Little yellow bud
Called a weed by those who do
Not understand hope
About the Creator
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More stories from Joelle E N and writers in Poets and other communities.
No Word Comes Near Enough
The English language has its limits. I learned this when I became a student of the Bible and looked up the Greek and Hebrew definitions behind the Scriptures I loved. Some languages have so much more depth and power than the one I use to convey my thoughts. But, even so, I don't think any word could ever come close to describing this void and pain I am journeying through. I don't know how to swim through its murky waters.
By Shirley Belk4 days ago in Poets
Winterthorne
Winterthorne stood alone at the edge of the park. The beautiful snow that had surrounded him was all trampled now, from the feet of all of the children who had built him. He missed the sparkly clean snow blanket, but he was happy that so many children had come out to make him.
By Laura DePace7 days ago in Fiction
Comments (4)
Oh wow! You knocked it out the park with this one! Well done, Joelle!
A great outlook on such a small thing 🥰
love this so much!
This one is my favorite so far!!! The last line really adds the masterful touch.