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Another story illustration. This one just for fun:
www.johnmsharpless.com/johnmsharplesswordpress/2015/05/11...
It’s not giving up.
It’s that quiet inhale, and the long, trembling exhale that follows.
When you feel that holding on only hurts…
and you slowly realize that freedom
sometimes lives in the act of release.
Then pain turns into peace.
Tears into clarity. And your heart?
It finally breathes again.
Gently. Truly. Alive.
⁛ carried by the light
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
Standing next to the lighthouse, I watched the waves crash against the shore and reflected on the rhythm of life, Just as the sea rises and falls, so do thoughts.
No fear of the future, only the present moment to be enjoyed. Understanding the wisdom of nature, living simply, embracing the seasons with grace, and realizing one dream after another.
⁛ The tide always returns, but never the same.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
It was always there, the bend of the river,
the arc of light, the calm rhythm of the roofs
against the sky. But today I didn't see it with my eyes, I saw it with the colors of my soul.
Then came the change, what once felt small,
filled in all its greatness. Not because it changed. No, it changed because I did.
⁛ Magic isn't hidden, it appears unnoticed.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
As the autumn wind swept across the golden fields, a lightness of being emerged against the backdrop of a painted sky.
Shadows covered the landscape, a perfect day to linger and allow inner beauty to blossom.
⁛ We don't hold time, we accompany it.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
Between crushed roses and trembling brushes,
the voices fall silent behind lacquered masks.
"Don't show what you feel, you might get hurt"...
Wear your protective mask and continue playing your false life.
But the truth is fragile, like a kiss on glass,
that will never be returned.
⁛ Hidden dreams behind masks
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
wilight drapes the sky in heavy clouds.
Light fades behind them, slipping quietly away.
Shadows dance without bodies, only movement in the air.
The horizon melts into colors that resist naming.
Night approaches, both tight and gentle at once.
⁛ Even a cloud knows every light it has ever touched.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
There is a gentleness we are born with,
before the world teaches us otherwise.
A trust that never asks, a love
that never counts.
As the heart feels, so move the hands,
the eyes, the breath,
for sometimes the tenderest things
carry within them the brightest truths.
⁛ Whatever we love softly, we give life to.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
In life, victory is sweet, but it’s not the only gift. Every step, whether a win or a stumble, holds a lesson. When things don’t go as planned, don’t be disheartened.
For every setback is a whisper of wisdom, teaching patience, resilience, and growth, True success doesn't mean never failing, every time you fall, you become stronger and wiser, haven't you noticed that?
⁛ Even in defeat, there is always hope, always something gained.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
As the autumn winds swept across the fields,
a light feeling rose against the backdrop of a painted sky.
Shades covered the landscape,
and someone suddenly thought
they should start counting the leaves.🍁
⁛ Sometimes, beauty asks for nothing, just to be noticed once.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
When the sky forgets its limits,
the sea borrows its colors
for some seas exist on no map at all.
They emerge only when the planets align,
only then dares the night to hang lanterns,
and the sea learns to make the water and the boats glow.
⁛ What if home were not a place, but a tidal current?
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
Sometimes, you feel a heaviness,
a yearning for something intangible.
The world seems like a book, page after page filled with stories,
stories you read but no longer write yourself.
Your heart beats softly, a call for freedom,
for a moment that belongs to you, and only to you, without the rules of time.
But there is love, a flame that never fades.
It rests deep within you, waiting for you to breathe it in, to bring it to life.
⁛ It's not perfection that counts, it's the love that you give.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
Which face are you searching for when you look?
The one that appears, or the one you hope to see?
The gaze often doesn't see.
It predicts.
It projects.
It waits.
And when imagination collides with what truly is,
only the silence of the image remains
to ask... What is the truth?
Perhaps the face never hid,
perhaps it simply hasn’t yet been born
in the eyes of the one beholding it.
⁛ Reality is a dream that survived the light.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
Σαν πρωινός άνεμος που φέρνει ζεστασιά.
Απλώνεται πάνω σε παλιές πληγές,
σε σκέψεις που έμειναν περισσότερο απ’ όσο χρειαζόταν.
Όταν συγχωρείς τον εαυτό σου,
ένα φως αρχίζει να ανατέλλει μέσα σου.
Η καρδιά μαλακώνει
ανοίγεται, πλαταίνει, παίρνει πνοή.
Κι αρχίζει να χορεύει στον ρυθμό της ζωής
ειλικρινής, τρυφερή, γεμάτη ανάσα.
