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Continue reading →: The Hill We Climb
Here Florida is The Poem some Fear. When day comes, we ask ourselves, where can we find light in this never-ending shade?The loss we carry. A sea we must wade.We braved the belly of the beast.We’ve learned that quiet isn’t always peace, and the norms and notions of what “just”…
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Continue reading →: Dark Road in Mexico
I remember her sitting there Where there’s coffee on the tableAnd kindness in your handOn the road to Ensañada
Hello,
I’m Mark
His friends observe Mark seems wired a little differently. Perhaps it’s more likely that noticing little things often missed by others is a relic of a quieter, simpler time. He has a way with words, which he refuses to let be hindered by sub-par typing skills. People have great stories to tell if you sit and listen.
A belief dear to Mark is that there is certain beauty in the world. You simply have to look for it.
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