SMASHED SAINT

Category: you move me

  • Who Said Textbooks Are Useless

    Poetic License allows writers to makeupwords ignore language (&) conventions to be creative. use ur license (free dom) to create.

  • Sir Frances Wyatt’s Dream

    of a country full and free tasting of glory and zoe blossoming where all nature, breath, voice and heart blazes with praises to an Almighty One and His covering falls on us thickly, freshly, a land of holy freedom… America My country,’ tis of thee, sweet land of liberty, of thee I sing; land where…

  • Being In Love

    This longing might kill me… The sweetest kind of death

  • Humble River

    The last stanza of Longfellow’s ‘Paul Revere’s Ride’ stirs something within. Here it is. So through the night rode Paul Revere; And so through the night went his cry of alarm To every Middlesex village and farm,— A cry of defiance, and not of fear, A voice in the darkness, a knock at the door,…

  • Freshness

    the Word became Flesh and the world became fresh (in lesser moments of greatness it’s easy to forget) my woes became blessed

  • The Scientist & the Seer

    for Uncle Walter* There are moments of simple wonder when I believe That constellations can be contained inside our eyes, That comets can wrap around our brows like ribbon And fly out our mouths like laughter, There are moments of verdant courage when I believe That nobility and knighthood can never die, That death cannot…

  • To Kiss the World

    I longed to kiss the world, or perhaps cup the lovely broken pieces (some call them nations, others say they’re countries) in my palm and smooth them like I would a newborn pup or a yellow hatchling, hold onto them like I would a dreamy whisper the color of a shy sunrise If I asked…