Και μέσα σ’ αυτόν τον χορό,
η ειρήνη βρίσκει το ήσυχο σπίτι της.
⁛ Ελαφριά καρδιά, βαριά σκιά δεν αφήνει.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
Even on the heaviest days,
something soft inside you refuses to give up.
It gathers every broken piece of you
and turns them slowly into light
⁛ Keep that softness. It’s your quiet kind of strength.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
It matters little what you bring home when you return,
what matters is the gentleness of your intention,
walking ahead of you before your footsteps arrive.
⁛ And so, the weight becomes light in the hands of intention.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
Έχει περάσει θυμούς και ησυχίες,
πλημμύρες και λειψυδρίες.
Μα ακόμη δεν βουλιάζει.
Είναι φτιαγμένο να επιπλέει
εκεί που άλλοι χάνονται στα βαθιά.
Έμαθε από καιρό
να μη βαραίνει η ψυχή του,
να στέκεται σταθερά
σε κάθε απρόβλεπτη θύελλα
που του φέρνει η ζωή.
⁛ Κι αυτό είναι τέχνη, όχι τύχη.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
Την περίμεναν ήδη ανυπόμονα να την ακούσουν, έτσι φαντάζονταν,
γιατί όταν η μικρή Ελισάβετ έπιανε την κιθάρα της γιαγιάς της,
όλη η στάνη σωπαίνονταν για ένα λεπτό.
Ήταν το πρώτο σοκ που έπρεπε να ξεπεράσουν τα ζωντανά.
Φόρεσε τα καλά της, στόλισε τα μαλλιά της,
κι ήταν πανέτοιμη να προχωρήσει στη νέα της διασκέδαση.
Είχε μεγάλα όνειρα, βλέπεις,
ήξερε ήδη πως όταν μεγαλώσει,
θα παίζει με “άγριο” ρυθμό τις χορδές της κιθάρας της,
εκεί πάνω στη σκηνή, όπου όλοι θα τη χειροκροτούν.
Γι’ αυτό και ένιωθε ήδη έτοιμη
να αντιμετωπίσει κάθε παλμό του ήχου,
ώστε να τον μετατρέψει σε αίσθημα.
Δίπλα της, η Μιμίκα, η φίλη της, η κατσικούλα,
κούναγε το κεφάλι ρυθμικά.
Από μακριά φαινόταν πως της έδινε τον ρυθμό,
μα κανείς δεν ήξερε στ’ αλήθεια
αν το έκανε από ενθουσιασμό
ή αν είχε ήδη πάθει παραλήρημα και απώλεια ακοής.
⁛ Κάθε χαμόγελο είναι επανάσταση με δανεική κιθάρα
Grandma's Guitar
They were already waiting eagerly to hear her that’s what they imagined,
because when little Elisabeth picked up her grandma’s guitar,
the whole barn fell silent for a minute.
It was the first shock the animals had to overcome.
She put on her best clothes, adorned her hair, and was ready to step into her new kind of joy.
She had big dreams, she already knew
that when she grew up,
she’d play the strings of her guitar with a “wild” rhythm, up there on the stage, while everyone would applaud.
That’s why she already felt ready to face every beat of sound
and turn it into pure emotion.
Next to her stood Mimika, her friend, the little goat nodding her head rhythmically. From afar, it looked as if she was keeping the beat,
though no one could tell if it was out of enthusiasm or a clear case of delirium and total hearing loss.
⁛ Every Smile is a Revolution with a Loaned Guitar
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi, All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
At the edge of the forest stood a small cluster of apple trees, in a corner where no one dared to go. Their fruit hung heavy on the branches, but nobody was allowed to pick it anymore, let alone touch the trees.
That is, until one day, a curious little elf, passing by, decided to rest under the shade of one of these forbidden trees.
“Go away,” whispered the tree softly, “they say our fruit is poisoned, and anyone who touches us will fall over.”
The elf grinned, unbothered, and began to sing in a voice so enchanting, it seemed to wrap the entire forest in magic. A light breeze stirred the branches, and a few perfect red apples tumbled to the ground. Eagerly, the elf picked them up and ate them with great satisfaction.
“Delicious! Mmm, so very delicious,” he smacked his lips, savoring the taste. “Who told you that you were poisoned?” he asked.
“Well, everyone who passed by said we were inedible and warned against picking our fruit,” replied the tree.
“Hahaha!” the elf laughed heartily. “Everything you believe will be exactly as you imagine it and what you think will come true.”
