Poetry

Soothing rains can only fill as deep as the shovel digs. Paradise is an island of beauty with winds of sorrow and bliss. Even quilts weaved from spiders and rainbows will rot when covering mold. But mold unmasked is sorrow felt deeply, waking the heart of the soul.   From and for God Order your…
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True conversionis not the swapping of words,the trading of dogmaor the switching of casingsthat harden the heart. It is when the shells shatterfrom a swelled heart blossomingthat we are truly born again.   From and for God Order your copy today

I have become a caricature of myself. I splash paint at the mirror before me, trying to match its beauty. I am a dove gathering fallen feathers on the moss, trying to fashion wings. I am a fish wearing swim trunks.

Sometimes at night, or in the early morning when dim-orange streetlamps reflect off wet pavement, and silent breeze becomes truly silent, I finally see a tree as a tree, and my footsteps sound real.