• The Writer

    Hello! My name is Laura, welcome to my blog! I write weird stories, collect dragon plushies and stay up too late with my nose in a book. I am a wife, mom and child saved by grace. My hope is that you find encouragement here or at least a smile or too.
    God bless!

  • “Now go, write it before them in a table, and note it in a book that it may be for the time to come forever and ever.”
    ~Isaiah 30:8.

  • Categories

  • Follow me on Twitter

  • Categories

  • Blog Stats

    • 34,600 hits
  • Post Days

    July 2018
    M T W T F S S
    « Mar    
  • Quotes

    We have come from God, and inevitably the myths woven by us, though they contain error, will also reflect a splintered fragment of the true light, the eternal truth that is with God. Indeed only by myth-making, only by becoming 'sub-creator' and inventing stories, can Man aspire to the state of perfection that he knew before the Fall. Our myths may be misguided, but they steer however shakily towards the true harbour, while materialistic 'progress' leads only to a yawning abyss and the Iron Crown of the power of evil.
    ~J.R.R. Tolkien

    "The only just literary critic," he concluded, "is Christ, who admires more than does any man the gifts He Himself has bestowed."
    ~J.R.R. Tolkien

    “Fantasy is escapist, and that is its glory. If a soldier is imprisioned by the enemy, don't we consider it his duty to escape?. . .If we value the freedom of mind and soul, if we're partisans of liberty, then it's our plain duty to escape, and to take as many people with us as we can!”
    ~J.R.R. Tolkien

    "Writers who see by the light of their Christian faith will have, in these times, the sharpest eye for the grotesque, for the perverse, and for the unacceptable. To the hard of hearing you shout, and for the almost-blind you draw large and startling figures."
    ~Flannery O'Connor

    You write to communicate to the hearts and minds of others what’s burning inside you. And we edit to let the fire show through the smoke.
    ~Arthur Polotnik

    Words - so innocent and powerless as they are, as standing in a dictionary, how potent for good and evil they become in the hands of one who knows how to combine them.
    ~Nathaniel Hawthorne

    "There are forms of insanity that condemn people to hear voices against their will, but as writers we invite ourselves to hear voices without relinquishing our hold on reality or our right to control."
    ~Writing Fiction by Janet Burroway

    Christians have sometimes been suspicious of stories, because they really can influence you. If you read the Twilight novels once a month for a year, I think you'd be a different human afterward—and not a sparkly one.
    ~Nate Wilson

  • Advertisements

Dreams vs. Dreams

Some of my random thoughts…


Created, imagined,

Innocent, pure,

Evolve, establish,

Longing, seeking,

Pursue, polish

Future, fear,

Battle, turmoil,

Courage, overcome,

Believe, achieve.


Vision, subconscious

Fog, unconscious-consciousness,

Timeless, journey,

Uncontrolled, random,

Familiar, within,

Playing, mocking,

Riddle, chaos,

Struggle, gripping,

Wake, haunt.


Dance in the Rain

Look up my child and dance in the rain,
I’ll wash away the burden of pain.
Your fears are but shadows that cover the road,
I’m walking beside you, please give me your load.

This life may harm you and people tear down,
But keep your heart open for my still small sound.
You may feel devoured, with nothing to gain.
So take my hand my beloved and dance in the rain.

The Beginning

Twelve likes and one comment… I guess I can go ahead and post that sneak peek. 😉


*     *     *



Still born.  Ephraim stared at the maid who held his son.  His dead son.

“My Lord…” She didn’t look Ephraim in the eye, but stood holding the still bundle of blood stained swaddling clothes concealing the boy.


The maid looked up.

“What’s wrong with Kathryn?”

A woman’s scream broke out from behind the drapes leading to the bed chamber.  The maid, still holding the lifeless child, hurried back into the room.  More cries and screams filled the chamber, then… the cry of a babe.  Ephraim pushed back the drapes and stepped into the room.  Kathryn, his wife, lay on the massive canopy bed, her face slick with sweat and her eyes closed.  The physician turned to Ephraim, holding a live baby girl.  He gave Ephraim a faint smile.

