Oh,
the beauty,
of knowing You
are not so far away
and that You will never
walk away.
Oh,
the beauty,
of finding the love
You made for us.
Only in You, can we
learn to trust.
Oh,
the beauty,
of a broken heart
which you sew back
together.
Oh,
the beauty,
of knowing that Your kingdom
is forever.
Oh,
the beauty,
of our silent conversations,
written on a page,
or said in our minds,
with our eyes closed
late at night.
Oh,
the beauty,
of Heaven's open doors.
Oh,
the beauty,
of knowing that
I am Yours.

You pour over me
and run through my veins.
I say one more is all
I need,
but I keep coming back.
All of my worries turn
into wonder,
my moments of weakness
are no longer there.
I fall at my feet,
your touch leaves me
unable to speak.
Tomorrow,
I'll wake up
and wait
for my next drink

There's something about a woman
who wears her heart like a dress.
There's something about a woman
who can hold you and
make you forget
the rest.

By: Lauren Salvo

My three-year-old daughter stares at the wall wondering,

“Will I ever see him again?”
“Why can’t I see him now?”

Everything she had is lost
because we don’t want what is right in front of us.

Instead of loving what we have,
We hope to God what we had comes back.
But of course she feels this way, she is three.

She didn’t care much about that stuffed cat
her dad bought for her about a month ago,
but now she refuses to go anywhere without it.
She wants to run to the front door,
as her dad opens it and she jumps into his arms for a hug.
She wants to listen to a bedtime story and to fall asleep
As her dad barely finishes page three.

She was ignorant before today.
She thought she would live forever,
and that the people around her would live just as long.

She doesn’t talk like she used to,
but when she does, she is full of questions.

“Where is he now?”
“Will I ever get there?”

I never spoke to her about death before this morning
with tears running down my daughter’s face.
I guess I was ignorant too
because I never thought I would have to explain
death to someone who
just started living.

By: Lauren Salvo

What the hell
are you doing here,
in a bar where
your beer makes
you forget the man
who left after four years?

Do you know
your eyes are brighter than
the flickering neon lights
on the walls of this bar?
What the hell
happened to you
that makes you want to throw
everything into
your bottle of Blue Moon?

As I take a sip
and I watch you take one too,
I ask your name.
I never thought I would dare, but
what the hell?

By: Lauren Salvo

In 1961,
They were barely
old enough to drive,
but Robby’s Grandpa
had just given him
a ‘49 Chevy for his
17th birthday.
Robby was thrilled
to take his friends wherever
they wanted to go.

Less than a block away from
their high school,
Franklin Central,
was a railroad track.
Trains would come and go
early in the morning
and late at night,
waking the families that lived close.
And sometimes, the trains would pass
in the afternoons distracting students from
their studies,
and keeping people from getting home
a little bit faster after school and work days
were over.

One Wednesday afternoon
on the way home from school,
Billy crammed four of his friends
into that little red Chevy
and they headed
home for supper.
They sang and laughed
as they listened to Patsy Cline
and Chubby Checker on the radio,
As the chorus of “Crazy” played,
a train barreled down the tracks.

The train’s horn sounded,
and the tracks rattled.
Robby stopped and looked both ways,
but it was too late.
The train’s impact tore
the clothes off of each one of them;
stripped of their lives too soon.
They never had the chance to move past
that railroad and follow their dreams.
Fifty-six years later, five crosses,
one for each of those kids headed home
in the red ‘49 Chevy,
still stand tall along the railroad at the
crossing of Franklin Road
and Edgewood Avenue.

By: Lauren Salvo

My grande caramel machiato gets a
little cold as I watch everyone sit
with everyone,
but me.

School? Work?
Or school and work?

Noone in here is taking
the time to just sit and enjoy
the warmth of their coffees,
the words of their friends,
or the thoughts in their heads.

Not even the group of six
sitting by the window in the corner,
who turn the pages
of their Bibles to find
comfort and salvation,
but look at their phones
in between.

Not even me,
who has not
stopped listening and looking
at everyone else,
wondering if their reasons for being
here are better than mine.