Ode to My Final love

I wrote this sonnet in classic Elizabethan form out of Respect for Keats and because I am a hopeless romantic. Though I understand this form to be archaic, it is nonetheless beautiful. Also, I know it's not any form of classical Ode in style, but who cares. It's dedicated to her.

What is a Promise

Promises are worthless, but not in the way that you think. When intent leaves our mouths, they are the representations of our credibility. To say "I Promise" then suggests that an additional declaration is necessary to trust anything you say, for without it, your words would be disingenuous and hollow. "I'll come over for dinner.", "Sorry... Continue Reading →


The Indian man sat casually sipping coffee and making notes in his journal, jotting down whatever was of interest to him in the book he held close. His shoes lay next to his feet, perfectly white socks breathing in the air of the coffee shop save where a stray Band-Aid stuck to the underneath on... Continue Reading →


Albert was proud of his new umbrella. Of 1970’s construction, the last to exist before modernization turned them to flimsy wire constructs which flip inside out in the slightest spring wind. He carried it as a cane, for which it served the purpose well. When the strong rains came over the westward mountains, black and swollen,... Continue Reading →

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