My heart is but a fishing bobber:Pallid and crimson, split in color.When casted from pole, to sea, or lakeor pond, perhaps. Floating uneasy atop the drift, To billow in ripple; bobbing over forgotten wakes. To reel it in would be a lost causeBecause one would save a thing if it were drowningBut for what? For what?To saveContinue reading “My Heart”
April 3, 2009North Carolina, six more hours to go Death is inevitable. I repeat this in my head whenever I’m travelling. My weight is being moved at seventy a mile. I’m not home; I’m not on my land. Yet, what is staying on my land uncomfortable comfort zone compared to the pride of experience and theContinue reading “I can pinpoint the date I lost my Christian faith”
I discovered the secret of how to make my colors realistic on accident-I’m making the choice not to explore it- I feel like I … I’m not ready yet.