How strange is our capacity for love?
Love flows in seasons
Dries up in others
Love follows
No command other than
To honor it's own existence
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It's always getting late.
When I am not writing this is what I do.
"In the present we are always in memory." - Trish Keenan
It's always getting late.
Introduction
This blog is a virtual notebook of writing that I maintain as often as I can. Poems, stray lines, random observations, all co-exist here. Revisions occur as needed/deemed fit.
See/Hear
A Chronological Archive of Joy and Heartache most often referred to as LIFE
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2016
(372)
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August
(16)
- Unite Against the Enemy
- Night Bloom
- Morning Drippings (Freewrite)
- Unreliable Narrator
- Everything Worth Leaving
- Morning is only as kind as we let it be.
- Children are the endless renewal of hope.
- Self-Belief
- Morning is Morning
- Roving
- Towards Salvation
- To Forgive?
- Function & Purpose
- Strange Capacity
- Answers
- Invisible Cycles
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▼
August
(16)
About Me
life
When I am not writing this is what I do.
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