In the End

That Christmas comes at the end, in the final breaths of a wasting year, is best. After the muscle-ache of trekking graveside and back, graveside and back; after the haunting loneliness— of beauty-gazing and solo-missions, of incomprehensible party chatter, of home without its people; after the long war— the blitzkrieg of unrelenting lies, and the … Continue reading In the End

My Race

My life has a limp and I shuffle along— swift and graceful as a turtle. Other lives have limbs built for speed and run majestically like cheetahs. My heart loathes to lose, but my head is in the game— I will limp on for You, and when I do, I only seem to lose.