“Twins my Lord.  Your wife has given you twins.”

The child was covered in blood, her face contorted in an aching cry.

Ephraim didn’t acknowledge, but rushed to his wife’s side.  He knelt by the bedside and took her hand.


She didn’t respond.

“Hector,” Ephraim spoke to the physician.  “Hector!”

In an instant, Hector was at his side.

“What is wrong?”

It was a moment before he answered.  “I am sorry my Lord.  We were not prepared for the second child, it was too much.  Something was torn, she is bleeding and I cannot stop it.”

Ephraim gripped his wife’s hand.  No.  God, You cannot take her from me.

He rose to his feet and leaned over her.  Reaching out, he gently stroked her wet forehead then kissed it, breathing in her scent.  She still smelled of mint, like the day they first met.

“Kathryn,” he whispered.  “My Kathryn.”

There was a flutter of movement under her eyelid.  Slowly, she opened them.

“My Ephraim,” she whispered back, a small smile on her lips.  Ephraim tried to smile back.

“The children,” she continued in a faint voice. “Our children… Ephraim?”

Ephraim glanced at Hector.  The physician nodded, “She, the child lives me Lady.”

“She…” Kathryn breathed out. “Our daughter….the other?”

“A son,” Ephraim responded before Hector could say a word.

“A son… Ephraim,” she took a shaky breath.  “What shall we call them?”

“Whatever you want my love.”  Ephraim stroked her forehead with his thumb.

“Wrenna and Aaron.” she whispered after a moment.  “You…you choose the rest.”

“Kristine and… Walter.  Kristine for her mother and, Walter for my father.  How is that my love?”

“Wrenna Kristine and Aaron Walter Fulton.”  Kathryn smiled.  “Fine names.”

He nodded.



She whispered something, so softly, he couldn’t hear her.   He leaned in closer.

“I love you.”

A tear slid down his face.  He laid his hand on her cheek and kissed her.

“I love you too.”

(Copyright L.E.R. Jenkins 2013)

Farewell Dreams

Dreams.  We all have them and we all tend to cling to them as if they are our only life source.  I know I did.

Dreams are wonderful.  That fanciful daydream, longing, secret wish or hopeful thought, stirring in us an indescribable, uncomprehending desire to act on them and make them more than dreams, but realities.  Dreams such as…

Dreams of being successful.

Dreams of finding love, marrying.

Dreams of a family.

Dreams of being more.

Dreams of achieving all your higher goals.

And so many others.

Any of those dreams sound familiar?  Do they prick a cord in your heart, stirring up that same wishful fantasy they stir in mine?

Dreams are so precious aren’t they?  They’re apart of us, woven into who we are and every fiber of our being.  That’s why it’s so hard to let them go.  Yes, let them go.

2012 is drawing to a close, and as 2013 approaches, I think back over the past year and everything God has brought me through.  He has revealed so much to me over the past twelve months, taught me so much.  He has shown me how to be His hero, not just how to write about them, but how to be one.  He’s taught me a deeper meaning of love, how it endures, holds fast, never gives up and never lets go.  And, how to let go of my dreams.  The last was the hardest lesson to lean, one that brought many long nights and tear-filled prayers.

I’ve known for a long time God was calling me to relinquish my dreams to Him.  I thought I had, but no, I was still holding tight to them, my knuckles turning white with the strain.  It was tormenting.  Yes, tormenting.  Some of you reading this will understand, and really, this post is for you.  My dreams were beautiful, shaped through out the years of my life, from my child’s mind to now, and God wanted them.

This year was more of a struggle for me regarding letting my dreams go than any other year before, and yet, it was so wonderful at the same time.  The way God began revealing Himself to me, pulling my heart ever closer to His.  It hurt, it was hard, but it was beautiful.

