Move, mountain, give sight to my faith
Grant me my passage to more fertile plains
Milk, honey, french bread, and wine
Give voice to the singer who pines

Or, in plain english, I gots writer's block.

While watching a hilarious standup comic, I fill out a survey ( Read more... )

Blood that wets the heart of stone
Life to cold and buried bone
Some things breathe beyond our will
Some things move that should lie still

Hurray for vaguely, cryptic rhymes!

Over time the heart weaves lies
The mind sleeps under the mirage
Within our souls a hardness grows
Without hope, we perish
Without love, we fall

And that, my friends, is that.

Grace
Do you cleave to the wanderers?
Do you sing for the wayward sons?
Does the reach of your arm extend
Past the gates of Hell?

Grace
Do you wait for the runaways?
Do you pray for the fallen saints?
Does the force of your blow save my soul
From falling to entropy?

I need advice, but the person who would probably be the best to go to is dead.

So, I need to think of something.

I am waiting ( Read more... )

( Read more... )

So many young marriages, why ( Read more... )