I do not write for the world But the world whispers to me A faint little murmur For it to be told and be free.

The mountains reverberate in my body, Sending winds that sweep over the land, In voices hushed and roaring. Magnificent and opulent, They guard me against my own feelings.   The rivers course through my veins, Bubbling and frothing waters, In soothing and cadenced waves Defeating the chaotic stress, Washing away the debris of hurt and Read more…