It seems so many times, we pray and ask God to change us, to take control of every aspect of our lives, but we really don’t know what we’re asking for.  Complete and utter surrender, of, EVERYTHING.  Dreams included.  It’s funny, when we surrender our lives, we list things like money, job, school, family, heath, choices etc, things we can see, feel and touch, but we don’t consider our dreams as part of that list.  Yet, the reality is, our dreams are something God desires above the physical.  Why?  Because He has dreams for us too, and when we let ours go, He can give us His.  When we say goodbye to our dreams, we say hello to the wonderful things God has in store.

I never imagined it would turn out like this.  Never in my wildest dreams.  When I thought of letting my dream go, I thought I was giving them up.  In a way I was, I was emotionally giving up what I desired because I wanted God’s best, and if my dreams were getting in the way of that, then they were something I needed to sacrifice.  So, one night, I tearfully, even reluctantly, brought those dreams to the alter, laid them there, and let them go.  I asked God to make His dreams my dreams, and I gave Him the desires of my heart.   It was the hardest thing I have ever done, but I did it.

Did I feel relieved after?  Yes and no.   Yes, because I knew God would take care of those dreams, and do what was best for me and those dreams.  He was in control now.  No, because my human mind could not comprehend what I had just done.  I had let everything go, I had let my chance at those dreams go…but had I really?  A few weeks after that night, an amazing thing happened.  God have those dreams back to me, and it was wonderful.  (Eventually, I will tell you about those dreams, when the time is right.)

No one knows the desires of our hearts better than our Father in Heaven, and no one wishes to grant them more than He does.  I think too often we let what we want, what we want to hold on to get in the way of that.  We have to completely surrender those desires to Him before He can give them to us.  We have to be willing to let Him have our lives in their entirety if we want the blessings He has in store for those who trust in Him.

From someone who has hurt, struggled, bleed, and cried herself to sleep holding on to her dreams for dear life, because she thought if she let them go, she would lose them forever, let me tell you, God is wonderful.  He will not take your dreams and cast them aside after you place them into His hands.  Rather, He will lovingly take them, and create a more beautiful reality with them, then you could ever imagine.

Dreamer, don’t give up.  Letting them go is not the end, it is merely the beginning.

The Changing of a Season

Once again we find ourselves at the changing of seasons.  The time has come to bid farewell to the warmth of Summer and welcome in the coolness of Fall.  Summer hung tight for a while here in the Cascades, but it has at long last given way to my favorite season, Autumn.  The approaching of Autumn has always felt like the coming of an old friend.  Every year I welcome the colder weather, the colors of the leaves, the wet smell that hangs in the air, and the feeling of new beginnings it always brings.  The spirit of adventure, the warm of love, the excitement of things to come, always seem to grow stronger as the weather turns cold.

Autumn Landscape

Autumn Landscape (Photo credit: blmiers2)

Though the summer of 2012 is over, the memories of those four months will be with me always.  So much changed, so much happened, I feel as if I became a different person within that small span of time.  I will never forget the weeks spent with close friends, the moments we shared, the laughter, the amazing experiences, they will always have a special place in my heart. We may be saying goodbye to summer, but we will never say goodbye to what we shared and have together.

What is it about the turning of summer into autumn that strikes such a cord?  Is it the thought of spending cold nights curled up in a blanket, sitting by a warm fire with a cup of hot coco?  Is it the sound of the leaves crunching underfoot and the chill of the wind on your face?  Is it the coming of the holidays, and times spend with family and friends?  Or is it all of that?  Something always stirs in me when I see those first shades of orange, yellow and red begin to appear on the trees and smell the coming of colder weather.  The coming of change.  It seems so much changes at the coming of Autumn, more than any other season.  We put things of the summer away and prepare for the season ahead.

The hammock has been put away.  It’s sparks a small feeling of melancholy to go outside and no longer see it stretched between those two trees.  It had become a friend, holding fond memories of lounging in it’s green roped webbing, reading a book, listening to the wind through the leaves, and almost falling asleep within its fond embrace.  But at the same time, it sparks thoughts of days yet to come, in another year, in a future season, of once again lounging under the trees and watching the leaves dance above me.

