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The hope at the verge of losse

 I stand where shadows clutch the fading light, Where whispers of yesterday drift in the night. The air is heavy, thick with silent despair, And every heartbeat trembles in the empty air. My hands, once steady, now shake with fear, Grasping at echoes that refuse to appear. The world seems a canvas of broken dreams, A river of sorrow with relentless streams. Yet, beneath the rubble, a spark still glows, A fragile ember where the cold wind blows. Though the night presses hard, unyielding and long, It hums a soft, defiant, trembling song. Hope—so slight, yet stubbornly alive, Clings to the corners where the shadows thrive. It flickers like a candle in a storm, A quiet promise, a gentle form. I recall the warmth of mornings past, Moments I thought would always last. The laughter, the touch, the fleeting grace, The light that once danced upon my face. Even at the verge, where death seems near, Hope whispers softly, calm and clear: “Do not yield to the endless night, There is a dawn beyo...
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First night with her

 A tremor stirs beneath my skin, A world unknown about to begin. Eyes meet eyes, a fleeting spark, A trembling light within the dark. Whispers soft, a nervous laugh, Time dissolves, it slips in half. Hands explore a tender space, Curiosity etched on every face. The heart pounds like distant drums, A rhythm new, where courage hums. Fingers brush, a hesitant glide, A river opens, no need to hide. Moments stretch, then fold again, A fragile blend of thrill and pain. Innocence wavers, shy and sweet, A private storm where two souls meet. Breath catches, warm and near, Every heartbeat is loud and clear. Eyes close to savor the unknown, A fragile seed of love is sown. Laughter dances, tinged with fear, Yet comfort blooms when someone’s near. A shared secret, gentle and shy, A first taste of wings to fly. Shadows mingle with morning light, A tender ache from the night’s flight. Soft confessions, whispered low, A story only hearts could know. Memories carved in fleeting fire, A quiet pulse ...
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My first love

 I remember the shy glances, The way your laughter lit the air, A spark that danced in stolen moments, A warmth I found nowhere else to share. The world seemed small and infinite, Whenever our paths would meet, Your hand brushed mine, electric and trembling, A rhythm my heart could not defeat. We spoke in whispers, secret and tender, Stories spun in a language of two, Each glance, each smile, a promise unspoken, A universe born where only we knew. The first time our fingers entwined, Time paused, held us suspended, Every heartbeat, every breath, A song of innocence and wonder, unended. I recall the summer sunsets, Painting the sky in amber and rose, We walked barefoot on the grass, Tracing dreams only childhood knows. Your eyes, deep pools of curiosity, Mirrored the world I longed to see, Through your gaze, I learned of magic, And of love’s first, sweet gravity. Seasons changed, as they always do, But the echo of you lingered still, A soft imprint on my memory, A gentle ache I coul...
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The miracle

 In the hush of dawn, when the world still sleeps, A whisper of light through the forest creeps. The dew on leaves, a delicate lace, Each droplet a jewel, a soft embrace. The river hums a gentle tune, Reflecting silver beneath the moon. Rocks stand tall like guardians old, Silent watchers of stories untold. A bird takes flight, wings stretched wide, Riding the currents where dreams reside. Its song cuts through the morning mist, A melody too perfect to resist. A child laughs, and the world ignites, Breaking the shadows of darkest nights. Eyes wide with wonder, tiny hands explore, The miracle of life at every door. In every heartbeat, every breath we take, Miracles rise in the choices we make. A smile shared, a hand held tight, Turning the mundane into radiant light. The wind whispers through the golden trees, Carrying secrets on a playful breeze. Flowers bloom in colors so rare, Perfuming the earth with tender care. Even in sorrow, miracles appear, A gentle comfort, a listening ear...
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The black rose

 A rose unfolds with morning light, Petals soft, a pure delight. Its fragrance drifts on gentle air, Whispering beauty everywhere. Thorns may guard its tender bloom, Yet in its heart, there’s no room For anything but love and grace, A fleeting smile time can’t erase.
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karma is a bitch

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  for years i have tempted fate  treating people so badly   judging them without a second thought  but now it seems im no better   i guess i should have seen this coming  those people never deserved to be treated that way   for years i was causing other people to be  in pain  now its my turn   karmas a bitch  all my mistakes are coming back to haunt me     it wasnt fair for me to say the things i did  now more than ever i know  thats true  this all happened so quickly and now im hurting    i cant process the world around me  its all getting to be a little too much 
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Is it really the wind?

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  Do you seriously believe that's it? Yes, I hear the whistle of it blowing past my ears; Throwing back my hair from my face. I see it moving the trees, their branches violently tossing back and forth. I sense their struggle, holding tight, refusing to let go. But is it really the wind? Is the invisible force just a swiftly moving chilled air? Maybe there's more. Maybe it's alive; Alive with spirit, restless, angered, and revenge seeking. They're the ones screaming in your ear from their painful suffering, Telling you their stories. Times they've failed, times they've been led astray, times they've been abandoned, these things of the past that torture them deepest. Maybe it's them who knock on your window. They move the branches; they pull them, push them, with taps, clicks, slaps, and chilling screeches as they slide against the glass. Trying everything to find their way in to slither across the floor and hide in corners, beneath furniture, behind doors...
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