Poetry moves me 
It's captures my eye 
It finds me 
When I try to forget about it
It heal and also restore hope
It carries me when I can't 
It makes me forgive those who wronged me 
And move on from the Pain I suffer
The words of every poem.
I write 
Is defines my endless cry 
A cry that was never heard ???

It’s an odd thing, happiness. Some people take happiness from gold. Or black pearls. And some of us, far more fortunate, take their happiness from periwinkles.

Sometimes our best action result in things that are most regrettable.

The good Jew, like the good Christian, sees behind the law to the Lawgiver, whose will is perfect love.

Written By Peter Kreeft

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