Autumn is a time when we reflect on the year behind and dream of the year ahead.  Perhaps that is why it feels so different than any other season.  It’s a collision; of the past, the present, and the future.  Memories, hopes, and dreams.  When God gets out His paint brush and coats the world in brilliance.

Happy Autumn everyone.

What things does it hold for you?

Finding Love


What comes to mind when you hear that word?

An emotion?

A feeling?

Your significant other?

Over the past eight months one theme as come out of every event, lesson, or blessing in my life.  The theme of love.  I thought I understood love before.  Understood what it was like to love someone, to love God, love your family, but really, I didn’t.  Even now, though it is more clear to me than ever before, I know I didn’t know the half of it.

What is love to you?  Real love.  True love.  Love that would sacrifice everything, even it’s own desires, just for you.  You.  Only you.

God lead me to write a love story.  A love story that follows His leading and not the leading of the heart.

He’s been showing me how to love my family.

He’s been teaching me how to love my future husband and be patient for his returned love.

He’s whispered comforting words of love into my heart during lonely nights when I have nearly cried myself to sleep.

He’s shown me His love through the love of a friend.

He’s shown me His love and what He can do with it in the hearts of young people who have a passion to serve Him as a body of believers.

I have been overwhelmed with joy and happiness for the past several weeks, and I suddenly realized, part of that joy was His love pouring over me.  Never before have a felt God’s love in this way.  Though my heart may be sore with a fear that tries to consume me, I can’t help smiling, and laughing with shear joy because I now God loves me.  Me!  And is looking out for me, has my best interest at heart, holds my life in His almighty hands, and, loves me.

What does love look like to me?

It looks like a cross.

A man.

The Son of God.

The timeless, almighty, all knowing, infinite, righteous, creator of the world, stepping into time, separating Himself from God the Father, taking on my sins, past, present and future, before I was even born, with my name in His heart.  Dying, suffering more than anyone ever has or ever will.  Breaking His own heart, because he, loves me.

Because He has a plan for my life.  An amazing plan.

Because He wanted to bring me into His family.

Because He wants me to spend eternity with Him.

Because He… loves… me.

I’ve grown up being told, knowing that God loved me, but never before, have I truly understood the depth of that love.  How it was so much more that just dying for me and paying the prince for my sin, but also providing, guiding, guarding, disciplining, comforting, bringing me hope.

Now I understand and possess a love that can span the depth of time.

A love that can breach any wall.

Soften any heart.

Heal any wound.

Work miracles.

Change the world.

It’s impossible.

It’s crazy.

It’s unbelievable.

It’s REAL.

A love that I have.

A love that is freely given to me, me, who could never love like that.

I’m overwhelmed.



This love has broken my selfish heart.

Filled my eyes with tears.

Lifted up my soul with joy.

And that’s just the beginning.

I’ve found love.

Have you?

His Blood (A Story for Good Friday)

No, that’s can’t be him.  How can that be him?

The crowd thronged around me.  Hundreds of people were pushing and shoving, trying to get a clear view of the procession moving up the street.  I stared at the man being driven along by the whips of Roman soldiers, the weight of a crosses beams pressing against his bleeding shoulder.  I wanted to rush in and set him free.  I knew the sting of those whips, knew the humiliation they brought.

How could they be doing this to him?  What had he done?  A lump formed in my throat, I tried to swallow it, but it wouldn’t yield.  What had he done?  He saved me.  Me, a bitter slave, he had called me by name.  He had done the same for so many others.  Why?  Jehovah why?!


I turned and looked over my shoulder.  Laurel was trying to get to me through the crowd.  I forced my way to her.  Once I reached her she took my hand and pulled me away from the crowd.  The throng continued to move up the street.

“Dafydd, it’s him isn’t it?” She looked up at me, tears glistening in her eyes.  Those eyes, not long ago they were clouded and couldn’t see.  Now she stared up at me, her eyes clear and whole.

I nodded.


“I… I don’t know.”

“Can’t we do something?”

I shook my head.  “Come,” I squeezed her hand.  “The people have moved on, if we don’t hurry, we will miss him.”

