This sand in our hands
Is slipping away
Our time for tomorrow
Taken up by today
The millennial downfall
Is our pride and false wisdom
Our obsession with highs
And our lack of true love
Productivity stems from caffeine
Willpower forgotten
Smitten with celebrities
Elevating internet fame
We see the world through a lens
Not knowing how to go get it
Conquered by lack of likes
We fall, defeated
Crushed by self-loathing
In comparison to others
We fall short in our eyes

The next several weeks dragged by slow, and painfully for Jules. She started getting up earlier in the mornings to work out and make a healthy breakfast. All of the lifting, pushing, and caring for Duncan that she did was wearing out her mind more than anything else. She tried to set aside time each day to take a walk while Duncan was sleeping in the afternoons. She always looked forward to this time to let her mind wind down and relax, but it wasn't always enough.

"Hey Dad!" Jules put her phone in her back pocket and reached up to give Kevin a hug. "Grandad is sleeping now. He fell asleep maybe ten minutes ago. Do you want us to bring you dinner or anything before we leave?"
"No, thank you, I grabbed something right before I left. I'll see you later, Sweetheart."
Miles took Jules' yellow flowered backpack out of her hands and put it over his shoulder with a quiet smile. "You ready?"
"Yep. See you later, Dad."

I want to write! I want to write
But lack cohesive thought
I want my art to soothe and ease
But here I worry, fraught

My palate blank; I lift my brush
And sit at easel poised
Yet there is nothing, simply void
No inspiration noised

No words of froth or raging seas
No deepened chasm dark
No poignant light of ecstasy
But deserts blank and stark

And here I find ironic art
For in this poem I feel
A hedge of fog begun to part
As writers' block I kill

Let's play a game. We'll start by reading this poem, then we'll try to gather a response to it and take a guess at possible authors.

#6
you

are

inscribed
in the
lines on the
ceiling

you

are

inscribed in
the depths
of
the
storm
~*~*~

Ok, so, there's a poem with no particular rhyme, rhythm, or meter, written in free verse - all of which speak of a poet living in recent or semi-recent times. The lack of punctuation may remind some of e. e. cummings.

I rarely - if ever - construct a poem at a computer. For whatever reason, when I decide I want to sit down and write a poem, I always look around for a pencil and my notebook. Even if I've been sitting at my computer for a while, as soon as I want to work on a poem, I almost instinctively leave it for a piece of paper.

here i am, Lord, hear my plea
broken deeply, never free
lacking strength to even come
hither to Thy throne above.

wretched sinner, such as i
will you take me, here, tonight
save a sinner, mend a soul
will You make my shattered whole?

splintering my hardened heart
splitting shackles clean apart
cleansing my will to be Thine,
will You rest a wearied mind?

will You turn this life around
hell to heaven, skies from ground
turning night to brightest Day
will you lift me, now, today?

The history of Western civilization has seen major shifts in its major worldviews - from Christianity and other theisms, to humanism and beyond. It can be said that "Every cultural expression communicates worldview ideas," (Prof. John Stonestreet) and as a cultural expression, poetry communicates the ideas of its poets and the times they lived in.

One such idea is that of religious faith, faith in theism. Among others, this faith may be approached with a sort of 'blind faith,' confident in its Divine Revelation alone.

a line i hoped he'd never write
a word i'd rather scratch
a turn the story didn't need
i thought so anyways.

my author wrote that stormy bit;
its darkness could be felt.
the rain sent shivers down my spine
and quiv'ring to my lips.

the tunnel dark was hard to grasp
why did it need to mar
the beauty of the written piece
that i had grown to love?

the final end, so sadly broken
but wrought by loving hands;
was mended perfect: tearful joy
finished it at last.

Removed for magazine entry... I’m keeping my fingers crossed!!
-Damaris Ann