Wise Words"It is not the critic who counts; nor the man who points out how the strong man stumbles, or where the doer of deeds could have done them better. The credit belongs to the man who is actually in the arena, whose face is marred by dust, sweat and blood, who strives valiantly; who errs and comes short again and again; who knows great enthusiasms, great devotions, who spends himself in a worthy cause, who at the best knows in the end the triumph of high achievement and who at the worst, if he fails, at least he fails while daring greatly. So that his place shall never be with those timid souls who know neither victory nor defeat."Wise Words4 years ago in Editorial More Like This
Symphony for a StrangerYou and I are complicatedSymphony for a Stranger7 months ago in Free Verse More Like This
we're a field of spring flowers, blooming
only to be torn apart by vicious tornadoes.
We spread life over our dreams,
only to kill them the first chance we got.
We're the frozen winter,
everlasting, but there's a sun,
behind the dark clouds.
Snowflakes of melancholy,
gliding across the meadows
that witnessed our first kiss.
We're the quiet night,
ever gleaming with stars,
and a cricket playing a symphony
of triumph and loneliness
in honor of the lost souls who
faded into the memories of dusk.
You and I were once
a fairytale, shredded
and broken, yet was coated
with silk and fur
awaiting death on a throne of gold.