"Island Dreams: A Poem of Seclusion and Serenity"
"Explore the Beauty of an Island Paradise Through Words"
On the horizon, a land of peace,
A place where time and troubles cease,
The island calls out with a voice so sweet,
A place where only nature and you shall meet.
Surrounded by water, deep and blue,
Its waves gently lapping against the shore,
A symphony of sound, so calming and true,
The sea's embrace, one cannot ignore.
Upon the sands, warm and white,
The sun's rays, a wondrous sight,
A world away, so far from life,
The island paradise, free from strife.
Palm trees sway in the ocean breeze,
The island's anthem, sung with ease,
A melody, so sweet and clear,
A song that rings for all to hear.
Nature thrives in this world so pure,
A sanctuary for all that's demure,
From the chirping birds to the monkeys' play,
On the island, they come to stay.
A place of seclusion, a place of peace,
Where life's worries can finally cease,
A paradise of sun, sand, and sea,
On the island, you shall feel free.
So come, escape the rush and noise,
And hear the island's joyous voice,
Experience the magic, feel the breeze,
Come explore, and find your inner peace.
About the Creator
Nikhil Thale
I am a tech enthusiast and blogger with a passion for exploring the latest advancements in technology. I understand that choosing the right laptop or PC can be a daunting task, I also write poems in my free time.
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Red Shelves
Death is a black hole. Think about it. A black hole is the corpse of a star, something once warm and bright, now come to the end of its life cycle. But some will argue that the cycle of life does not end with death. That death is merely another path we must walk once our bodies expire and our souls ascend. In that moment, when the fuel in the star’s chemical tank hits empty and the shiny matte coat explodes into supernova, the mass left behind – the corpse – becomes a black hole. We understand that, around such a vast cadaver, dimensions work a little differently in death to the way we’re used to in life. For example, light cannot escape the pull of a black hole when it hits the point of no return. That’s where it gets its colour. Space itself is contorted by a black hole. That’s where it gets its funny shape. Even time. Time slows right down the closer you get to it. The closer you get to a black hole. The closer you get to death.
By Matthew Curtis6 days ago in Humans
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