Clarity in Muddied Waters

A Messianic Journey Through Pen and Peace. Writing from the Stillness Within.

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She was a phantom of delight When first she gleam’d upon my sight; A lovely apparition, sent To be a moment’s ornament; Her eyes as stars of twilight fair; Like twilight’s, too, her dusky hair; But all things else about her drawn From Maytime and the cheerful dawn; A dancing shape, an image gay, To haunt, to startle, and waylay.

Category: Stories From A Young Heart

  • The Voices

    The banksia. A striking flower. A well of knowledge. A mirror that reflects all the paths I’ve walked down, all the doors that I’ve opened on this journey. My feet wander on, eyes, mouth, ears opened, soaking in the voices. The voices that talk to me, lead me, tell me stories of old and new.…

  • Time

    Time slips by like sand through my fingers; I desperately try to stop the grains leaving, my scrabbling fingers reaching out, until I know it’s too late. Moments come and go, leaving me with only seconds to figure out my next steps. I tread gently, careful not to wake the minutes that already leave briskly.…

  • Ugly

    No. No. No. My reflection ripples, teasing me. I bite my already bitten lip, as my chin quivers. My eyes dart. I take in what’s on the surface of my mirror. My frizzy, untamed hair. My squinting eyes placed smack bang on my way-too-round face. My fatty thighs standing next to each other like two,…

  • Maybe

    My hearts alight. Not literally. At least I don’t think it is. I can’t tell anymore. I don’t feel pain. Not really. Or maybe, maybe I just won’t believe that I can feel pain. Maybe I’m just kidding myself that I’m human, maybe I’m an ant. A simple ant. But maybe I am human. Maybe…

  • Running

    Running. Pumping back and forth. My weary body groans with exhaustion. I can’t feel anything anymore. I’m all numb. I don’t know where I’m going. Or where I was. I don’t know anything, except that I have to run. I have to run. Running.