Of the sweltering silence, out come imaginations of fertility, the kernel who blossoms, her child shall endure both waste and fire, wrath...

Teeming with purities, our forestry illumined by the try, and puritan glass that nestles in our leaves, profusely bleeding Light like the...

The glass of freedoms, Song out of the soul, a hushing thing, a man asleep, alone, and quiet reigns and laughter shall be ours when...

The dry cake of burdens like bread, the moss of flour grain, heavy decision not to buckle, nor to weep, but to face the frigid air with...

There’s something I’ve learned being sick: the acquired tastes are best. And no, I don’t mean exotica. I’m talking about the everyday...