Little dove, my dearest one, you thought your life was almost done. But when you saw that you might sink, you fluffed your feathers and chirped, “Wait! Think! What about those things God has called my wings...?"
Author: deborah w. farris
Song of the Afflicted

When the world's weight rests on top the weary wounded what have they to do? Climb higher on the wire up towards heaven's view. With words they weep for the afflicted, for they know affliction. And in their pain, songs of mercy sing. So you there; lost in the maze and craze, darkness above and [...]
A Rose for a Rose I Suppose
Airport Multi-tasking
Traveling Through
Thirty-three Words
Like a Bird
It’s a Surprise
Old Van

Old white van parked on the roadside, mud speckled in snow. Marble streaks and tire tracks from window frame could be a photograph. Consider miles traveled through rain and ice, her engine puttering sparks of life as shiny sedans and semi road hogs blast their horns. Though scraped and scuffed she rebounds back. Here she [...]
A View

From kitchen window broom stands against garage door, askew. What lies beyond the door of this day—off center, all lopsided and cockeyed? I rinse my cup and listen to water rushing from the faucet through my fingers. Cup shines. What can bear a stain? Day unfolds in threes—a testing from Sunday’s sermon. “That’s too much [...]