The boy, now an ancient man in his nineties with speckled skin of ages in the sun and wind
his body, now incompatible with life was once so strong with the life blood of resilience
All of the Love games have been played and the illusions faded away
He said, ” Evil is a hunter and only the bow of the Cross and the blood of Christ upon that Cross can shoot the arrow of the abyss into that hunter’s heart. “
Then he closed his eyes and was The Boy again.
I want to be in Paris in the thirties
in a coffee house with painters and poets
Like Laurel Canyon sixties songs
the music echoes all day and night
The morning rain showers, the afternoon sun
Warm canvases of yellows and melons horizons
The evening light of the Eiffel Tower glitters
The night is showered with city sights
I want to be in Paris in the thirties
And write the poetry that rattles in my head
Like a song on an old phonograph
I am dancing in the shadows until morning takes flight
Photo by Bruno Pires on
She is standing in a room full of mirrors.
She is all the people she was taught to be.
A good little girl who prays and is kind.
A pretty girl as much as she can be.
A smart girl but not too smart for men.
She is all the people she was taught to be.
Yet somehow, she is none of these.
Mirrors are liars.
Mirrors crack and shatter.
She is a woman of humility and wisdom.
She is a reflection of her Maker.
She does not need mirrors anymore.
Photo by Rodolfo Clix
Jill Autrey Dorman 