Margaret Sok

I fear writing is all that can cure the emptiness of my heart

719

Writings

153

Followers

Following

Margaret Sok

I fear writing is all that can cure the emptiness of my heart

719

Writings

153

Followers

Following

Lullabies

Margaret Sok

1 min read

Eliana walks outside, the storm beginning to brew. Breezes turn to strong winds, fluttering her brown curls. The sky darkens and birds fly to take shelter, yet Eliana continues to walk to a bench near the lake.

Waves whoosh and crash against the soft sand.

Eliana plays her music, soft lullabies and tones. The music is but a background to the rain that begins to drop from the sky. Thunder rolls w...

Friday Night

Margaret Sok

1 min read

Zane and I study endlessly in the quiet library. The only sounds are flipping pages, small whispers, and clicking pens.

“This is stupid, why are we studying on a Friday night?” Zane complains, his hand in his hair, anxiously studying.

“Because we have an exam on Monday that’s worth half our grade,” I respond, trying to focus on the material.

Zane sighs, plastering a grim look on his face.

I ro...

To Have A Heart

Margaret Sok

1 min read

“To have a heart,”

They say,

“is to love every circumstance

despite the knives of pain that stab.”

But wouldn’t my heart,

Which beats and pumps for my life,

Grow tired and weary

Of always fighting pain?

“Pain is inevitable,”

They respond.

“But it’s also not eternal.

You won’t always have to fight

To keep your heart pumping.”

And I think they’re right—

The moment I find my peace,

My heart...

Poetry

Something Isn’t Right

Margaret Sok

1 min read

Something isn’t right.

My caramel cappuccino lacks the sweetness it usually has; it’s bitter and dull. I frown with disappointment, but take another sip despite it. I need the caffeine to get through today, considering I have a project to complete tonight.

Something isn’t right.

I enter the library and not a soul is in here. I scan the front desk for any signs of a worker, and find none. Unsur...

The Key Bearer

Margaret Sok

3 min read

The cold dungeon brought shivers to my wet skin. My sopping wet hair was like a wet towel, wrapped around my shoulders. There were no windows to display light, or even the sea. I was left in complete darkness, alone with my thoughts and inquiries.

Why did the pirate, who went by the name Steel, capture me from my homeland’s beach?

I hear groaning wood as one of Steel’s men walk down holding a t...

A Ghostly Encounter

Margaret Sok

1 min read

I’ve been told his heart is made of stone, all feelings are void to him except rage and infliction of pain. Marcel won’t get away this time.

Thankful for my invisibility, I stalk Marcel, watching how he walks with arrogance and a bloodthirsty smile.

Hastily, he enters his home and immediately grabs a bottle of beer, bringing it to his lips and drinking it heavily.

“Marcel…” a small child whisp...

Not Loved.

Margaret Sok

1 min read

You said to trust you,

And I followed through and through

With blind trust and love.

I found beauty in

The fact that I was something

To you and your love.

What a fool I was

To put my undoubtly trust

In your cold, sharp heart.

It seems my blind trust

Lead me to the belief you

Loved, but it was lust....

Poetry

A Revenge

Margaret Sok

1 min read

Wandering in the gloomy cemetery, I read the inscribed last words of the dead. Grief is stricken in this small land of stone.

Last words inscribed on stone read:

_I love you. _

_Farewell. _

_Time pasted too fast. _

The inscriptions bring me heaviness, settling sadness upon my bones. But my eyes stop on one inscription that brings terror and paleness to my face.

_I will find the o...

I’m Forgotten

Margaret Sok

1 min read

I’m forgotten in class

By my teachers and peers.

Invisible I am;

My face drowned in tears.

I’m forgotten at university

While my parents are at home.

They seem to live fine without me;

I’m utterly alone.

I’m forgotten it seems.

Invisibility cloaks my face,

Yet my feelings still rage,

leaving sadness my only trace....

Poetry

The Forest Folk

Margaret Sok

1 min read

It was morning…barely. The sun was just rimming the horizon, the sky still darkened. Elena strided out in her white dress, barefoot as always, swinging her arms as she threw dried flowers in the air. She sang a common folk song as she twirled in the golden rising sun. Elena did this ritual everyday to gain favor from the forest folk, whom she believed were real.

From time to time, she would talk ...