Father. Academic Advisor. Musician. Writer. My real name is Jesse Balogh.
Here I am again, praying for you. The flow from my heart runs incessantly, though at times, the rush of words feels impervious,
By Rowan Finley 2 months ago in Poets
they don’t fit antsy, they won’t sit instead they fling and bring question marks that resemble scars they pour up
Sand smoothes. Time sifts. Swiftly tips. Parched lips, wait. On one hand, hours hush. On the other, longer, hand minutes mix.
Your forgiveness rises on the morning dove’s wings, the thought, makes my mind sing. Opportunity tunes herself to the sound of winding Grace Way.
By Rowan Finley 3 months ago in Poets
Light flashes around my revolving heart that is as a calm lighthouse. Their eyes, in the crowd, are as the ships riding tumbling waves.
Budding youth are more than > distracted, they are immersed, coerced by the media and the looming idols that are affixed in pop culture.
Lion of Judah. Thank you for fighting my battles. You told me to trust, and thrust my fears aside. You cried by my side,
When life gives you moldly lemons, DON'T MAKE LEMONADE! Instead, throw those lemons into the woods, and before long, you’ll have a grove of lemon trees!
I want to think outside of the box. I feel cramped, Stale. Too still. Suffocated, some days. One day, I felt shaken awake.
Read part 1, written by Komal via the link below. The first several hours felt thrilling. "Is this flight really 22 hours and 20 minutes long? That's almost a full day..."
By Rowan Finley 3 months ago in Fiction
I can make a mean mug of meatballs. Don’t be confused, the mug isn’t mean, although the pattern is mesmerizing, so it would seem.
Climb the staircase in my head, better do it now, before I’m dead! The staircase leads to rooms that most people don’t care to see,
