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 …
Order from chaos. Sense from obscurity. Hope from suffering. The greatness of the writings of Fyodor Dostoevsky of the 19th century continues to elude those who would otherwise criticize the famed author for possessing a “faulty psychology” and a “diseased mind.”1 Indeed, the core of Dostoevsky’s confidence ran in direct opposition to the thriving popularity …
Read more “Unraveling Dostoevsky: Finding a Common Thread Among the Author’s Life and Writing”
There in the grass she gently layGrazing her fingers through.Alone the maid each passing day;Her island no one knew. Therein beside the Springs of Brin,The quiet waters soothe,And wind moves to caress her skin,tender, pale, and smooth. Above and around, surrounding herWatchful giants’ arms;Seemingly safe, seemingly secureThey never cause her harm. Sprawled there on unfounded …