Like a child who runs into her parents' room to snuggle on a Saturday morning
I run to you - I need your comfort
The cold, winter air chills my bones
But I run to you - I crave your warmth
I string words together
But you string people and circumstances together
To bring heaven on earth
You are the author of our stories
Bringing beauty out of the darkest moments
Making dead things come to life
Drawing us back to your love
About the Creator
Amy Carlsen
Seattle-based writer born and raised in Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania. Left the field of engineering sales to pursue vocation in full-time ministry. Married to her college sweetheart, Tory, and loves being a mom to her Kindergartener, Cole.
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More stories from Amy Carlsen and writers in Poets and other communities.
Smart phones, Humans and Aliens.
WARNING. I will be tapping into one of your favorite creative tensions: The absurdity of humans worshipping their glowing rectangles as if they were tiny oracles. There’s something deliciously poetic about that contradiction, and it lends itself beautifully to an instructive proviso.
By Novel Allen6 days ago in Poets
The Path to Salvation
The late autumn evening air filled the monk's lungs, but it wasn't the season that chilled his bones. The heavy-handed presence of evil he had sensed upon entering the woods surrounding this mountain village had not bothered to conceal itself from him.
By Made in DNAabout 16 hours ago in Fiction
Comments (1)
This writing was outstanding. Thank you for being the best parent anyone could ask for.