☆⨟ The Light & The Lighthouse

The dead silence is fractured as the creaking sound of a rocking chair echoes in an empty room. A lone elderly woman stares off into the distance with hard, glassy eyes. They have seen better days. The wrinkles that adorn her face run deep like the dense sorrow that dwells in her shattered heart. Her soul leaks with a thousand regrets, but yet is filled with a million memories. Linda Fuller’s chapped lips part ever so slightly, letting out a subtle sigh. Their years together seemed to have vanished like a tiny flame in the eye of a storm. This upcoming August would have been the celebration of their 50th anniversary. Her husband Millard Fuller had passed on to a better place; leaving behind a massive footprint to those he was able to give shelter for. A saddened smile tickled her lips as her mind took the deep journey through memory lane. He was a millionaire by the age of 30, but his heavy heart did not allow him to enjoy this wealth selfishly. Instead of basking in his riches until his golden years, he had decided to give this up. The smile on Linda’s face continued to increasingly grow. In her dark orbs she could see the massive houses now. It was like these houses were crafted for the sole purpose of touching the tip of the heavens. Millard donated the majority of his wealth o a blessed Christian charity that constructed houses for those who desperately needed it. These shelters were something that both Fuller’s were extremely proud of. The ever-growing network provided fresh, lavish houses for more than 1.5 million needy individuals. Linda’s eyes gazed out into the window that streamed what little light was able to filter into the empty room. She knew that like the sun that rose every morning, her beloved husband’s activities would continuously shine a beaker of hope to those who were less fortunate. He would be the light, and she would be the lighthouse.

☆⨟ Electric Lullaby

hush little baby, don't say a word,
shut your lips and you won't be heard...


'doctor, i am feeling particularly
self-destructive
upon this fine night.'

'well, i suppose we must
distract your mind.
have you thought about
your childhood? about things
that make you smile?'

'yes.'


twinkle, twinkle, little star,
why haven't you exploded?
the shadows are waiting to eat you up
and mr. moon's eroded.


'when i was young,
i used to have nightmares.'

'really? can you tell me
what they were about?'

'i'm capable, sure.'

'well...? you know i'm just
here to help you.'


'yes. they were about black holes
and thunderstorms,
and falling from charcoal mountaintops.'


rain, rain, stay with me,
soak my bones and set me free.
and when i do not wake tomorrow,
let your grey clouds cry in sorrow.


'tell me, patient, of some of
the things running through
your mind. let's keep our eyes
looking ahead. what will you do
when you're
better?'

'i'll climb the hill, like jack or jill-'

'i don't think this is the best time
for nursery rhymes.
tell me how you feel,
what your heart feels,
what your eyes see
when you close them.'

'-and i'll fall right down
and break my crown
and you'll come tumbling after.'

☆⨟ Good Art, Bad Art

In reality, there are always two sides to things. Although we always wish for an ideal outlook, it is never successfully justified. Who is to say that one side is right, and the other is wrong? I believe that both sides can be reflected in a magnitude of different ways. In my personal opinion, good art can be defined through one’s soul. Whether the theme of the piece seems distorted and irregular, it can still grant us a wealth of insight to different perspectives through the author’s eyes. I don’t classify bad art in a sense of pointless mouthing, cussing, and devalued morals; because that is the reflection that one individual has on an aspect of life. Good art should come from the soul, and should entice question. I believe that good art should be able to give the viewer a heavy impression and leave them with something to think about. This can be in a case of abstract paintings, or an intricate novel. Whatever the case, good art should be able to successfully allow us to be in touch with what we’re viewing. My definition of bad art is merely that it does not give us enough to really entice the viewer. Good art should be able to twist the heat strings and break into your mind with words and visuals. If an artistic piece lacks this concept, then it is like doing a jigsaw puzzle with missing pieces. You cannot fully understand the emotion that the art is trying to portray unless there is a way to communicate it through the piece. Emotion is a large portion of what makes art so overwhelming and interesting. It keeps the flame of art alive, hooking its viewers with a crosshatched brush stroke or a sentence of personification.