Still chuckling, the elf rose, his belly full and his heart light, humming his favorite tune, “The Thousand Winds,” as he merrily continued his journey.
⁛ Belief creates the reality that one wants to see
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
On Borkum, where the wind bends low,
The waves gently embrace the shore below.
The land wrapped in hues so soft and bright,
Embraced by dunes, hiding time from sight.
The sun paints with golden rays,
Lights and shadows dance across the bays.
High above the sea, the seagulls soar,
Their freedom in the wind, pure and raw.
Yet not just silence, but adventure blooms,
On paths that lead to distant rooms,
Through ancient streets, with stories untold,
Where time rolls gently in waves of gold.
Borkum, a piece of heaven here,
A place for heart and soul, for calm and cheer.
A little paradise, that will never forget,
That freedom grows and flourishes in silence, set.
~~~~~~~~~
Auf Borkum, wo der Wind sich neigt
Auf Borkum, wo der Wind sich neigt,
Die Wellen leise an den Strand sich schmiegt.
Das Land, in sanften Farben gehüllt,
Von Dünen umarmt, die Zeit verhüllt.
Die Sonne malt mit goldenen Strahlen,
Lichter und Schatten über den Walen.
Hoch über dem Meer fliegen die Möwen,
Ihre Freiheit im Wind, weit und ungetäuschten.
Doch nicht nur Stille, auch Abenteuer blühen,
Auf Wegen, die in die Ferne führen,
Durch alte Straßen, zu Geschichten aus Gold,
Wo die Zeit in sanften Wellen rollt.
Borkum, ein Stück des Himmels hier,
Ein Ort für Herz und Geist, für Ruh und Zier.
Ein kleines Paradies, das niemals vergisst,
Dass Freiheit in der Stille wächst und blüht.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
**My heart, my words. Please respect them.**
Dear reader,
These words you are reading right now, whether it's a poem, a short story, or a thought is a piece of my soul. I write with passion, each word flowing from my heart, deeply connected to me. My writings are not just words, they are alive, carrying my emotions and essence within them.
If you plan to take them without my permission, know this: you are also taking a piece of my soul. And with every stolen word, I will always be present within the lines you use.
So be mindful… You never know what lies hidden between the lines, for words hold a power that goes far beyond the visible.💫
The seasons flow like life, quietly and relentlessly.
Spring brings awakening, flowers bloom, but we rush by, failing to see the colors.
Summer gives us warmth and light, yet we often feel only the heat of daily life, not the joy of the moment.
Autumn lays golden leaves on the ground, while we're too busy sweeping them away.
Winter covers everything gently in white but we only notice the cold.
And so life passes, in cycles like the seasons, often without realizing that beauty is hidden in every moment.
© 2024 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
**My heart, my words. Please respect them.**
Dear reader,
These words you are reading right now, whether it's a poem, a short story, or a thought is a piece of my soul. I write with passion, each word flowing from my heart, deeply connected to me. My poems are not just words, they are alive, carrying my emotions and essence within them.
If you plan to take them without my permission, know this: you are also taking a piece of my soul. And with every stolen word, I will always be present within the lines you use.
So be mindful… You never know what lies hidden between the lines, for words hold a power that goes far beyond the visible.💫
In goldlit mornings, you turn your patient face,
a beacon yawning toward the widening sky,
your petals spell a chorus of warm grace,
as if the sun remembers how to sigh.
You bow to harvest winds, a tender drum,
and hold the heart of summer in your bloom.
When autumn wears its amber raincoat,
the world softens into a lullaby,
and you remain in color, in love, in flame.
⁛ a slow note of the season
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you:
You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
Along the winding coast, a bicycle named Bristle rolled along like a punctual tourist with a stubborn bell. Bristle wasn’t fancy, it wore a dented frame, a basket full of questionable snacks, and a loyalty to getting there on two wheels no matter what.
The sea sighed in the background, and Bristle’s tires measured the rhythm of the shoreline, sand, pebbles, driftwood, and the occasional sassy crab that dared to admire Bristle’s stubborn spokes.
First, the bicycle met a seagull with a spray of silver on its chest and a love of dramatic poses. “Watch out,” squawked the bird, “for I am the critic of shoreline fashion.” Bristle tilted its handlebars as if bowing to a feathered fashionista, and the gull swooped away in a gust that smelled faintly of sardines and triumph.
