To speak of trifles
as if one surely knows
seems to be a sign of ignorance


And in both
the old
and the young
I see expressions of love

The young for her friend
the old for his daughter

And from both
the old
and the young
I hear tales of wisdom

a life well-lived
and a life to be lived


The old is experienced
yet I still find ignorance

For he knows his love
yet not his wisdom

The young is ignorant
yet I still find experience

For she knows her wisdom
yet not her love


The old takes shame in every treasure he has
and says such profound words

Inspiring lies refined from truths

The young takes pride in every trifle she finds
and says such profound words

Touching truths discovered through lies


The old man nods his head
and parts ways
knowing we will never meet again

The young girl shakes my hand
and parts ways
hopeful that we could meet again
The flower needs rest,
so winter tucks it beneath the earth,
letting it sleep until spring.

The sun needs rest,
so the clouds and rain embrace it,
shielding its warmth for another day.
Take care, breathe easy, and give yourself the rest you deserve. Rest well, recharge, and remember, like the moon, even brilliance needs the night to shine again.

— A gentle reminder that even nature pauses to gather strength.
It comes.
It crashes.
IT DEVOURS

The wind is a mouth, open, screaming, swallowing branches whole. It gnaws, it rips, it shreds through bark through bone through breath through us.

It does not stop. It does not stop. It does not stop.

IT DOES NOT WAIT

IT DOES NOT PITY

it does not pity

We run. We fly. We thrash we scramble we tear into the sky but the sky is no escape no escape no escape.

NO ESCAPE

Clouds choke air tightens we claw at the dark.

but the dark claws BACK

DO YOU UNDERSTAND

DO YOU SEE IT

DO YOU FEEL IT

The moon tries to flee but it cannot silver pale turns nothing turns void.

It VANISHES

IT IS GONE ERASED CONSUMED

CONSUMED CONSUMED CONSUMED

we tremble we break we FALL

But him.

Still.

Misty sits.

he sits

HE SITS

HOW

the ground tears itself apart the trees beg the sky SCREAMS

but HE SITS

delicate fingers press to splintered bark grazing it honoring it

what is there to honor

what is there to hold

what is there to praise

it is broken

it is falling

IT IS GONE

he breathes

HE SMILES

HE LAUGHS

soft warm impossible

floating through the air floating through the ruin floating through the madness that

SHOULD HAVE SWALLOWED IT AWAY SHOULD HAVE SWALLOWED HIM AWAY

why

why does he stay why does he smile when nothing else does

the ground breaks pleads the sky RIPS OPEN collapsing folding breaking breaking BREAKING

the end is here

the end is here

THE END IS HERE

IT COMES

IT TAKES

IT RIPS

IT TEARS

AND ALL THAT REMAINS IS BREAKING

except HIM

what does he see

what

what is left to praise

WHAT. COULD. HE. POSSIBLY. SEE


~~~   ~ ~ ~   ~~~

branches crack and fall
tumbling like reckless laughter
yet he calls it grace
Part 4 of Misty's Journey


Aevonance (noun) Pronunciation: /'eɪ.və.nəns/

Definition:  

1. The profound and timeless resonance of fleeting moments, wherein the beauty and significance of impermanence echo across memory and eternity.
2. The lingering presence of an idea, emotion, or energy, subtly influencing and shaping the course of existence through thought and feeling.

Example sentence: "Standing in the ancient ruins, Misty felt an undeniable aevonance, as if the voices of the past still whispered through the stones."

(I combined aevum and resonance because I like the juxtaposition of Part 1's meaningless syntactic barrage with Part 4's profound minimalism. Titles deserve some character development too.)
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