On that precipice of life, I awakened to a revelation That the the key to me was found in my Creator The Creator and His creation a relationship never fully explored So I began seeking to know and understand About my purpose and design in His master plan What I discovered was peace, lov...
2013-04-14 - The Club That Never Met 2013-01-28 - Taking the New York Writing Test - January 28, 1986 2012-11-03 - Born to Chunk 2012-09-18 - How We Wrote Our Lives Donaldson, Julia 2023-09-06 - I Opened a Book Doneghy, George W. 2022-06-29 - The Old Hanging Fork 20...
rendering death and forever with each breathing (I do not know what it is about you that closes and opens;only something in me understands the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses) nobody,not even the rain,has such small hands...
Once we make a decision whether continuing further study or looking for a job we can never go back because as one door opens another closes behind us. Life is always moving forward and we have no option but to continue on the journey of life. After reading this poem I have a feeling ...
This contrasts greatly with the image of Dickinson as the Wednesday Addams of deathpoetry, hiding in her lovelorn room. Read enough biographies and statements by those who knew Dickinson, and one gets the impression that while Dickinson grew increasingly insular, she never lost her humor, nor her...
As the poem rapidly closes, the statements of solidarity with the Armenians pivot: “You, murderer — / Who remembers you?” is both a triumph and an accusation. Do we, as readers, feel that we are being addressed in this final couplet? If so, what does that say about us? If not,...
She lay one hand atop the other, both Together in her lap. “You’ve never asked me,” She said, “what it’s like.” “I s’posed I shouldn’t.” Ned answered. “I’ve a penny for each year That we were married. I’ve been saving ’54. ...
The parents insist that they've answered their child's questions completely, before adding that whatever she has just accused them of never actually happened. She was never much a singer anyway, the parents say, and then insist that this wasn't something she cared about. Whatever moment she ...
And her sweet eyelash closes. And from the mirror on her shape A beam has spread and burns, On her big eyes that beat though closed And on her face that turns. Her smiles view him; the mirror shows Him trembling in the nook
Cummings is well-known for his experimental use of language. He used clever metaphors throughout his writing. The laststanzaof‘somewhere I have never travelled, gladly beyond’reads as follows: (i do not know what it is about you that closes ...