They come out methodically as if thought were in place. A scenic journey around the reality within which we live picks up pace. Through the darkness that is sold like bread to the poor, concerned hands try to wipe the tears from your face. Without warning, a hand is selected and pulled into your dance. …
A POEM: Home in the horizon
To the birds, you are a highway. To the trees, you are but breath. If looks could really kill, then when dancing with earth, you are a sight of death. Beyond the lush lands of green, beyond the seas of salt. Beyond all those that claim to be righteous to your plight, and those who …
Through the eyes... 