Laurel gripped my hand and let me lead her up the street.  We passed through the gate and stared at the sight that met our eyes.  Golgotha, the place of the skull. The Romans preferred this spot for their executions.  It was outside a city gate, on raised ground where everyone could see.  The people were gathered around the hill, I could hear women wailing.  Admits the calmer of voices and the wails of the anguished the strike of a hammer rang out along with the cries of a man.

My stomach knotted.

We made our way up the hill.  As we neared the top Roman soldiers heaved on ropes and three crosses rose up, each with a man nailed to the beams.  Laurel pulled me to a stop, covering her mouth to stifle a cry.

There he was, Jesus, the master, hanging there, dying.  No!  My own eyes filled with tears and I feel to my knees.  Jehovah no!  Laurel knelt beside me, her body shacking with sobs.  I raised my eyes and gazed at his altered form.  His body was so bloody, his face so torn, I hardly recognized him.  Could it really be him?  Maybe it was all a dream, just a terrible dream.  A crown of thorns dug into his skull, a mocking sigh hung over his head, “The King of The Jews”.  It was real, all of it.

A group of robed priests stood not too far from where Laurel and I knelt.  I glanced at them.  They’re faces were stoic.  What did they think of the injustice they had caused?  An innocent man was dying before them, and they just stood and watched.  I knew the blood of the master was on their hands.

I clenched my fists.  Before, I would have cursed them, wished hell to fall on their heads, but now, now I pitied them.  I looked back to the cross, his cross.  He was the reason the hate was gone from my heart, and now he was dying.  They had killed him.

Someone shoved by me.  I fell forward, catching myself before my face could slam into the ground.  My hands landed in wetness.  I raised them, staring at me palms.  Blood covered my hands.  I looked down at the ground, a trail of red spread from where I knelt to the cross where Jesus hung.  Fresh tears rolled down my cheeks.

“Dafydd?”  Laurel looked at me.

“His blood… His blood is on my hands.”

A Little Imagination

Here we are, my final story for my Fiction writing class.  For this, the assignment was to write a story in a different form from what we had written before.  I decided to try my hand at writing a poem story.  I had a lot of fun writing it, though in my opinion it could still use a little work.  Even so, I’m pretty happy with the turn out. 

Read and enjoy.  🙂 

P.S.  To Garret: It’s not Beowulf, but here you go. 😉

A Little Imagination

Corridors of darkness where no spark of light be found,

Is where our hero treads his courage is unbound.

He walks with silent footfalls as quiet as the night,

A sword clasped in hand he wields an awesome might.


A figure at his shoulder sits to offer aid and guidance,

Her little wings sparkle and gleam with fair reliance.

Her tiny voice steers him on for her magic eyes can see,

In the darkness no eyes are better than a fairy’s eyes can be.


Together they embark on a quest of great weight and degree,

To find a land of toil and strain and set it’s captives free.

They journeyed long to find this place and now they’re at the door,

A portal awaits, they must pass through but then they hear the roar.


A mighty beast with flaming tongue out from the darkness bounds,

 Its great clawed feet upon the earth beats and stomps and pounds,

Seeing the beast our hero thinks, “Perhaps we should depart.”

The fairy flutters and whispered, “No, now be brave take heart!”


“Take up our sword and slay the beast take courage and stand fast,

For once this fiend is dead and gone, into the land we pass!”

So our hero raises his gleaming sword and charges at his foe,

And delivers to its chest a mighty thrust and blow.


The monster screams and fire pours from its gapping maw,

It tries to snare our hero with his outstretched reaching claw.

But our hero ducks then thrusts and stabs with every bit of force,

The beast then falls and breaths his last, our hero stumbles forth.


Into the portal they now walk, our hero and his fairy,

They’ve done a great deed they’ve slain the beast, but no they must not tarry.

On they go and pass into the land of toil and dread,

Over hill through the dales across the land they tread.


To find the captives bound in chains pleading for a way,

For someone to come and set them free and bring a sunny day.

But something has happened someone’s here, watching our hero daring,

To cross this land amidst the grief and strife and evil glaring.


