The Deacon
When his name was announced What the silence pronounced Was the soul of the Sabbath Day crowd They had come here to see The…
Read MoreProse & Poetry
Solitude
The scent of history clung to the air. A fragrance of musty pages, oiled mahogany, and weathered stone. Murals adorned ceilings high above the…
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Penitence
Oil lamps burned throughout the room, contributing as much haze from their smoke as they did light from their wicks. Ventilation wasn’t even a…
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Precipice
Isaac always knew his own mortality could be the cost of reaching the goals he had for his nation, but he wasn’t prepared to…
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Being A Writer : Atmospheric Pressure
Tonight I write the saddest lines. Wait. That’s been said. And, my, Pablo Neruda could say it, couldn’t he? (Shew!) … but there is…
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Resurrected
The salty taste of blood coated his mouth. He was certain he had opened his eyes, but the inky blackness of wherever he was…
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Canyon
Drab grey cement, covered in graffiti, amplified the staccato of her heels to Tommy Gun decibels. Echoes of each report rolled through the urban…
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Journey
Anna looked behind her in the rearview mirror, but they had already vanished into the house. She could recall all of her previous leavings…
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Ascent
Maples and pines veiled the mountain. Reds, yellows, and oranges delineated the transition of creation. A vibrant tribute to summer’s acquiescence. The crisp air…
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Depth On The Bench
By the dawn’s early light Came the end of the night Where his demons had ransacked his soul He had slept between screams He’d…
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