The Wait

I sit in this chair all day.Dawn turns to dusk.Nobody comes. I wait patiently.Expectantly.Hopeful of who will walk through the door. Dusk turns to night.I

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the invitation poetry fire

The Invitation

Fire.It burns. Hurts. Destroys. This fire is differentI watch people as it rests on them.It burnsBut does not consumeIt lightsBut does not harmIt is hotBut

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Jesus chose his 12 apostles

I choose you

The long night had just ended. Morning had dawned. He stood up from the rock that he had been lying on – his eyes were

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