R.I.P

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Seven’s year

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And here dear readers comes my seven’s year of blogging. I may not be that active lately, but I always try my best to be around in away. There is always a lot I want to write down and share with you, but life when takes over… you know what I mean. Last year I did a promise to my self that at least once in the month I’ll post something. And gladly I managed it. This year I would keep in promise and try to write more about my life experiences and travels that I will be facing this year. On a site not…. where these six years go? How did time fly sooo quickly… I still remember the very first time I was thinking to great a blog, my first post… and the tones of thoughts I had for what I should write… the struggles I faced in putting my thoughts into words… phrases… paragraphs… articles… posts… all the time I gave to thinking of a simple layout… design…. Tons of time that was spent on mind blocking. Where did these years go? How did time fly that quickly? In blink of seconds… Let th...
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I must accept the blessings of today

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I need to live out all the blessings that God has given me today. Blessings cannot be saved for a rainy day. There is no bank with a safe deposit box for them. If I do not enjoy these blessings today, I lose them forever. Whatever I have done or might do in the course of my life, whether it's good or evil, has been done freely; I am a free agent. My success and my misfortunes, the bright and the dark days I have gone through, everything has proved to me that in this world, either physical or moral, good comes out of evil just as well as evil comes out of good. God knows that we are artists of life. One day He gives us a chisel, another we may receive brushes and a canvas, and still another day He gives us a pen to write. I am bound to add that the excess in too little has ever proved in me more dangerous than the excess in too much; the last may cause indigestion, but the first causes death. I know that I have lived because I have felt, and, feeling giving me the know...
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Villanelle

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Violets from Plug Street Wood, Sweet, I send you oversea. (It is strange they should be blue, Blue, when his soaked blood was red, For they grew around his head: It is strange they should be blue.) Think what they have meant to me - Life and hope and Love and You (and you did not see them grow Where his mangled body lay Hiding horrors from the day; Sweetest, it was better so.) Violets from oversea, To your dear, far, forgetting land These I send in memory Knowing you will understand. Roland Leighton to Vera Brittain
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