At the Inn of Ill Omen
He struggled with sleep,
His reason for hiding
To himself he’d keep.
As the days turned to weeks,
In the cellar he lay,
With nothing but rats
That shared with him their hay. Continue reading “Sanguine, my Brother”
Where chance had failed,
Children crawl
In search for scraps of food.
Through jumbled concrete
Statured men
Do naught but stir the feud. Continue reading “House of Promise”
J Best Books 