For sometime, I’ve been thinking, I want to write a poem again, needed to write one. Poetry has always helped me truly express what is inside, more than anything else. So today I tapped this out on my iPad, and I can say I feel much relief over having gotten it out. Maybe you can …
What will I do if I can’t create anymore? What will happen when I write “The End” in a novel for the last time? I don’t know. It sounds like death to me. Death to everything familiar, everything I enjoy or have enjoyed doing.
For those of you who don’t know me well, I thought I would introduce myself and tell you a bit about me.
The morning light slants in an east window near my chair, highlighting a ruby-colored candy dish, making it gleam a bright pink. How different things appear in bright light. It makes me wonder how I’d look under such circumstances.
I challenge us all to think a little harder, dig a little deeper, pray a little more, and clean out more than our cupboards this spring. May a physical inventory prompt an inner one. That’s what I’m striving for.
Fear can be a savage beast. It makes us sick, paralyses our progress, and eats our hope. In short, fear often plays the role of the big bad wolf.