“Johnny boy,” a voice comes through our hero stops and turns,

His mother stands inside the door, his stomach flips and churns.

“The night is late why are you up, why aren’t you now in bed?

You should be sleeping Johnny boy, that’s what your father said.”


“I was playing a game mother dear, I was a hero brave,

“My fairy here was helping me, the captive we must save!”

His mother smiles and shakes her head, “To bed you now must go,

You can play tomorrow then in daylight you can fight your foe.”


And so our hero drops his sword that’s really made of wood,

And places the fairy back on the shelf next to his Robin Hood.

His mother tucks him tight in bed and tells her boy good night,

“What an imagination you have,” She whispers turning out the light

Today in Hell, By Morning, In Paradise

This is a story I wrote for my Fiction Writing class.  Let me know what you think.


I would die at dawn, the guard told me that evening. 

As he held a plate of stale bread inches away from my groping hand he said with a sneer.   “We do not feed the condemned, Christianus.”  Christian. 

He spat the word out like bad wine and retreated, taking the treasured food with him.  I clutched at the bars of my cell staring after him, listening to his footsteps echo and fade into nothing.  Hunger clawed at my stomach, a painful ache digging through my gut.  Was it hunger?  Or was it the reality of my fate?  Tomorrow I would die.  I sank to the ground and wrapped my arms around my thin frame, the chains about my ankles ratting with the movement.  The coarse wool of my ragged clothing cut into my skin, the smell of my own filth hung thick in the air of my little cell.  I held my breath and squeezed my eyes close, shutting everything out.  No, no, NO!  What had brought me to this? 

My ears began to ring, my lungs begged for air.  I held on, maybe, maybe I could end it all right here, right now, save myself the pain of a Roman execution.  My life is no longer in my hands.  I had said those words, all thoughs years ago, putting my fate in another’s hands.    I gasped, opening my eyes and heaving in great gulps of air.  Tears stung my eyes and traced salty trails down my checks. 

As a boy, my father had told me men didn’t cry, but my father hadn’t known what would happen.  He hadn’t known the Romans would come and kill him.  He hadn’t known I would be taken to live out my days as a slave, never again to see my beloved Britton.  So I cried.  I cried for the past, for the boy I had once been, free in my homeland.  I cried for my fate, for the flames that awaited me come the dawn. 

My heart filled with anguish I raised my tear stained face to the small shaft of light flickering against the wall from a torch across the way. 

“Deus donavi meus ultionis!”  God give me vengeance!  I shook my fist, yelling in the Latin tongue at the light as if it represented the presence of God in this foul place.  Give me vengeance. 

My life is no longer in my hands.  I had given it away, let it go.  He had given his, what more was I to do with mine?  

I was afraid to die.  Afraid of the pain, but I could still escape it, I could still live. 

“Deny, deny your faith and you shall go free.”

I stared at the procurator; my chains seemed to grow heavier as if to embellish his words.  Deny, simple enough.  They were words only were they not?  God would still see what was in my heart, see I still believed though my tongue said otherwise.  I could live, continue serving Him.  What good was I dead?  All I had to do was say three simple words – “I deny Christ” – and I would go free.  Free.  The flames would devour another martyr, but not me. 

“Well?  What say you?”  The procurator stood looking down his nose at me, awaiting my reply.  “Stop preaching this false faith, deny the Christian God and your life will be spared.” 

Why was I hesitating?  Why was I silent?  Lord, I do not want to die.

The procurator gave an exasperated sigh and waved his hand at the guards.  “Take him away.”

I was dragged to me feet and hauled from the room, my chains clattering on the marble floor.

“There is still time, if you should choose to change your mind.”  The procurator’s words fallowed me from the hall, ringing in my ears.

I thought of them now, wondering where I would be and what I would be doing at this moment had I said those words.  Perhaps I’d be sitting with Laurel, our hands clasped together, speaking of our upcoming marriage.  Laurel, I could still see her face when they came to take me away.  She cried my name, her voice wrought with anguish and fear.


