The year’s preparing her final speech. It’s a heart-warming statement; She’s saying, “Make the most of the days left! It’s never too late until it is too late – So, push forward, keep striving, and end the year strong.” Editor: Erynn Crittenden  

Flying with the wounded blackbirds –My head is in the whispering cloudsWhere I am warily watching the wanton world I am wandering away from the wavering crowdAnd wishfully dreaming of a winsome countryWithout wrathful, wearisome warlords I am not alone, we remain wilfully loudAbout humanity’s stories of wisdom, yet to be foundAnd we are worriedThat ...

Another day passes by while bloodshed reigns upon our fellow brothers at arms,trying their hardest to serve our country at any price.Another day passes by as we march toward our graves.We cross the jungles of ‘Nam,but what has that gotten us?One by one, the bullets zip past our sight,one by one, a brother falls with ...

To whom it may concern, Words unspoken with stories untold of kings and queens. Telling the highs and lows of history, captains of nations. Men with the darkest of hearts, others with souls of pure intentions. From George Washington and Abraham Lincoln to Jimmy Carter and Ronald Reagan. The Andrew Jackson and Andrew Johnsons to ...

A light-weight novel is a guarded treasure, yet as fickle as a ruby-red delicate rose.It’s thorns the only defenseto someone with callous and reckless hands. Quick to draw blood with no remorsefrom a wound inflicted by a papercut,yet beloved and clutched to your bosom,like a defenseless, gentle infant. You read the printed, black inkenthralled by ...

The dripping of the rain, Plays me a melodic lullaby. The wind whispers to me amidst thunderous clashes, Saying – “rest a while, A sunny day is sure to come.” Now, as my eyelids surrender to slumber, She replaces my worrisome thoughts with blissful dreams. Editor: Erynn Crittenden

Once upon a timeBefore the days of landminesI stood strong and freeIn the westerly breeze Then one day, a war’s windstormCrucified my peaceful platformAnd I was recklessly blown downUpon my neutral ground My body landed with a flumpAnd left behind a yellow stumpA forlorn poisoned lumpInside the planet’s toxic dump Editor: Erynn Crittenden

I’m the Salem girl,the one who diedupon a lonely hill,accosted and condemned. Betrayed by fellow kin,I begged them to live,assuring them of my divine truth,my salvation promised by scriptures. “Anyone found a witch,shall be put to death,”thine scripture says,as taught from birth. How can that applyto an obedient childof my heavenly fatherbeing more than faithful? ...

The Little WattlebirdDarts backwards and forwardsBetween the flowering branchesAnd the pollen avalanches Fluttering from tree to treeLike a busy honeybeeThey are much too swift for meand my photos stay blurry Then yesterday, among the treesQuietly squatting on my kneesI finally photographed the little birdie Editor: Erynn Crittenden

Lips part and blood floods through my veins. Our hearts thumping with a steady rhythm like a drum with every pump. The groaning and moaning are felt within my vibrant soul. Heat flushes through my skin, my porcelain complexion, each breath hitched and shallow. Your husky voice whispers my name like a silent siren echo, ...