Ever love to do something, but get fed up with doing it? I love to write; it's a passion of mine. Yet, some days it's like pulling teeth. I enjoy writing. I have all these ideas floating around my head, and the vast majority of them (about 99%) get lost in the abyss of delay that I call my mind. I think if I could actually put them on paper as soon as they surface - I would probably win a Pulitzer, but they vanish almost as quickly as they appear. It's discouraging. Then take lack of ambition and drive, and throw them into the mix and you have one undetermined, lazy writer here! Ha! Hmmmmm. I guess this could be a New Year's resolution for me: more determination and drive = an even better writer! There you have it.....that's my resolution. To be more efficient, more aware and more determined! 

Here is a couple of Sonnets that I am actually very happy with the outcome:

Consummation

Doth my burning desire feel but naught?
Then allow me to beseech this query.
Whence our love is emotionally taut,
thou empty eyes are callous and weary.
Canst my dearest reprove this revulsion?
While apart, my shattered heart yet beats.
Each aching impel is a stout expulsion.
Henceforth, my laden lover does retreat.
Forgive me love, I haven’t decided,
whither my heart tis' in one true accord.
Wilt thou lend me a moment provided,
to decide if I am rightly aboard.
True love shouldn’t be this complicated,
so, maybe we should have consummated?

AND

 Nameless

They whist the battle time was drawing near,
courageous men, neither black nor white,
with a swoop of their bunk, and battle gear,
nameless fighters disappear into night.
Wilt thou speak a prayer for the soldier?
And to whither they shalt return or not.
Wilt they appear thou stronger and bolder,
Or shalt they forget the battles they fought?
Overmanny hath hidden in torment,
And henceforth choose a sullen life recluse,
I trow not of battle scars, or extent,
this bold warrior not willing to lose.
Forget naught the Soldier or what he gave,
place his boots and his dog tags at his grave.

I hope you enjoy them!

Annabelle Grace

Annabelle Grace

It wasn’t the darkness that frightened Annabelle Grace Tracy; it was what was out there that made her tremble and paralyzed with fear.  Annabelle Tracy, otherwise known as Annie by her friends and family, was notorious for being independent, strong, somewhat “eccentric” and definitely courageous, and nothing seemed to scare her; until now.   She knew if she could keep her cool and what wits she had left, things would work out, but the minute she portrayed the slightest hint of vulnerability; she would be shredded into a million small pieces, but the silence was too silent. The wind blew slightly, yet everything still stood idle, motionless. She could hear the whistle of the wind ever so faintly – just enough to whisper its name, but not its purpose. The trees stood perfectly still as did the fragile leaves on their branches; as if they were paralyzed, maybe with fear as she was.  At just 18 years old, Annabelle had accomplished more than most of the girls her age, and even girls double her age.  Besides exceling in sports at school, Annie was brilliant as well as artistic.  Her paintings sold to the highest bidder, and the highest bidder always paid big.  The Art Dealer which harbored her work told her that “the best was yet to come”.  But Annie never did it for the money; it was never about the money, rather enjoyment and a self-confidence booster after the hell she went through at school….but now that “hell” seemed so minute compared to what was happening now.  How could of she been be so naïve?