Next came a fisherman who swore his nets were plotting a mutiny. He tugged Bristle toward the pier, promising a snack if Bristle would merely test the net tension. Bristle obliged, wheel spinning like a conscientious metronome, and discovered not a fish but a perfectly round seaweed burger. It folded it reverently into the basket as if presenting a tiny green trophy.
When the sun dipped, Bristle parked by a dune, its reflection winking back from the wet sand. It sighed, content, another day of coastal mischief filed neatly under “to be rolled again tomorrow.”
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
A swan family glides proudly across the water.
One single chick does not make them less complete.
Love does not measure by appearances
it protects, strengthens, and nurtures,
no matter how the feathers shine, or don’t.
In their togetherness, each one is cherished,
for warmth and unity run deeper
than what the eye can see.
⁛ Held together by what truly matters
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
As the last goose flapped its wings, racing towards the distant flock, it seemed almost symbolic, a reminder that sometimes, life is about catching up, not with others, but with ourselves.
The flock ahead soared in perfect harmony, but this one, lagging behind, carried the spirit of resilience.
No matter how far ahead the others were, it never gave up. Sometimes, the journey isn’t about speed, but about determination and courage. In the end, it’s not about when you arrive, but that you keep flying.
© 2024 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
Μια σφυρίχτρα σκίζει τη σιωπή των βουνών,
και το τρένο κυλά στις ράγες σαν όνειρο.
Και εμείς, μικροί ταξιδιώτες στην άκρη του δρόμου,
στεκόμαστε να δούμε τη στιγμή
τη στιγμή που περνάει και μένει για λίγο
και μετά χάνεται μέσα στο σύννεφο.
Κι όταν φτάνει στην κορυφή του βουνού,
νιώθεις πως έχεις πλησιάσει το άπειρο.
⁛ Ακτίνα φωτός στις ράγες των ονείρων
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
No words were spoken, none were needed. In the soft, delicate brush of their fingers,
everything their hearts yearned to express was already understood.
"You gete me," her thoughts whispered in the silence.
His touch, steady and warm, was a quiet promise, not of elaborate explanations,
but of a bond so deep that words would only diminish it.
There was no need for grand declarations or confessions of love.
Their souls had already found each other, entwined like the threads of a timeless tapestry.
Together, they had reached the end of the rainbow, a place unseen by others,
where the world faded away, leaving only the truth of what they shared something only they could truly understand.
© 2024 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
On a sea of mist, beneath darkened skies,
Hades waits with shadowed eyes.
A grieving woman, heart in despair,
Pleads for passage, trembling there.
Her tears fall soft, like the ocean’s tide,
As she searches for the love denied.
"My love is beyond, on the other side,
Please, take me where my heart resides."
But Hades speaks with a voice so cold,
"The cost is silver, not love, nor gold."
"I have no coin," she softly cried,
"Only love, the one thing I cannot hide."
He reached his hand, as dark as night,
Demanding toll for the fated flight.
"Without the silver, you cannot go,
You’ll stay here lost, in endless woe."
Her cries echoed in the endless mist,
Her love’s last touch a memory kissed.
The boat stood still, the fog rolled deep,
As hope dissolved in shadows' keep.
She wept for love that she could not save,
Now bound forever to the darkened wave.
© 2024 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
But hold on... a pint sized bandit with fur, none other than a cheeky little squirrel, had tiptoed onto the scene!
It clung to a chestnut as if it were a rare treasure, nibbling away with the enthusiasm of a gourmet critic discovering a five-star meal. Its fluffy tail twitched dramatically, and with the sly look of a veteran burglar, it scanned the surroundings, just to be sure no one was onto its heist.
Then, as if caught up in a feverish frenzy, the squirrel snatched another chestnut, shoving it into its already bulging cheeks.
For a brief, hilarious moment, it froze, wide eyed, making intense eye contact with the old house as if expecting someone to burst out, "Hey! Get your paws off my chestnuts!" But of course, the silence remained.
Victorious, the squirrel resumed its feast, looking like the smug little kingpin of woodland crime!
© 2024 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
He always felt a little different.
He believed his sensitivity made him almost invisible, even though he was, well... an elephant. He liked to think he had the soul of a butterfly and the breath of a snail.
One day, with all his grace, he opened
a small china shop, sure it was exactly his thing. With careful steps and velvety smooth movements, he dusted teapots, sorted cups, and offered jam with a smile.
People came not just for the porcelain,
but to experience the magic of a creature
that somehow belonged
in a world where he absolutely did not belong.
