Seeing through the eyes of others

poetry and writings based on the truth of life. Everyone sees through their own lenses. Trade glasses with someone else and view your world…and theirs. I write personal, I write upon request and not limited to one area, genre, or style

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  • Shock pvt reply

    When someone you love dies, your whole world tilts in a single moment.One minute you’re doing ordinary things… talking, working, running errands, feeling more or less steady. Then the phone rings, or a message pops up, and everything inside you changes. It’s like the floor drops out from under you. Before that moment, your nervous… Read more

  • Say no to a flower trug

    If a structural engineer says a bridge is “on the verge of collapse,” he’s not being poetic, he’s compressing a complex reality into a vivid warning meant to provoke action.“Sinners in the Hands of an Angry God” isn’t a rant or rage, it’s a strategic, pastoral shock.Most in 2026 are afraid of that today because… Read more

  • human trafficking…. oh to be honest

    Trapped in silence, with only the white noise pressing in around her, she had no way to escape what was happening. She was locked away, abused, hurt, and destroyed, hidden from view while human trafficking took its toll on her mind, body, and spirit. She was treated like something to be used and discarded, made… Read more

  • Grief, Stages, Truth, why?

    There are no five stages of grief. The stages you heard of or read were written for people who are dying, not for those left behind. I am from Oklahoma, where the land is steady and wide, yet nothing in me felt steady after that five months, six days, twenty hours, and forty minutes ended… Read more

  • heart, life,

    She stands in the hush before thought becomes breath, her presence gathered from shadow, warmth, and stillness The water holds her like a private hymn; reeds, dusk, and weathered light keep their distance, as here is something old in her composure Something Gothic in the way silence clings to her, although the air around her… Read more

  • is no more

    I carry the sound of vanished roomsthe warmth of tables I cannot return toand the names that still live softly in my mind I walk through the day with a broken lightas if every step is a question and every silence is listening back There is no map for this kind of ache only the… Read more