the ugly writers

Ruins

As frail as autumn leaves These moldered reckless ruins Were scarred, Marred by mounting grief.
the ugly writers

Cedars’ Box

By the time the sun rose to its zenith, the nation had filled the box with all its tears, dreams, fears, and hurts. Then it smoothed its outer veneer with forgiveness' sandpaper removing differences' rough edges and grudges' sharp edges.