Ink of the Heroes

Ink of the Heroes

  • WpView
    Reads 115
  • WpVote
    Votes 15
  • WpPart
    Parts 4
WpMetadataReadOngoing6m
WpMetadataNoticeLast published Thu, Oct 30, 2025
The songs of these characters have been left unsung for a while, These heroes who have brought us happiness by the mile. Even thought, in this beautiful tear ridden pages, they died, They will forever live in our hearts, just in the other side. This is a collection of poems by me and SolangeloKeefeFoster. These poems are about characters in books and in our imagination, what they did, the stories they have to tell and things which are not cannon but we wish they were. We made these poems to honour the stories we grew up with and the ones we wrote inside our hearts. Because in the quiet spaces between chapters and the echo of the last line, heroes live on - not just in books but also in the hearts and minds of those who felt them deeply.
All Rights Reserved
#878
riordanverse
WpChevronRight
Join the largest storytelling communityGet personalized story recommendations, save your favourites to your library, and comment and vote to grow your community.
Illustration

You may also like

  • The Weight of Wanting: Lost in Between
  • Inflorescence
  • The Untold Stories.
  • Hidden Poetry
  • His Highness
  • Love Poems and Much More
  • Timeless: A Collection of Sorts
  • What's a Heart to a Soul

For a hundred nights, they built a world in whispered words, two souls out of sync, like migratory birds that missed their season. Their conversations were a quiet sea where secrets surfaced and they learned to be more than the lives they lived. One soul was the softest ground for the other's fears, the most beautiful sound that answered theirs, their laughter a sudden light against the darkness of the late-hour night. They wrote their story not in prose but in verse, each poem a day to cradle or to curse. A line for joy, a stanza for the ache, a little piece of them for goodness' sake. They knew the pages had a near ending, but still, they turned them, living out the fear that every shared thought and held-back sigh would turn to memory beneath a different sky. Now the book is closed, the final word unsaid, and the journey's end is left inside the reader's head. The world believes they walk alone, but they still carry what their story weaves, as a hundred poems linger in the air-a silent testament that they were there.

More details
WpActionLinkContent Guidelines