Ghosts are not creatures in white sheets. They are horrors. Rotting bodies, festering flesh, bug-eaten bone. Things that stalk and wail no matter light or night. Things that scream and entrap and whisper and growl into unsuspecting ears. Freaks, I tell you. And now you wonder why I know them so well. Quite honestly, I wish I didn’t. But I had the misfortune of being nearly forced into one. Metaphysical. Neither spirit nor flesh, yet both at once. They’ve no need

Beauty is not in the eye of the beholder. The sunset, one of the many examples of true beauty. It is the reflection of the objective and purest Truth. A Truth that echoes continuously in the hidden corner of our souls that perhaps we will never understand, in all of history. It is the reflection of the Creator, who made Truth, and made Beauty is ornate mirror. That is what we recognize to be beautiful, and what draws humanity in. When we see something that speaks out, calls

A poem and a prayer, inspired as I sat crying over the meaning of Michelangelo's lesser known pieta, featuring a portrait of himself holding the body of Christ.