To be honest, I’m not following a lot of election politics right now. Maybe it’s because I’m not patriotic. Maybe I’m what’s wrong with this country. Or maybe it’s because the election is over a year away! But I have to say, whenever I skim over the political side of news sites, or even gander at what’s trending on Facebook and Twitter, a little smirk forms on the right corner of my mouth whenever the name Donald Trump appears, enticing me to click and read on more than anyth

Irony is one of my favorite literary devices. It’s when the audience, or the reader, knows something in advance that a character in a story doesn’t, which gives onlookers a completely different attitude toward what is going on than what the character has. Let’s say, for example, that you’re watching a show about a guy named Jason who struggles with depressing and suicidal thoughts. It’s a week before his 30th birthday, and he’s noticed people being distant and evasive. He thi

My friend grumbled as I told him a rumor that Ben Affleck was going to be writing, directing, and starring in a stand-alone batman sequel. I expect to hear a lot more grumbles, from myself included, in the coming months and years until it is finally released. But as I think about it, I shouldn’t be grumbling, nor should you even if you’re as unthrilled as many are about seeing more Bat-Fleck. At least not from an economic perspective. Don’t worry, I won’t drop too many number

What to Do With a Broken Heart A fragileness time should have healed Merely through distance was concealed And in but moments ripped apart, Fabric that veiled a broken heart How to live with hopes unspoken Silent for years, now awoken Sweltering more than at the start; What to do with a broken heart? Hopes and dreaming, fleeting comforts Distance returns but only hurts Yet onward, pull a hopeful cart One that carries a broken heart

“Keep thy heart with all diligence; for out of it are the issues of life” (Proverbs 4:23). Isn’t it strange that you experience emotion in your chest, not your head? It is among the most puzzling things about being human. The brain is supposed to interpret and control everything that goes on in your body, yet it seems to feel nothing, an emotionally hollow organ. Joy, sadness, fear, anger, and everything else rest instead somewhere near our hearts. And so the above proverb of

Last week, I published a poem called Of This New Day, which I based on the imagery of pen writing out dreams into a biography of sorts. The uncertain future has been on my mind lately, thoughts on what I can and want to accomplish with the unwritten pages of my life’s story. I find it a therapeutic way to gain motivation in times of difficulty, and I think it’s something that can benefit anyone. It forces you to be honest, to evaluate where you are and what needs to happen fo

The World's Game Come now to a place of pride, but not fear Where cities and nations war, without gun, without spear, But with meters, with nets, and a little white ball In cathedrals of green, on which bombs need not fall Though it be far from perfect, still filled with man’s banes It brings earth together, a shared blood through its veins So come learn its splendor, why its disciples proclaim, This the battlefield of mankind; this, the world’s game

Of this new day, what shall be made As iron strikes ‘cross fields of white To tear in flesh for hope soon laid In faith for life’s eternal light? Oh cry my heart that time will yield If I but persevere this day With love now sown into this field As red dawn skies retreat to grey

Of This New Day - Part I Of this new day, what shall be made As quill glides over fields of white To rip up earth for seeds soon laid In hopes of crops and trees of might? Oh cry my heart that time will yield If I but persevere this day With soul now sown into this field As red dusk skies retreat to grey