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“Somehow it has all
added up to song —
earth, air, rain and light,
the labor and the heat,
the mortality of the young.
I will go free of other
singing, I will go
into the silence
of my songs, to hear
this song clearly.”

– A Song Sparrow Singing in the Fall, by Wendell Berry



We have a melody

each one of us

that we raise in harmony


we raise our voices to the sky

seeking to relinquish everything

to the One who created us


april 6-11 poetry


april 6, 2017


shopping list

rubber boots to wade through salty tears

an umbrella to keep off any emotional downpour

glasses to see the truth through dreams and hopes

pomegranates bc they taste delicious and my soul needs that

a chest of dreams to inspire my heart again

a box of watercolors to paint my mind brighter

earbuds to shut out this lonely world with music

bandaids to cover the cuts in other people’s souls



april 7, 2017


my favorite clothes

slowly start to tear

first my flannel shirt

with the hole

in the elbow

next my comfy jeans

with rip in the knee

maybe next will be

my hopes and dream

those scary




april 8, 2017


the city skyline

is built of power

and determination

both of which

tend to scare me

but glass panes

and steel


jagged diamonds

that will never fade

from the memory

stuck in my head.



april 9,2017

they walk

hand in hand

along the road

oblivious to it all

only looking at each other

staring into each

other’s eyes

a tiny family of

two and a half

and inside my soul

i feel a twinge of happiness

like a sip of tea

on a rainy day

or a footprint

in clean, crystal snow,

a brick wall over grown

with ivy and nostalgia,

soft green grass

under bare toes,

and i smile.



april 10, 2017


each breath

lasts a millisecond longer

than the one before

and my eyes

are trying to close

against the chaos

in front of me


maybe learning you

would let me understand

what it is

i’m missing


or maybe you’d see

just how selfish

i am

if you ever bothered to

learn me back


and i’m sure

you don’t care

not about me anyway

and if i’m right

please don’t trick me

into thinking you do


you’re confused




april 11, 2017


you said

to write


i told you

i’d written out

all the chaos


and now all i’m left with

is inky confusion


an echoing heart


-dedh // april 7-11, 2017

april 4 // poem

i write the same


over and over


a different pile

of half-wasted words


at my feet and

until i find

the combination that

i crave

that broken jumble

of heartache

and salt water

is only


to grow


-dedh  // april 4, 2017

pain // hope

there was pain
that refused to leave
me alone.
it clung to my back
between my shoulder blades
and it aches
and bleeds
and hurts.
there was hope
that resisted
and still it hides,
in my rib cage
beside my heart
and it loves
and loves
and loves.


03. 24. 16

by dill

w a n d e r l u s t // 1616

hey there! this is a short literature assignment, which was to write a response to an excerpt of John Smith’s A Description of New England.

I’d love your feedback on it, and I could turn into a longer story, if anyone would like me to. 🙂

It is from the viewpoint of Isabelle Wiltshire,  an 18 year old young woman living in England.

“As a young person, reading Sir John Smith’s account of his journey stirs in my heart an ache, to go, to travel, to see this ‘New World’ in the light he has painted it.
He speaks of a charge laid on us to further the knowledge of our God. How long have I desired this very thing? If I went to the New World, this new country of ours, would I be of more use there than I am here? Is there a place for a young unmarried woman with no experience of the world? Could my life better put to use there?
I care not for myself to be taken care of, nor for my own safety, but if I have children, perhaps disease would be easier to battle on that coast. Perhaps they could make a name for themselves there, as not many people can here in Mother England. Perhaps raised in a wilder place, they would be stronger, able to work harder, with improved minds accustomed to difficulty.
And then there is the matter of savages. Some say danger, I say opportunity. It may be that my Lord is commanding me to go. Perhaps He has called me to follow others to a wild land, paradise, to bring those natives to His heart.
Schools will be planted, churches organised, and we may bring those Indians to our Lord. Really, if even one came to Him, my going would be entirely worthwhile.
One soul is worth any danger.
If I went, would I set myself apart as I am longing to do? The middle daughter of a clergyman has nothing to her name, and not any dowry to speak of. Anything I can do, my sisters have already done.
Except this.
I am going to the New World.”