The painter is like a mouse in a maze.
The painter stares dauntlessly at the blank canvas
just as the mouse gazes intently into the entrance of the maze,
both sensing the succulent reward at journey’s end. [Read More…]
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Not so long ago, she was the walking dead, who barely existed day to day, and whose stony heart was full of whoas and dread.
Somehow, someway her bright angel tapped her on the left shoulder in a teasing gentle way, as he did so many times before in spirit, like a tweak on the nose when she got lost in her intense and solemn moods. But somehow, one day, when her angel comforted her in spirit it no longer seemed like some dream or game. [Read More…]
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I’m not who I was.
I don’t know who I am.
Part of me I lost.
The other part doesn’t give a damn. [Read More…]
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I sit alone and think about life.
All my wrongs, and all my rights.
Wondering how love could be so blind,
One step forward and I left it behind. [Read More…]
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