Focus on what you can control says my PT,Which right now is just the right side of my body.Unfortunately for humanity it seems you don't need to have 2 fully functional arms to commit wire fraud or catfish a doctor whose office won't return your calls.Petty larceny would be easier but unfortunately I'm now prone to falls.Arson is almost certainly within my ability,But it's hard … [Read more...] about Premeditation, By: Rachel Huber
Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – XVIII. – At Vallombrosa, By: William Wordsworth
"Thick as autumnal leaves that strew the brooksIn Vallombrosa where Etrurian shadesHigh over-arch'd embower."- Paradise Lost. "Vallombrosa, I longed in thy shadiest woodTo slumber, reclined on the moss-covered floor!"Fond wish that was granted at last, and the Flood,That lulled me asleep bids me listen once more.Its murmur how soft! as it falls down the steep,Near that Cell, … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – XVIII. – At Vallombrosa, By: William Wordsworth
Fairy Tales Can Come True, By: Teri Dourmashkin
And then in an instant I saw your face.Your words are like love songs, softest silk lace.So far away, yet so near to my heart.Break down the barriers. never to part.Moving mountains, we both need the faith.You are my rock, when I doubt, blessed grace. … [Read more...] about Fairy Tales Can Come True, By: Teri Dourmashkin
Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – XVII. – At The Eremite Or Upper Convent Of Camaldoli, By: William Wordsworth
What aim had they, the Pair of Monks, in sizeEnormous, dragged, while side by side they sate,By panting steers up to this convent gate?How, with empurpled cheeks and pampered eyes,Dare they confront the lean austeritiesOf Brethren who, here fixed, on Jesu waitIn sackcloth, and God's anger deprecateThrough all that humbles flesh and mortifies?Strange contrast! verily the world … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – XVII. – At The Eremite Or Upper Convent Of Camaldoli, By: William Wordsworth
Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – XVI. – Continued, By: William Wordsworth
The world forsaken, all its busy caresAnd stirring interests shunned with desperate flight,All trust abandoned in the healing mightOf virtuous action; all that courage dares,Labour accomplishes, or patience bearsThose helps rejected, they, whose minds perceiveHow subtly works man's weakness, sighs may heaveFor such a One beset with cloistral snares.Father of Mercy! rectify his … [Read more...] about Memorials Of A Tour In Italy, 1837 – XVI. – Continued, By: William Wordsworth