Torches cutting trails in the nigh… lighting up the darkness in a love… of beauty flaunted and beauty impa… passion released and taken to the… cracking through the perforated cl…
Prelude to a poem, rhyming rivers… around the bends in an effervescen… and in silken chutes from heaven’s… sliding upward and down to earthen… into auditory caves from melodic s…
We are writers writing from our liberated hearts. We speak out against slavery but willing to submit ourselves to the power within that exalts us and commends us for our work well done...
Music and gypsies are alike in nature. Both have roving spirits; restless in their permanence and seeking a way out of it. In music, it looks to create a new environment, and in human...
What was supposed to be a day of great joy for David, turned out to be a day of suffering. The people at his book signing were buying his books at an alarming rate, but still he was sad...
He was a young handsome man of twenty one years, penniless, but with high aspirations. His poverty didn’t seem to affect his character, because he still held his head high as if he own...
The Warning Take heed, ye fearless men of the… Turn your heads and hear my plea A storm is brewing, so stay home a… The fish’ll still be there, you he…
Wearing green, their true colors, With numbers sewn on their backs, From tens and thousands to the mil… From the lowest to the highest ran… From the private up to the general…
Big hands are pulling me out of a… I’m scared and start to cry, Then look around. There is a big happy lady With tears in her eyes.
In the Dark The Specter of Death Awaits my final breath Wings with wicked pinions Like serpents shooting venoms
Primal fires from secret places ignited from the souls from unholy… passion from the wild out into the… unleashed from the dark by the dem… fires stained with blood and yello…
Thank God for the conscience within us; his innate moral law that’s branded into our being at birth. Its presence is always there, but sometimes its influence is not. We can feel it whe...
The Voice of nature is part of me, but yet, far away. It answers what ten thousand books strive to say, but oblivious to what is written on the pages. The birds measure the intervals ...
Money, jets, speedsters, race cars… Fingers blazing, riffs, guitars, Tornados, hurricanes, angry storms… With piccolos screeching and waili… Restless clouds, racing ‘cross the…
Opening bell in morning skies, Silent colors coming into view, Pastels blazing behind the dark, Midnight grasping at the last stra… Darkness melting upon the burning…
