On the Night of My Opa’s Death When after night fell, Within a heap of ashes Sprawling the Field of Earth Where in myriads Withering sparks ascended And disappeared Like particles of dust,A coal burned orange there A living ember, a benevolent glow, A beating, flickering heart— But that too twinkled and Went out after …
While in my essays I generally engage the subjects of worldview and faith as they relate to literature and writing, I hope that you will indulge with me in a brief consideration of craft, or what I might facetiously call crossing our eyes and dotting our tees. Let us consider Robert Louis Stevenson (1850-1894), a …
A slider finds a blind ambition in his ways,And counts his steps for every town he passes byTo brag of his success, to sing his own praise,And people listen, oh they listen intently; a lieThey buy until they realize just how sly the daysHave been, and dark around when light they can’t denyIs surfaced on …