All was going well...
until the raspberry rolled off the counter.
And of course, he followed it.
Let's just say it was a very loud end
to a very gentle dream. And yet no one ever forgot the elephant who thought he was light enough to dance with porcelain.
Dare to dream, and live your dream.
⁛ Written with a suitcase full of dreams
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
A cheerful, good humored farmer’s wife clips her hat brim against a mountain breeze, whistle ready and grin wide, as she drums a rhythm on her apron pocket. The cows amble up through the pine scented switchbacks, their bells jangling like a playful chorus.
She chucks a wink at a curious marmot, tips her boots in the loosest soil, and sets off with a jaunty stride that says, we’ve got miles of meadow to patrol and jokes to tell along the way.
“Move, my fluffy financiers,” she jokes, lifting a finger in mock seriousness. The calves bleat in chorus, the stream giggles over rocks, and the valley answers with a sunsplashed chorus of green. In this mountain drive, she blends rhythm, rhythm, and laughter into a harvest parade.
⁛ A true story, whispered to me by the wind.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
There are stories, after all, of a figure rarely seen and never understood. Those who have crossed their path speak of a presence shrouded in darkness that blends so seamlessly with the night that it feels more like a memory than anything real.
A gentle rustle or the fleeting glimpse of a figure gliding between the trees is all they can remember, save for one haunting detail
The figure cradles a small child in its arms, snuggled close and peacefully, as if surrounded by warmth and safety.
Now and then a faint glimmer appears beneath the figure's cloak, a shimmer like scales or the faint glint of something unknown, casting a gleam that fades too quickly to be sure of what was seen.
This being, they begin to understand, is more than a mystery, it is a memory. A reminder that not everything unknown or strange is to be feared or rejected, that love comes in every form, even those we don't yet recognize.
Perhaps, the forest suggests, true wisdom lies in our willingness to look beyond the familiar, to embrace a beauty that doesn't match our expectations but opens our hearts in ways we never expected.
© 2024 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
The strength of my soul rests within you,
when the light reflects in the wind of our dreams.
What we longed to say was never spoken
we left it to the wind of dreams,
and gave it wings.
⁛ written with love, not with ink
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
A Journey into the Green with My Beloved
We wandered through fields of living green,
where emerald shadows lay,
where leaves danced into the air
and my heart began to smile.
A gentle breeze stroked the branches,
tender yet sharp,
making the green shimmer,
making it sway,
making it visible as if for the first time.
Your hand in mine grew warmer,
steadier, closer
and the thoughts grew lighter,
every doubt quietly dissolving.
Together we gazed at the endless sea,
dreaming of one day traveling there as one.
Bathed in sunlit grasses,
we spoke in rhymes too fragile for the world to echo,
and each word found its meaning.
We lingered where the blades of grass conspired
to crown our day with a quiet, green-lit fire.
And in that simple, breath-warm, sun-kissed arc,
I kept your smile, our secrets,
and the depth that bound us.
⁛ The silence that blooms between heartbeats
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
In tall grass, the path a stream, the hiker’s boots clink softly to the world’s beat. A green gorge, a distant Black of steel, two train cuts through the twilight, a line of possibility.
She pauses, lets her thoughts drift gently, lets the thoughts drift gently, What if I leapt there, flew into the unknown? Where would I fall, where would I finally land?Would it be salvation or a loss of the walk that made me?
The wind returns questions like birds in a circle, the train glides by, a bright breath of iron. Should I carry on as I always have, or dare what the quiet courage asks in me?
She steps forward, then another, the rhythm of walking remains her compass. Perhaps meaning isn’t in crossing over, maybe in mindful continuation, here, today, step by step, to arrive where your heart leads you.
⁛ a breath from the soul
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
Some words are not meant to be understood.
They are like lanterns that burn only for one person, never for the masses.
They live silently within us, and this silence is their greatest strength. If they reach another soul, it is only because they are recognized.
⁛ The truth of words is not lost, even if their forms fade.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
In the gentle embrace of dawn, where shadows linger and dissolve, rests a spirit, fragile and free, held within the first, softest light of day. One does not need to know all or see all, for in the tenderness of morning, a quiet harmony sighs its secrets into the air. Here rests a soul, untouched by need, content in its stillness, a grace flowing from within, as if every heartbeat danced to the silent music of life itself.
Close your eyes and listen. Softly stirs a song, the song of presence, pure and boundless. It tells you that within the smallest moment, the lightest breath, lies the elegance of a thousand lives. In this silence there is no hurry, only the gentle certainty of a soul, one with the world, rooted and free, ready to soar.