Oh, to see her again!  To lose myself in her dark eyes and the sound of her bell-like laughter. 

“Lord,” I prayed.  “Protect her; do not let her suffer my fate.” 

My fate; I wondered at my words.  Had I chosen to die?  I remembered that day, how many years ago?  The teacher, dying in agony on a Roman cross above my head, hardly recognizable as the man I had known.  He was innocent of any crime, just as I was now, but they had killed him and he had allowed it.  He had chosen death, could I do the same?  I followed him, I spoke in his name, but could I die for him?  So many had died already, they did not deny him.    

“Lord, you can see my heart, can you not?  You can see my fear, how can I do this?  Can I not serve you more by living to spread your Word?  What of my life with Laurel?  I will never see her again in this life, never have a life together.  God, how is this part of your will?  What have I done that you would abandon me to the flames?  Let me live!” 

My voice echoed back to me, bouncing against the stone walls, let me live! 

“He never abandons us Dafydd.  We are mere men; we cannot comprehend his thoughts or his plans.”  Stephen, his words returned to me.  “He sets a path before us and leaves us with the choice to walk it.  What will you choose Dafydd?” 

Stephen died, stoned for his beliefs.  He had stood fast, facing death.  Could I do the same? 

“Could I?” 

I thought back to the day I had met the Teacher.  The day he had given Laurel back her sight and in a way, he had given sight to my blind eyes.  I was a bitter slave, cursing those who had killed my family and taken me from my homeland to live a life of bondage among a people who thought of me as chattel.  My heart was filled with nothing but hate.  Laurel had tried to show me love, she had taught me Latin, nursed my wounds after beatings, but the hate in my heart blinded me to her kindness.  I was more a captive to myself and the bitterness inside then I ever was as a slave.  It ate at me, tearing my mind apart; then he came.

He healed my shattered heart.  Never before had I felt so liberated.  The hate, the bitterness, the hurt, it was all swept away at the touch of his hand and the sound of his voice calling my name.  He had shown me how to forgive those who had slaughtered my family and enslaved me.  Though by law I was still a slave, in my heart and soul, I was freed forever.

How could I deny that?  How could I deny the hope, the peace, the joy, the freedom I had been given?  I couldn’t.  I could not betray the love that had given me new life. 

“Acceptus calicis ex meus,” Take this cup from me.  “My life is in your hands.”            

As a cold chill crawled up my spine I shivered.  The night would soon be over, my last night on earth.  I leaned against the moist stones of my cell.  The slow drip of water sounded from somewhere in the gloom.  Laughter of the guards and cries of fellow captives could be heard as faint whispers in the silence of the prison.  I looked around me, the stench, the darkness, the hunger, this place was hell, but tomorrow, tomorrow I would find paradise.

My life is in your hands.     

The End


Pronunciation guide:

Dafydd – (Da-vith)
     a: short as in can

To Forget

I wrote this last month.  It was one of those days when change seemed to be the enemy, laughing as I tried to hold on to things that once were: forgotten memories.  It was sort of meant to be a song, but I couldn’t quite get it to fit into that format.  It’s not my best work, I was more trying to force the thoughts out of my head then letting inspiration flow, but  anyway, here it is.  Let me know what you think.


This day would come, this we always knew,
We spun such wondrous dream, me and you.
The adventures we had, the magic we made,
Good times gone by, they now start to fade.

Now I’m saying goodbye, when it should have been hello,
You smile and wave, your face all aglow.
I hold back the tears; it shouldn’t be this way,
My breaking heart overflows with dismay.

As I watch you leave, the memories replay,
But their vibrant colors have all turned to gray.
I cling to the elusive drops as it begins to rain,
When I see you next, will it still be the same?

Do you understand? Or am I alone?
If I call, will you still pick up the phone?
This shouldn’t hurt, but the pain pierces deep,
The glass of broken promises you swore you would keep.

But I’ll always love you, I’ll never forget,
No matter what, never hold you do your debt.
I’ll always be there, even if you don’t see,
I’ll be waiting forever, beneath our memory tree.

%d bloggers like this: