We've always been taught about all the wonders of the world, their beginning and their end. I've always been fascinated by them, imagining myself travelling around the world to see them, photograph them to never forget them when the illness takes over. I saw all of them, except one, because she was destroyed a longtime before our era : the Lighthouse of Alexandria. I've always wondered about all the secrets that were destroyed, the lives it saw and what we will never know about it. I've always loved secrets, I was the best at keeping them. But my favourite one is the one with the stars I've watched for years in my teenage years. The one that were in his eyes. Dark blue eyes with white dots all over them. It looked, well I assume it still looks like that, like the sky on a summer night far from the city lights. His eyes saw me how I've never seen myself. All the secrets I told him, his eyes always remembered. I can remember the sadness that darkened his blue and made his eyes black and white like the galaxy. Oh! All the pictures I have of those eyes. I loved those eyes, still do, but haven't seen them for decades looking at me. When people ask me whose eyes are those, I often don't remember, but in those rare lucid moments I always answer : "Those eyes were my favourites things in the world, they should have been in museums, should have been seen by every persoon on this planet. They are my favourite wonder of the world."

Wonder Bread Soft and sweet Another thread Would be a better treat

. The Holy Scriptures sat jeweled and metal on the marble pedestal, centered on display and encased in the grand Dublin library. The page had been turned to an illuminated Chi and Rho; Greek for Khristus Christ, so ornate it was unrecognizable. But all the lovelier, it was; the script with sallow paint of Chi and Rho. Inside and outside of the letters, flowers of jade and mauve circled; so symmetrically, and intricate; the flowers and circles themselves were made even of smaller colors and shapes. Weaving in, out, and around of Chi were golden, Infanitum knots stretching through to Rho and the ginger man with the coiling neck; embracing a scarlet cross. At the bottom right of the page, three Claddaghs upheld the script; three golden hearts, and eyes within. And I saw this and thought, this truly is a masterpiece, of geometry and color; and one achieved with such little means and time. A few monks, thousands of years back, handpainted that manuscript with berries, limited parchment, and hare bristles; The faith and dedication those monks must’ve had— and the artistry! The glory of God shone through the Book of Kells like a torch. Still it does ! Truly, it is the work of angels !

(And that is only one page ! )

The 8th Wonder of the World isn’t a place. It’s not something you can visit and take a picture of. Though, there is still an essence of tourism. And it’s fleeting. It’s in the feeling of when a child suddenly realizes they’ve grown tall enough to put the star on top of the Christmas tree. It’s in the feeling of when someone quietly smiles to themselves as they leave the cinema after watching an awe-inspiring movie. It’s in the feeling of the end of a hangout when a person involuntarily glances back fondly to their friend as they’re walking away. The final wonder of the world is the wonder of life itself.

For me it’s always caught my eye A wonderous mountain cutting into the sky Nirvana on earth. Mount Kailash Never been climbed. But it’s on my bucket list

The 8th wonder of the world, located in Mexico, is known as Fingerprint. At first glance it looks like a massive crater. But scientists have discovered that in the crater are large grooves that swirl around eachother, like a fingerprint. Fingerprint is over 300 kilometers wide and over 400 kilometers deep. It quite literally looks like someone dug they’re finger into some dirt.

Fingerprints discovery has lead to a lot of questions. Mainly what else is out there? And was it really a meteorite that killed out the dinosaurs…?

How something, someone perhaps, crafted this, we have no idea. We look forward at the figure, and see ourselves there, too. That’s what all good art is made of: reflection. We see the skin, the limbs, the eyes, the organs. As we look, we touch our arms, our legs, thinking that if this piece of art can have such beauty, we can too. Something seemingly so simple yet infinitely complex stands before us. Responsible for all life, all wars, all love, all emotion: the human body stands as the eighth wonder of the world.

Yet after we leave the exhibit, we forget how special it is again, and we begin to stop taking care of ourselves as if we can all be given another life or two, knowing this body is our only one.

The eight wonder of the world should be costco, specifically the one in Mooresville, NC. Thank you.

I am not well traveled, I haven’t seen most of my state, let alone the world. I couldn’t even rattle off all of the World Wonders. Hanging Gardens? Maybe is one of them. Taj Mahal? I am a little less certain. From my experiences, I don’t have any concept of what a world wonder really is. A wonder of human architecture? Or is it just something that is beautiful and awe-inspiring? These places marked as wonders I’m sure are beautiful and awe-inspiring, but they are such that to the world, not to me. These places and structures lack personal significance, a wonder to all, not a wonder to me. My proposal for an 8th wonder of the world is a bit abstract. It should be something that is personable to everyone. How is that possible? Well, it really isn’t not if the 8th wonder is the same for everyone. The 8th wonder is the thing you hold most dear, be that a possession, a family member, a pet, or even yourself. My 8th wonder is not myself, it is someone though. It is someone who listens and engages in my rants. It is someone who I trust with the secrets I tell no one. It is someone who validates and encourages. Through the harsh storm of life, they shine through that gloom. I don’t know how they survive, but they always do. My 8th wonder is you.

The darkest depths scarely known woven mystery a whole wrold of its own.

Life strange and savage, beautiful and bizzarre thriving within pressurized conditions.

Devoid of natural light bioluminescence blooms ailen alterations a surrealism of dreams and nightmares.

Scareley reachable but yearning, yawning, waiting, wanting, offering answeres to questions yet asked.

Beyond human perception holding secrets close ever present like a pulse.