She is a solid granite block
carved from mountain quarries
A full-sized mirror
revealing both beauty and blemish
She is the bright northern light
navigating our journey the the darkest of nights
A photograph
unfiltered and raw
She is truth
She is a solid granite block
carved from mountain quarries
A full-sized mirror
revealing both beauty and blemish
She is the bright northern light
navigating our journey the the darkest of nights
A photograph
unfiltered and raw
She is truth
And the dim gleam grows
If we simply trust
The shimmer over the shadows
Mourn with those who mourn; this modern call commands.Listen long, hold hands, hearts open, eyes expectant.Answers absent, pride put aside,Waiting, witnessing silent cries. Mothers model; they move and meetSorrow’s shadow with tears that greet,Hug, hold, heal—helping handsBinding the broken, where understanding stands. Wisdom whispers with patient pause,Support, solace, shared without applause.Unseen, unspoken strength in staying…
Stoking outragescorched by fire and brimstonethe preacher enflamesthe raging congregationfists raisedhearts closed A Gospel of Peace When I think about the teachings of Jesus, I am reminded of the phrase, “By their fruits you shall know them.” Messages rooted in love tend to produce empathy, humility, and open hearts. Messages rooted in fear and anger…
Tapping, clicking posting through veils of anonymity,casting shadows where the least of these silently reside,Scrolling and trolling, amplifying muted cries,trolling engagement through a desolate, barren land.Who are the least of these, the marginalized? The tortured souls, victims of casual cruelty. Why do they hunger? Why do they thirst? It doesn’t matter as long as we’re…
The water’ssurface stagnates,still,as long as I clutchtightthe cold,heavy stone.No ripplesreflect daylightuntilI decideto let go.
The meek move,stepping soft,but sure,betweenmothers’ sighsand silent prayers. In hospital rooms,nurses abide—holding anxious handspulsing with pain. Behind shelter doors,some stir broth—thick with potatoes,peas, pork.Serving warm hopeto a cold worldone bowlat a time. In timeworn classrooms,they blinkat pages words tangledlike cables.Teachers kneel beside them.“Try again,” they whisper.Serving smallwords of service. The meek move—unseen by eyesthat seek the…