Posted in Poems


I walked alone

down the winding

of the xyst,

where youthful flowers

bloomed all around me

and vines tangled overhead.

I sat on a stone bench

in the centre of a secret-filled garden

and I wept for all of my mistakes,

all of the things I knew I did wrong.

Where was the healing in it all?

This world still left with gashes,

wounds that I don’t know how to heal.


I still see them all dying

in front of my eyes

and I never did a thing to help.


I suppose it will heal over in time.

Something will grow out of this,

I mused,

walking back up the winding xyst.

The smell of lilacs from a nearby bush overwhelming

I knew then that

from the ashes

will rises fragrant petals of promise

for a future of love and renewal.


-Eva M.M.

Because it is a peculiar word:  * Xyst- a garden walk planted with trees

I clearly took a little bit of liberty in making it sound more like a magical, enchanted, secret garden, hen just a path planted with trees.

Thank you as always for reading and sharing your thoughts with me below.

” Me and the pen, we are one. If its ink would cease to flow, my ink would cease to flow.”




I am a young and enthusiastic writer, fresh out of highschool and into college at IUSB. I babysit and work and live life to it's fullest. I write. I read. I do yoga. And plan to become. Yoga intructers as well. I grew up on a farm and can't,t wait to move back to the country in my tiny house I have already planned out. Sometimes I'm a little melodramatic but rarely. I'm a spiritual healer, a hopeless romantic, a book worm, and very nostalgic. Thanks for stopping by.

2 thoughts on “Xyst

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