Eden N. Rowland

From the sunshine-cloaked whispers of August To the icy throes of January, My heart of glass decided it would trust His deep-sea eyes shrouded in mystery.   Infatuated with a masquerade— For the sage

Across the ballroom,           She patiently waits for him                       To meet her soft gaze— An invitation           For him to draw near to her.                       He offers his hand, And she accepts it           And their fingers

It still haunts me to this day, Those awful words: “Go into the forest if you dare.” The phrase lingered in the meadows And lurked among the wildflowers, A light-hearted joke delivered in

I could not climb the mountain to reach Victory. My own blood had to be shed for a clean slate— But You did it for me. Filling my cup with good deeds, I

When I see eyes of a bright blue hue, Reflecting a precious soul in two spheres, I cannot help but marvel at their beauty And wonder at how they resemble the sea. When