More about cockroaches. Writing is therapeutic.
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Read MoreRace. Culture. Beauty. Jesus. The Church. Read about them here.
Behold a tale of myst’ry and woe And the questionable fate of where cockroaches go Upon their death, if they ever die, (For nobody knows if they do…sigh.) Heaven, hell, or the next door apartment? Do they die outside or in a compartment? They can resist a bomb scare, or so I’ve been told,…
Read MoreI am different now from the girl I once was. That girl sipped tea and watched the sunrise as she read her Bible and wrote poetry. This woman wears business casual. She is confined by her busy life and takes no time to relax, little for her Creator. This woman remembers the girl from before.…
Read MoreI’m currently taking American Literature: Realism through Modernism, and in it we have recently been discussing modernist poetry. Fragmentation within poems has been a common and thought-provoking topic as we discuss how breaking apart objects can reveal reality better, ignoring the romanticized symbolism that people have attached to objects for centuries, but last week I…
Read MoreWhenever Mr. Franklin Harris snoozes at church, I wonder if the ninety-five year old man with whom I sit will awake again. He is a wonderful example of someone who loves Jesus, and he brims with wisdom. His body is frail, though. He recognizes his disability consisting of his inability to stand for long and…
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