In the delicate embrace of decay, where beauty and sorrow intertwine, Dark Grace: The Art of Sorrowunveils the haunting elegance found in the eerie, the tragic, and the forgotten. Through verses steeped in melancholy and allure, INKELLE explores the fragile splendor of ruin—the silent waltz of ghosts, the poetry of fractured things, and the romance of shadows that refuse to fade.

This collection is an ode to the macabre’s quiet grace, where love lingers past the grave, memories whisper through the cracks of time, and even sorrow holds a kind of radiance. Each poem is a brushstroke on a canvas of twilight, painting a world where darkness is not feared but revered.

Step into the realm where tragedy and beauty are one.

Dark Grace: The Art of Sorrow© 2025 by INKELLE. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations used in reviews and critiques.

This is a work of original poetry. Any resemblance to real events, persons (living or deceased), or historical occurrences is purely coincidental or used in a symbolic and artistic manner. This collection is intended for artistic and literary appreciation and is not meant to promote or glorify themes of death, grief, or despair, but rather to explore their poetic and aesthetic depth.

I was no king, but to call me 𝗠𝗶𝗱𝗮𝘀 was no mistake. Still, I fancied myself an artist, a creator, bending the truth to be called 𝗣𝗶𝗰𝗮𝘀𝘀𝗼.

But all I really am is nothing more than a coward. I am neither a king nor an artist. So I shall run. Run from the truth, run from My Rose, and myself.

Because I 𝗗𝗶𝗱 𝗧𝗵𝗶𝘀 to myself!!!

To them...

Light, darkness, snow and summer, fog stretched our gaze to our fruit, we picked it in a sick corner, we began to observe it carefully, it grew under our wings, innocence calmed our pain, and kept us awake against any evildoer, but supplying needs or wants, I didn't have that freedom, dry throats together with empty stomachs made them more whiny.

-Louf

A little poem I wrote that I quite enjoy!

Rule Number One of singing the blues...

You must hurt in a soulful way. The way that binds you to another. I was into the blues far before I knew what it meant. Far before you taught me how to listen.

Your blues turned into my own. I did all I could to control it, to tame the way in which your dusk colored eyes peered into mine....

But you were persistent, and all I had so, I made the most out of it. For you. For me. For us..

This is a story I wrote of a whim when an acquintance asked me to write a flash story out of the blue.

A young father holds his baby, and hopes.

———

This work is in the public domain and anyone can do whatever they want with it.

Solaria was beautiful. Shining. Bountiful. It was a land of prosperity and luxury.

For those who were citizens.

Reymi unfortunately was not a citizen.

He was a child slave caught up in the middle of the summer solstice celebration.

This is a story about Artemis Leon, a simple girl with a broken heart in the past. As years have gone by, she met Joville Clark and became very close friends. As her past lover makes amends, a confused Artemis is drawn by her fear and demons.  Who will make their way to her heart? Her past who's full of promises, or her future who's full of unknown?

This is a short story I wrote for a school writing contest that I started in the past. It won thorough vote and a point system but because I was the one that started the writing contest it was disregarded. Tell me if this was story was any good in the first place.

The story is about what happens to a kingdom and their kings when a mysterious crown was gifted to them.

A Spectre is a ghost. Something which shouldn't exist and one day will vanish. But when a kid starts to learn about himself doing things which he never did, he questions himself - 'Who is the spectre here?'

Following the death of his father, the 2nd prince of Trindra Empire vanishes. 10 years later a young lad enters the Academy City of Trindra without any memories. As the lad tries to mingle with other fellow students, the tragedy of 10 years starts to unfold.

He is an old man with a trouble past. There are things that he can't just let go of. Even in his old age he wants what he could never have.

(Story Cover found at: http://radiocluj.ro/2015/02/05/ce-facem-cand-ne-simtim-singuri/)