The following poem may seem like a stretch, but in fact it is a window, an extension of the human condition, as we deal with what appears to be our

I have been living in America for many years. Real and I write the most beautiful works possible Because that’s what makes me happy if we’re always happy. And the

I overheard a conversation today, it began cordial enough with mostly agreements, until one speaker replied, “life was better back then.”   I looked at her and thought, for who?

“Then came Peter to him, and said, Lord, how oft shall my brother sin against me, and I forgive him? till seven times?                    Jesus saith unto him, I say

My eyes see degradation of human life and disregard for human death   My brain fights while it simultaneously aspires for peace   My stomach digests the vitriol and the