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I made my way to the front.

The invitation was subtle.

The cold gray stones
under the pressure of my heels.


Drew my hands, ever so familiar.

I pressed up the aged steps
to a door of old wood & character.
Its constitution still intact and uncompromised.

An iron handle, worn smooth from visitors past,
waited for my embrace
and the latch, warm to the touch,
gave way under my eager thumb.
This is part V of a ten-part story titled, "Effulgence: A Story of Light."

A seed planted,
Turned around,
A look planted,
Turned around,
A smile more,
Turned around,
Another look, longer,
Turned around,
I hope I touched your soul.
...because you definitely touched mine.
Progress is still progress
No matter how slow
Just hang in there
There is so much more in store
Do not lose hope
Believe that you can
Put your heart into everything
That should be your master plan
Shrouded by a thicket of trees
a humble building sat.

Earthen brown & her windows
That old glass topped with frost and dirt.

Gently, I clear the thin veil
with my beaten hands.

Lo, there lay the roaring flame.

Neslted on the hearth
within the mantle.

Awestruck in its beauty,
I lost myself to time.

Day tenderly fell to dusk
and dark laid the pines.

I peered through that glass.

Lo, there lie the roaring flame.
This is part IV of a ten-part series titled, "Effulgence: A Story of Light."

It cut through the fog
the ever distant yellow glow.

Hints of red, dancing
between the corruscating beams of amber.

Resplendent light, so warm
and inviting,
surely had never been seen
like this before.

That light which broke through
the thickness of fog and tree
met my worn and tired face.
Filling each crease and fold with
a sense of exuberance.

The yellows & reds danced
joyously and how,
oh how I wondered
about their home.

Which surely must be
a hearth below a mantle.
This is part III of a ten-part series titled, "Effulgence: A Story of Light."

I wanted to create something that really captured the idea of light playing more than just the role of illumination.

They say you get to a certain level of comfort,
and your life as an artist is done,
that you can't have existential angst
if you drive a Buick, that you don't have anything
relevant to say
when you shop at Safeway, and pay your bills;

but last night, as I ******* in the shower,
I saw Jesus in the mist,
dressed in his glowing garb,
and floating like an angel;
and instead of telling me what I was doing
was wrong, and a sin,
he wanted to give me a high five,
and tell me it was okay,
that life was long,
and wives have busy days,
and sometimes you don't want to disturb
the universe,
with anything more than a gentle tug,
to remember you're alive.

And though I didn't find his message ******,
it did make me feel better, overall,
as if finally I was doing something right in the world,
and maybe,
just like Jesus,
still had things to say.
Brad post 15h
I’ve held onto this too long,
and it’s killing me inside.
The self-entitled *******,
that we selfishly call pride.

My every waking moment,
every irrational thought,
every time that I blamed others,
for what my decisions brought.

Ya I have a problem,
and everyone’s seen,
but that is no excuse,
for the way that I have been.

I’ve been a harborer of hate,
till my cup overflowed.
I invited **** in,
and if you knew me then it showed.

I shut myself off,
and told myself that no one cares.
I stopped worrying bout others,
and stayed out of their affairs.

I was selfish, and ******,
thinking only of me,
till the poison turned inwards,
on the me I used to be.

I’ve never hated someone,
so much as what I’d become.
The hypocritical *******,
of all that I’d done.

I know it might be too late,
but I still have to try,
because if the poison remains,
then I’m going to die.

I can finally see clearly,
and maybe that’s fate.
Either way I’ll find out,
so goodbye hate.
Ivyanna 23h
It's in that woman's smile
It's in that child's laughter
It's in that man's gentle word
It's in that dog's jolly run
It's in that sound of beggar's accordion
It's in that street singer's voice
It's in that baby's sky blue eyes
It's in the touch of your hand
It's in the honest "thank you"
and in the sincere "please"

- that's where I find hope,
  that's where I find peace
My dearest Olivia,

I write this letter with a heavy heart and yet, an even heavier hand. This vessel takes on water as I blot these old pages with ink. I hold your memory close as flame to a well-oiled wick. Cherishing our fondest moments spent together, and letting them keep me warm in this frigid cold.

The way your ivory slip would rest on your shoulders so delicately as we strolled through the fields of home. How the wind would gently pass through your deep flowing auburn hair, and how sweetly I would tuck the free-flowing strands behind your ears.

I desperately yearn to be back home by your side in the comfort of our chamber, with my hand interlaced with your hair, as the glorious yellow rays seep through our window and slowly fill the room with luminous light.

We shall be together soon, I fear not. And I shall wait to see your hurried steps on heavens golden shores. Weep not for me or for this loss. The sea is beckoning me home.

I hope this letter finds you. I love you,

This is part VII of a ten-part story titled, "Weathered: A Tale of Love and Loss." I wanted to break poetic structure of the story a bit and create a love letter that was believable between the two characters, for the reader. Here's to hoping that I did that for you.

Heavy feeling
Emotions peeling

A mess of a humam
My stress I will cram

Sad all the time
Never feel a chime

Stuck in one place
Losing the race

Everyone passes
Going in masses

Never wired
Only tired

Sad masked with jolly
But I always remain

I just needed to get this out. I don’t even care if anyone reads it.
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