In a quiet corner of our own world,
Where whispers dance through ancient trees,
We craft a haven, softly unfurled,
Where dreams drift by on gentle breeze.
Here, the sky paints shades of gold,
And rivers sing in silver tones,
Every story softly told,
In a realm of heart and stones.
Time slows down in this embrace,
As shadows waltz with twilight’s hue,
We find our peace in this safe space,
In our own world, we weave the light,
Of hopes and love and endless night,
About the Creator
Abbas
Versatile writer skilled in both tale & stories. Captivate readers with engaging content & immersive narratives. Passionate about informing, inspiring, & entertaining through words.
Smart phones, Humans and Aliens.
WARNING. I will be tapping into one of your favorite creative tensions: The absurdity of humans worshipping their glowing rectangles as if they were tiny oracles. There’s something deliciously poetic about that contradiction, and it lends itself beautifully to an instructive proviso.
By Novel Allen5 days ago in Poets
My Disappearance
Disappearance doesn’t happen all at once. It’s not a vanishing. It’s a thinning. A slow erosion of presence, a quiet fading at the edges of myself. The underwater mind pulls me down, the weight holds me there, and somewhere in the pressure and the dimness, I begin to lose definition.
By Elisa Wontorcik2 days ago in Poets
Miss Persephone's Manual to a Seemingly Ordinary Life
Miss Persephone was found at the dining table, her blue eyes swollen, her tears arriving and retreating like the tides of the ocean. Earlier that day, her family had visited her in the retirement home where she had lived for eight years. It was her eightieth birthday.
By Imola Tóth6 days ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
Nicely written