A Poem to the Church of St. Edward King and Martyr

The words that lie written beneath our feet, Titles of saints, these graves in graven stones, The echoes of reformers' gracious tones Which once and still all sinners here would meet. And still these words evoke fascination Of both pilgrim and poet's seeking hearts, Quickening with the spirit each their arts, Knowledge grown into Imagination.…

Untuned 

My heart is a violin With strings played to the breaking, And wound so tight I have no breath Since the hour of waking. Still sings my soul, though grown thin So lost among a score, And yearning for familiar rest I failed to love before.

A Dash of Color

When we think about books, especially about what type of books we prefer, we tend to categorize them into genres, time periods, literary movements, etc. Today, during a visit to the library, my school librarian commented that The Maze Runner and Divergent are silver. This seemed a completely logical statement to me and I added that I needed…