I thought this site was dead. I began to use it for different ends. But alas, surprise - it was never dead, only hidden to my eyes, you all kept going, love you guys!

​Let me know if the formatting's wrong, and I'll update the look of your sacred song.

​Emanuel

A mystic tree did block the path on which I trudged along, not felled but newly rooted with its leaves full green, alive with song. At once it looked familiar but again a foreign silhouette; I knew the names of branches but the leaves themselves, we’d never met. To the tree I introduced myself as one who needs must navigate the dissolution harmonies that frightened men disseminate. The tree then laughed and stepped aside and bent its boughs in salutation. And thence the mystic seed was planted: the fruitlessness of navigation.

​Samuel Tillman

The sun rises Anticipation, then- the anxiety of becoming flawless. Which way is right? I still don't know. As I feel the clock glaring at me behind my back, I wonder if my soul will ever show. Blank page, cluttered mind. Sharpened pencil, dull emotions. I start to sweat Another day can't go past unanswered. I must Write. Create. Find something divine. But all I seem to be able to do is waste time. I sigh, take a break. Grab another cup of coffee And take a walk down the empty street. Only bitter coldness greets me here. Biting all the way down to my core. I find myself at the end of the street. About to turn back, as weary as before When a sight catches my eyes A flower Among the dead and decaying leaves, It still manages to rise. In the last light of twilight, I see its bright blue glow. Thank you. For a crucial reminder: Even in the middle of winter, A flower can survive and grow. 

​Echo West