Historias de Narrativepoetry

On the longest night of the year, Brianna returns to the Glow Festival, seeking light in the shadows of grief. It's a lyrical low-fantasy verse narration of ritual and remembrance.

collection of random stories →will contain narrative stories, oneshots →will have some thrilling stories → horror and romantic both type of short stories. I hope you guys enjoy it.

"You have the paragon's hand over pen and you have galaxies in your mind. But your eyes are empty, so does your heart; pale, sulken, pain-stricken, dying. It's like ages since the last time I saw your candid smile. I still remember how those eyes sparked and gay with sweet laughter. But the curve on your lips left without a trace, with no chance of coming back. When did you stop dreaming? Why did you stop believing? I wish I was enough to revive your fading smile and losing soul. I wish I could paint them with happy hues and pastels, I wish I could bring color and life into your eyes, into your heart, into your soul. You own a galaxy in you, don't you die within, not atleast at the heartbeat of the world." (thingsiamtellingmyself) 010715|10:10pm

Writing poems for the blues. To let my inner voice have her own podium. Just for fun actually. Or maybe not, depends on how you interpret it, It still all depends on the human mind And heart in the end.

Genres: Poetry / Horror. Summary: This collection chronicles the horrific contents of my brain in poetic form. This is not for the faint of heart. It contains terrifying moments of murder, suicide, mayhem, rituals, hauntings, and nightmares in various poetic forms from ballads to sonnets and many more. Most of these pieces are one-shot tales, but the "Haunted Blades" ballad sequence is marked with an asterisk (*) throughout the collection to denote an interconnected series of poems. Status: *on-going*

The tale of the greatest hero of the Anmari people and how she saved a galaxy from tyranny. Please be gentle, I wrote this as a project in 10th grade, 20 years ago!

"I blamed the correspondence of the twirling, mourned blood." A poetic monologue unraveling the aftermath of emotional war-where memory is fractured, truths are venom-laced, and even the moon feels too far to touch. This is not a love poem. This is a reckoning. As the speaker grapples with deception, mythology, and the remnants of a relationship that once felt divine, the past returns in waves-sweet, eerie, devastating. 🌌 What do we do when the person we trusted most becomes the ghost haunting our own reflection? For readers who crave: Emotionally raw lyricism Dreamlike imagery & metaphoric depth Themes of betrayal, myth, femininity, and self-reclamation You are invited into the ruins. Read slowly-some truths only bloom in the dark.

This poem explores the deep pain of loss and the struggle to maintain sanity amidst overwhelming grief. The speaker vividly expresses feelings of despair, isolation, and the haunting presence of dark thoughts. With powerful imagery, it captures the chilling absence of peace and the fragility of hope. The poem ultimately reflects the relentless battle against inner turmoil, offering a poignant insight into the complexities of emotional suffering and the search for solace in a world filled with pain.

. . . Here ensues, a brief summary of the plot, and an anthropological tracing of how the tale was born . . . . . . A lover of the English language, of all things, whilst I was looking-up the etymology of the word / interjection 'boo' I came across this passage written in the late 19th c., by Walter W. Skeat, which not only creates the opening of my story, but also encapsulates it's intended moral, & effect: "To be able to say Bo! (sic) to a goose is to be not quite destitute of courage, to have an inkling of spirit, and was probably in the first instance used of children. A little boy who comes across some geese suddenly will find himself hissed at immediately, and a great demonstration of defiance made by them, but if he can pluck up heart to cry 'bo!' loudly and advance upon them, they will retire defeated. The word 'bo' is clearly selected for the sake of the explosiveness of its first letter and the openness and loudness of its vowel" Such, is the idea of this story: a young boy, who is unpopular, and habitually shy, at last plucks up his courage, and his first act of retribution, is to crie 'Boo!' at a gaggle of geese; he then proceeds to crie 'Boo!' in several other tricky situations, each time, becoming stronger in heart, and taller in courage.

Narrative Poetry

Death! Zombies! Cannibalism! Grapefruits! This collection of darkly humorous short stories and narrative poems, from the co-writer of iBooks best selling book of lies and misinformation 'Not A Lot Of People Know That', has a little something for everyone (unless you happen to be a perfectly sane and well balanced individual). In 'Death After Life', a lowly supermarket shelf stacker chokes to death on a peanut during a zombie outbreak, and is rather disappointed to learn he still has to go in to work the next day. In 'Blue Murder', a shipwrecked Englishman learns there's only one thing worse than being stranded alone in the middle of the ocean, and that's being stranded in the middle of the ocean with a ravenous American. In the deeply romantic love ballad 'Butt Ugly' a man attempts to come to terms with the fact that his girlfriend's not quite the looker she used to be, since she lost her face in an office shredder. All this, and more!

When your sister Someone, you trust and know inside out Just as you know yourself Becomes someone unknown to you. A series of short poems narrating a story of two sisters

Some stories don't ask to be written. They bleed their way out. This is the unraveling of a soul-part dream, part wound, part silence. Love that felt like war. Duty that broke something sacred. And a mind, once calm like the sea, now swallowed by storms. This is Drift-a journey through the beautiful and brutal wreckage of becoming.

They race the clock. I reshape it. This is not a poem about time - it's a declaration from someone who commands it. A slow, powerful voice that doesn't rush to be heard - because it already knows it will echo. For those who've ever felt behind, overlooked, or too slow... this piece reminds you: some of us weren't made to run. We were made to orchestrate.

Is there still hope for a cemented soul? This is a collective of narrative poems and short stories built around healing from life's traumas.

Peoms about real life shit. My real life shit. I write songs or poems when I need to get shit out of my head. I guess I just splurge everything out into poems or songs when i get overwhelmed or want to cry but it won't come out.

When all is lost, can there still be hope?If you were given a choice to sacrifice something precious to achieve your dreams and desires, would you do it? Is it worth trading your soul for? Would looking back in the past fix anything or even more despair? In a universe surrounded by untamed power and dangerous magic, the decisions each being makes is another domino, waiting to belittle others. Possibilities could be endless. Endings can turn into beginnings. Friends can become enemies. Some claim it was the Devil's doing. Others believe their Saint didn't bother to come to their aid when needed. Everybody wants truth, and yet, others believe what they want. There are different perspectives. Just as there are different seasons and different fears. The sad reality: No one knows. The balance between good and evil are often blurred. Almost as if both don't exist. But stories do. Don't believe everything you hear or see. This collection I have for you shows how we all have a choice, whether its for personal gain or for the "greater good". Now, how did I end up stranded on a silent, but beautiful cliff surrounded by galaxies? Was it the work of corrupted angels? Was there war? Maybe it was a monster's work? A time traveler? Who is to blame? Was it by nature or was it by choice? All in good time. For now, keep this in mind: Life is beautiful. But it can also be fragile. Choose wisely... Note: cover art "star blossom" and other artworks/pics/videos used do not belong to me. I'm only responsible for the poems/short stories. You may not use any without my permission.