Tread the world with light-footed dreams Be all that is aught, and a touch of what is naught Do not allow the tempest zephyr streams To knock your block into being caught-sought...
When I Was But a Child
I have scars from when I was but a child The days when I was allowed to be reckless and wild And amidst tragedies I didn't yet understand, I smiled And I never knew the novel I'd become was being compiled I have scars from when I was a young man With confidence and... Continue Reading →
Where Do Wishes Go?
(This is a scene from a book I'm currently working on. For a little background, Rachel and Alice are eleven years old.) Rachel stared at the field full of flowers with carefully considered ambivalence. It was the type of field you only see in childish memories and Hollywood: bright green grass dotted with yellow and... Continue Reading →
December Rose 