Loneliness stood where hope resolved.

A meagre world of fleeting might—

Among sharks, serpents, and piranhas’ bite.

You lost your path, consumed by vice,

Yet in your will, life still survives.

“The library is my refuge. Rows upon rows of books, each holding a piece of someone’s mind, someone’s struggle. I’ve been spending hours here, lost in legal texts and the occasional novel. Balance is everything. To be free is not to escape the shadows, but to walk through them unbroken. Freedom is the light we find within.”

What is freedom in darkness dire?

Perhaps a steadfast step through mire.

Perhaps the keenest eye that sees,

The beauty born of whispered pleas.

Freedom is to hold each heart,

And in return, your love impart.

To value all who dare to give,

To see the truth, to truly live.

Freedom is the distant star,

That guides the ship when storms are far.

To stand respected, firm and free,

And know that life still beats in thee.

“The library welcomed me like an old friend. The scent of aged books was intoxicating, and the silence was profound. I found a corner by the window, where the light filtered through ancient glass panes. My thoughts turned to… There is a quiet rebellion in following one’s heart – a defiance that reshapes the world. To listen, to feel, to leap without fear.”

To follow the heart, to pause, to hear,

Its cries of joy, its echoing fear.

To cast off chains of thought’s cruel lies,

And see the world through unveiled eyes.

The echoes fade, the light grows dim,

Yet still the heart beats firm within.

It seeks the paths that reason bars,

And dreams of dancing beneath the stars.

How frightening life’s silent scream,

To wake and find the world a dream.

Yet courage blooms when truth takes hold,

A love, unbroken, pure and bold.

“Sometimes I crave the scent of flowers and leaves, as if the world could never offer enough. I close my eyes and find myself in the most beautiful and peaceful garden imaginable – a mysterious haven nestled within my heart. In this garden, I discover not only blossoms but fragments of eternity, a timeless promise whispered by the earth itself.”

Oh, wondrous garden! Your whispers plead,

As sunlight strains to sow its seed.

Entwined in leaves, a tender breath,

Where life defies the grasp of death.

Oh, gentle garden! Your roots run deep,

Through hopes we dared to sow in sleep.

Your blossoms reach, yet yearn to flee,

Bound in the veil of eternity.

The skies erupt with radiant flame,

But you, my garden, remain the same.

What joy, what grief, your soil has bled,

Yet still, you bloom where angels tread.

My sweet, I’ll weave my dreams for you,

A cloth of whispers, soft and true.

For even at the edge of strife,

You hold my heart—you are my life.

“There are poisons that seep through the soul, silent yet all-consuming. They speak in whispers, but their echoes are deafening.”

Envy, fear, frailty, pain —

The heart beats beneath this shadowed strain.

Venomous words spill ash and fire,

The tongue, a blade, reveals its ire.