Swirling gray clouds and distant thunder echoed the mood Lillian witnessed around her. The chance of rain was increasing, making her wish she had grabbed her umbrella. Her worn trench coat and tall
The gray, lifeless steel sky loomed above the metropolis, acid rain and oil descending upon the inhabitants below. Extravagant advertisement displays bathed the city in neon light. Kyrie sheltered beneath an overhang which
It’s windy out. The Fall has come. The trees Drop their leaves On my lawn. But I am man. I was made for this. It’s windy out. Leather gloves and rip-stop
At one Sunday lunch in early July, I built up an army of how’s and why’s. Denial was reeling; emotions, stirred up, led to cracked hearts and glass cola cups. I
Thou art not the morning, Though thou art still and quiet. Thou art not the night, Though thou art cold and dark. You’re a slobbering slave of Belial, A creeping, disembodied soul
Give me October— Its drooping, sleepy leaves, Its contemplative fog, swimming in softly On the backs of somber sea turtles. Give me the Jagged blades of sunlight at morning, the crisp and Fragrant
My sister didn’t mind the touch Or tickle of the sea; More so, the icy fingertips He used to capture me. My sister loved the salty air And skipped toward the waves,
Falling, O Lord, hear my desperate cry! Plunging far from Your eternal presence, Perplexed at my consistent condition–– From my miserable state, rescue me! Save me from despairing reality. Calling, O Lord, hear
“This generation!” they say. “Disrespectful. Irresponsible. Undisciplined. Unteachable.” These are words I’ve heard them use to describe you. And sometimes I have too. But it’s a mistake. They don’t know.
There, mountains rise, Clothed in pine trees, Veiled in wisps of cloud or shadows, Or bathed in morning light; Rolling hills are bare with fields And capped with trees; The morning dew smokes
When I joined speech and debate my sophomore year of high school, I had no idea just how much I would grow. Anyone who knows me will tell you I can’t shut
As Friday night’s Epicureans crowd the roadways, a fifteen-passenger van squeaks to a halt beneath a hotel portico. Four silhouettes stir inside the van. A side door creaks open. Two sandal-heavy feet
I'm learning to wander. My Media and Society class did a required media fast. When the fast was announced, a room full of communication students turned into defense attorneys. I smiled and held
“God, what is wrong with me?” I sobbed. The pages of my journal blurred as tears filled my eyes and poured down my face. My heart felt like it was breaking into a
Hands clutching the tray of steaming buffalo wings, I walked down my assigned tables of campers and counselors for the week. The din of fresh campers filled the dining hall as counselors began
The tennis courts in my town feel the same as they did when I was a child. The city administration has improved them by repaving, repainting, and adding pickleball courts, but their essence
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