Every artist dips her brush in her own soul, and paints her own nature into her pictures. She glanced at the phone, losing herself in another meaningless train of thought. Mama, the found the body. She heard the other line of the phone whisper out to her. It made her angry, .

Stories of life are but Shadows of Love. Wednesday, 14 March, 2018. Every day begins the same. And then the minutes and the hours begin to tick by, just as they have on all the days before. You pray, you read, you sing songs. You work and work, until you return home to prepare for the next day and then fall into bed. On the next day, you will do the same things again.

To my readers; I enjoyed this article very much. I feel compelled to share it. Today we mourn the passing of a beloved old friend,. Who has been with us for many years. No one knows for sure how old he was, since his birth records were long ago lost in bureaucratic red tape.

Soundtracks on a Road Trip. I was the screaming current of Baffle Creek heading toward the sea. Feeling the rain, feeling the headwind and the dizzy illusions of adventure.

The Life, Thoughts Of A Poet Living With Sickle Cell Anemia. I am in control of when your life will end. FULL OF FAITH that God is turning your prayers into PRAISE REPORTS this week! .

Creative Corner - Poetry By Sherry. Tuesday, December 20, 2016. YOU ARE made of cosmic dust. From a billion sparkling stars. You are what makes the sun and moon. You are everything near and far. You are the rock that holds things in place. And the tree that stands tall and strong. You are where you are today. You are the rain that falls from your eyes. That washes away your pain and fears. Like a magnificent ocean wave. The same substance as your tears.