There is a beauty that words cannot hold, a quiet rhythm that embraces us all, waiting to be paused for, felt, and breathed into light.
⁛ where silence becomes a song
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
Everything you see around you
reflects what you feel inside.
Your paradise or your hell
are not places they are choices.
⁛ Climate shifts first in the heart.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
A black silhouette in the light. A touch of ash, a stinging kiss, the dance of day and deep night.
A muted, sharp, and true chorus. Where every wrinkle and scar skewers a story of an overdue future.
The actors wear a pale dawn, their lines etched into the colorless air. The momentum falters, then suddenly breaks, shattering, warm and rare.
In this lack of hue, dark, light, and bold, the truth remains, That life shines through in black and white, in every loss, and in every gain.
⁛ the echo that never found its voice
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
The Heron’s Quiet Lesson in Moving Toward Stillness
A witty yet thought-provoking tale unfolds under a silver moon, where a heron tall, patient, and wry strolls along the lake's glassy edge as if the night itself were a stage for his poised humor.
He eyes the water with a scholar’s curiosity, every calculated step a pun on existence, a cautious wobble here, a poised plunge there, almost ceremonial, progression.
The lagoon fogs the reflection into an improvised haiku, and the heron, unfazed, invites you to join the quiet arithmetic of motion, one precise step, then another, until the mind loosens its knots and finds a rippling stillness.
By moonlight, the bird teaches, meditation is not escape but attentive, elegant stepping toward what remains when the unrest fades.
⁛ a whisper heard only in the moonlight
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
In the soft glow of twilight, I sit by the window, heart quietly counting the moments until your return.
Each day feels like a chapter waiting to be written, the pages empty without you. The wind carries whispers of your journey, but I long for the sound of your footsteps once more.
© 2024 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
In the silence of the peaks, a hearth still glows, for the light lingers, even at the edge of time.
⁛ the mirror that only reflects tomorrow
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
A gaze that wanders through the morning light,
a heart that reaches dreams in flight.
And love is and remains
the most precious of all feelings
embracing all who searched for love
and found it within themselves.
⁛ Written where hearts speak in silence.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
Absence wears a gentle disguise,
a soft rain upon silent tears,
and in the lingering of farewell,
the unanswered prayer finds no place to rest.
⁛ Penned where endings echo softly ❤️
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
Δεν χρειάζονται λόγια,
καρδιά χωρίς περιορισμούς, γεμάτη με νότες παλμικές.🎼
⁛ Απαλά, το μελάνι γίνεται μελωδία, και η μελωδία γίνεται φως.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi. All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Everything I share here comes from my own soul and my own journey.
Please don’t copy or rewrite my texts as your own.
Your own voice deserves its own space.
Here, where the shadows of the soul meet the surface of the lake, the darkness whispers its stories. Sometimes, our inner demons are as quiet as the water, yet always present.
A place where silence speaks louder than words. We all carry our demons, hidden behind the facade.
In the mist, the boundaries between inside and outside blur.
A mirror reflecting our inner struggles. Life is often like this image, sometimes chaotic, sometimes still, always full of contrasts.
We all carry our demons, but they make us unique.
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
**My heart, my words. Please respect them.**
Dear reader,
These words you are reading right now, whether it's a poem, a short story, or a thought is a piece of my soul. I write with passion, each word flowing from my heart, deeply connected to me. My writings are not just words, they are alive, carrying my emotions and essence within them.
If you plan to take them without my permission, know this: you are also taking a piece of my soul. And with every stolen word, I will always be present within the lines you use.
So be mindful… You never know what lies hidden between the lines, for words hold a power that goes far beyond the visible.💫
What makes your time on earth more beautiful
is what you think and what you feel.
Live the beauty of your soul
and listen to the rhythm of your heart.
⁛ written with words that carried breath
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.
I belong to the gentle silence,
where shadows dream and light recedes.
Their glow embraces time.
In your distance, I am near
a breath of light and dreams.
⁛ words that travelled without a map
© 2025 Lorrie Agapi – All rights reserved.
My heart, my words. Please respect them.
Every poem, every story, and every thought I share is a part of my soul. To take them without permission is to take a piece of me
a piece that will always remind you these words are mine and can never be yours.
Even if you alter them, it is still my soul that lingers, whispering to you: You are incapable of creating your own, and that is why you copy what belongs to others.