Here is a space Tucked in the trees Where water flows freely and pure Children dance to the sounds of the wind Truth follows us The teachings of those who came before Are passed down Over and over Colours change as years pass Love flourishes and thrives Sunlight dances on the water Twisting and twirling
everyone you meet is a reflection of you. and just like everyone, you are deserving of extraordinary love. you are light, sunshine in your veins.you are a child of the universe. you are allowed to take up space. after all, you are stardust.you exist, and that is enough. you are worthy, an exceptional creature. like a magnolia tree, you too shall
As I sit on my chair at the desk near the doorThe curtains drawn completelyI hear a voice below the nightIt’s speaking to me. Nature’s greatest song is crickets’Haunting, taunting cryThe bass of a neon highwayA songbird in the sky. Coyotes or frat boys howl at the moonIncredibly out of tuneBeethoven’s Symphony No. 7Plays in
In the forest a bird rises from anold and lengthy tree.As it beats its feathers it looksout from there to see The mountainside, so wild and greenthe bird begins to sound.Its voice is a crescendoThat is heard from all around. From its perch the bird can see aLabyrinth, frigid dark.This frosted crypt with cobalt veinsLeft
After hurling her phone at the wall, Miranda left her apartment to knock on her neighbours’ door across the hall. Miranda was four years into motherhood. Four unyielding years that created a near permanent look of despair on her face, along with an atmosphere of bewilderment emanating from her pores—or her soul—she wasn’t sure which.
We are at my grandma and grandpa’s property at Chain Lake near Princeton. They bought it so the whole family can come here on weekends to camp with them. I’m wearing my flowered flannel pjs and I have my Holly Hobby sleeping bag pulled up right up to my chin. My dad likes to turn
The bouncer looked over May’s blonde head as she made her way inside the lineless bar, as she did every Sunday evening. The other patrons looked to her, then away, for they all thought it best to acknowledge her as little as possible—especially the bouncer. May had not yet reached twenty-one years, but
in the wake of your leaving the sun continues to riseplayfully peering out between peakspromising the return of soft spring wind.it warms my bonesbathes my skin in sticky sweet goldchases away the winter shadowsthe chill you left behind. in the wake of your leavingmy heart beats againunfrozen after monthsof tumultuous snow.it nourishes my rootsbrings colour
motherpleasei have prayed and prayed and prayedfor solace of the softest kind.of honey-sweet retribution.i ampressed,palms downto blue-cold tile.a statuesque relicof pity-poor faith.the stars have no answers.unwavering,blinking down with soft set eyes.there is no salvation herefor sin wrought skin.when god does not answerthe devil finds me in the depths of the nightlays my head in his
Vanity is veal to voracity,Valiance invites violence. Vehement cheers for victors of war,Visualized as virtuous models.Very little did virtuosos voice forVilified foreign men, trapped in a bottle. Vast disfiguring of varied peoples,Valued only for velvet and land.Values of theirs “vile” and illegal,Vassals for veterans and viscounts they must stand. Veni, vidi, vici a man once
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