He did dream

And dreams did descend

Not plummet, not grate the mind nor turmoil lend

Death quivered down near his soul to rest

And dreams did descend

Frail reservation his soul possessed

With hope to recoil, the eyes digressed

The prospect guised austere

And into the ivories he did disappear

And into the melody his soul would wane

Soft, poignant beauty would lament the rain

Dust collected

A departure reflected

A gone-ness projected

The song is perfected

 

 

My intended major is journalism but my passion is creative writing. When people ask how I possess such a fire for writing, my only answer is that the words just flow from me. I have written poetry and novels for as long as I can remember and as a teenager I loved to do collaborative short stories with my peers. I hope that someday I can make a living from creative writing because it brings me such joy. I had high school teachers bring about the prospect of publication but it never worked out. My inspirations are Edgar Allan Poe, William Blake, Samuel Taylor Coleridge and Robert Frost.