Declining to the soil.
An unearthing is too soon a toil.
As the ravaged trees…breathe, ‘a sigh of relief.’
The ground embraces a reminder of a savior’s grace.
Alas, all emerges free.
As far as, I am privileged to see, there is no need for organized spirituality.
Pockets of snow remain the last vestiges …
Glacial reminders of being untamed.
Welcomed are the tufts of emerald blades, virgin and well-defined.
Rural…is the only thought that comes to mind.
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Thoughts-poetry on life, nature and spiritual
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Your thoughts while having coffee
You deserved to feel love that isn't spelled backwards
Aspiring to be the best at writing. Poetry lover, haiku and free verse to be precise, I hope to one day master
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a written aspirations to inspire.
Frank Regan in words
Just a messenger of the Lord
Pen to paper.
Word-Experimentalist
Running, Writing, Real Life Experiences & Relatable Content.
