When we noticed her nights were short

And she could hardly have a meal

That’s when we really knew

It was all becoming real

She stopped taking extra shifts

Or even showing up at all

But I don’t think she really knew

It was all becoming real

Our mom grew sick with worry

While she grew sick with fear

The shaking, the sounds, the shadows

It was all becoming real

“I need help. I need help. I need h...

The distant wailing of wind whisks the wintry bristles of my skin. The low, sardonic growl of thunder reverberates in the bony cage ‘round my heart. As I hastily ride on, the path is at length obscured by a thick cloud of russet dust. Like a whimpering creature soothed by her mother’s gentle song, the nebulous dirt road is settled by a gentle rain, and familiar Old Oaks and wooden fences come into...

Two seeds— side by side

Fertilized with truths, white lies

Lies fester like mould

Seedlings grow weak, spores grow wide

Like rain, too much truth will drown...