🦪Pieces - Thats The Norm

🦪Pieces

Creative pieces, epigrams, prose, poetry, and more. I play the role of N.T. Cloever and pen down imaginations for you to enjoy.

Do the angels miss their muse

Do the angels miss their muse

Do the angels miss their muse And resent me When I propose A lifetime of glorious surrender To your name? Do they send kisses of jealousy In our direction When I graze My hand atop yours Before the sunset? And do they feel wrath Like blind devils When we elope

On the Sleeping Death

💭Life-Tempering

On the Sleeping Death

I find it strange we emulate the dead when we go to sleep. We assume sleeping positions, close off some final thoughts, and next thing you know, rest is allowing the body to stand still. For now, our coffins are comfortable pillows, and our mattresses are the foundation for our

Love is like kintsugi

Love is like kintsugi

We are all broken fragments inside, and we try to find the right fit in other people’s souls. Can you imagine picking up the fragments of another person, one who had willingly, or even worse unwillingly, threw the vase that held their life onto the ground, only to see

GRIDPROSE: On Clouds and More.

GRIDPROSE: On Clouds and More.

Creative freewriting session on the 8th July, 2022. Theme is seasons and weather.

Intangibeauty

I surrender to the cause of creation: The stone makers who carve Intangibility They warp reality to their liking And only us, mere peasants, Can finally see Truth as your beauty: Sculpted by god out of the imaginary To teach us envy In every movement you do.

Dear Mr. 30: A letter to my future self.

🦪Pieces Featured

Dear Mr. 30: A letter to my future self.

This is a letter for myself at 30 years old. I write letters to myself as self reminders. The semantics help with reframing my outlook on life. Sometimes referring to myself via 3rd person helps, and otherwise introducing a new character can work too. This letter is a call for

My day had begun

My days begin on catching your hands. Time matters with you. For the fleeting past walked beyond our reach, and our futures approach in view. We hold Now in the space between our palms, and the heat between our fingers. I see who you are, the mirror, or the lover,

The Waltz of Death （死のワルツ）

The Waltz of Death （死のワルツ）