In all your ways acknowledge Him, and He will make straight your paths. I had fun writing it. Get away from me! Bromly eyed her for a moment, scrutinizing the woman with her hands on her hips and her eyes narrowed at him.

Where Moonlight Musings Become Morning Manuscripts. To write is to dream on paper. These creatures haunt me to confess. Letting fear take my heart. And in all my twists and turns,.

Musings and Dreams of a Jersey Girl. Have Your Way Britt Nicole. He gives power to the weak. And strength to the powerless. Even youths will become weak and tired,. And young men will fall in exhaustion. But those who trust in the Lord will find new strength. They will soar high on wings like eagles.

I can take you anywhere. To search for a treasure chest. Or on a trip to Budapest. Or way up flying high,. Or to the Mayla Peninsula. Where the people speak Tai. Over snowy mountain peaks,. Or through valleys low,. With slaves below who row. I can take you to the stars. Or to a fanciful fantasy land,.

So the writer who breeds more words than he needs, is making a chore for the reader who reads. Lust for power often made great men commit heinous atrocities. Lord Ludwig found this out one summer day in June. But it had lead Lord Ludwig to discovering a dangerous secret.

Encima de la Calle a la Eminencia. Do you lock your door at night? This is such a cool video about how subjective morality and secularism are not actually safer than objective morality. Do you lock your doors at night? January 25, 2014. Most people who know me know that I listen to Taylor Swift almost all the time. I really like this adaptation of her music by another talented musician.

Of acid propelled as fast as a tank full of gas. A simmering projectile that singes. Behold the accuracy of the Bombardier Beetle. Slowly but surely the slimy salamander scurries.

Yet another poem written for my Poetry Through Lyrics class. You are strange to me, my love,. The very thought of you is nothing more than a quiet whisper, a hope too shy. To be spoken of in the light of day, where the bald sun might come and chase it away. You are strange to me, my love. You are strange to me, my love,. And though I think of you often, with fondness. It is not you I think of, and the face that I picture,.

Music washes away from the soul the dust of everyday life. Original title, no? Anyway, this was from a writing trade i did with my grandmama over the summer and decided to upload it here after my long absence. And I you, my love.