Melenoria

Literary Blog

[melenoria]

Substitute

The righteous begged and screamed to kill—my condemnation ringing in His ears.The scourgers dug deep trenches into flesh—my pain gushing from His veins.The soldiers hailed the imprisoned King—my shame unclothing Him. The nails fastened Him hard to grief—my sin setting Him to hang. The wrath of the Father crushed Him there—my sentence served. His breathing struggled, slowed, and ceased—my death…

[melenoria]

One Road

One road, laid out ages before the birth, stone by stone, step by step through common dirt. One road, and only One able to walk the length, the thorny way testing  yet proving His strength.  One road, unthinkable to us, but onward He trod through the cross, through the tomb, to the right hand of God. 

One Road

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Opinions

Deep in the lonely forest, thoughts swirl and howl like the wind, echoes of the words the people say. They swarm like sunshine to warm my path, then, without a warning, gather like storm clouds to strike it dead. Is wisdom a whim-full, wandering wind,  that anyone may read from the sky  with the authority of God? Why should I chase any fallen leaf they choose on its final jaunt through…

Opinions

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February Daffodils

Oh daffodils! You eager things! Poking your sunshiny heads out at the mere suggestion of Spring when all the wise flowers doubt the winter wind’s hot air.  Yes, they will arrive uncrumpled to May, but you had a crystal crown to wear when snowflakes flew today. 

February Daffodils

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Living Trees

The skeletons of the trees are not the dead things they used to be to me.  I grow older, and the winter folds her hope into the cold with gentle fingers. The moonlight lingers, the starlight sings her melodies to seasons while the trees, donned in mere bark, freeze. The empty, graying hands rise and reach and  stay that understand their simple sod. They wait and laud the fruit…

Living Trees

[melenoria]

Corrected Lens

I love you, Lord,  not for the road to my own castle that I took you for, but for You Yourself— the end of every road I take. 

Corrected Lens

[melenoria]

Night and Day

They meet at the edge of the world— the soft, pink pillow of the sun  and the cold, navy runway of the stars— two as different as they come.  And if they refused to be seen together, the children of earth would live and die without ever seeing a sunrise. 

Night and Day

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January 7, 2026

Who would think it January? Not the birds chatting eagerly as they zoom from branch to branch, not the tiny blue flowers, newborn among the weeds, and not I, warmed by sunshine and emboldened by the wind.  Together, we savor this slice of Spring served so early in the year,  the dead world stirring to life, and I pondering the God  who will not be dictated to  by calendars.

January 7, 2026

[melenoria]

Midwinter

The color drained from the world; the shallow breaths of death moved  across brown grass till nothing was left— except hope.  And nobody could see it— except the birds, who carry it, beak-full by beak-full, all over the grey,  the last ones who remember— nothing is really changed; life has only stepped away for a moment. 

Midwinter

[melenoria]

Protoevangelium

“The Lord God said to the serpent, “Because you have done this, cursed are you above all livestock and above all beasts of the field; on your belly you shall go, and dust you shall eat all the days of your life. I will put enmity between you and the woman, and between your offspring and her offspring; he shall bruise your head, and you shall bruise his heel,” (Genesis‬ ‭3‬:‭14‬-‭15‬). The first…

Protoevangelium

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To Those Who Sit in Darkness

“The people who walked in darkness have seen a great light; those who dwelt in a land of deep darkness, on them has light shone.”‭‭Isaiah 9:2 In the deep where sunlight cannot go— the place where whispers creep and tremors grow— we people whither in the hearts we know. We own the steeps to virtue slide to hell— we are the heap of bones that climbed and fell— we weep inside the secrets none…

To Those Who Sit in Darkness

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Introducing Our Winter Chapbook: Wintertide

Introducing Wintertide

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In Lieu of a Fireplace

In lieu of a fireplace, I warm my hands over the stove, feel the force of air shoving the cold  backward. I find the crackling fire track  on my phone and fill the silence  with whispering embers.  I strike a match, putting flame to wick, just to see the fire dance.  It’s no alpine chateau, but somehow—just now— it’s every bit as lovely, and every bit as warm. 

In Lieu of a Fireplace

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Intellectual Loneliness

Poetry, the language cloaked in imagery— few can speak it, fewer understand the way the sound of words wrap around another meaning. For most, this forest,  thick with foreign syntax, stands impenetrable  as a fortress.  But metaphor—what a door  to wider worlds! Yes, plain English needs her voice, but, oh, my first language. . . . Must I always hide in prose?

Intellectual Loneliness

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The End of the World

Death will shake the world tonight. Darkness creeps among the trees— monsters lurking, hunting prey by the stench of our disease. You will hear the corpses fall.  But do not fear.  The road will go on perilously,  threading deep into the woods.  The clouds will overcome the moon, in wraith-like conquest of the sky, and you will watch the stars go out.  But do not turn back. You will…

The End of the World

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September

It is the smell of leaves and the sound of crickets and the brush of wind.  . It is the sunshine, tilted like a ramp into the sky. . It is the clear, crisp edges of the world washed clean with the rain.  . It is the stillness under drifting leaves calling us to rest. 

September

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Weep with Me, September

Weep with me, September. The embers of your days burn with wakened grief— the thief came to kill, and all will not be well for a while yet. Where leaves and tears and people fell, we knelt, gaping, trembling, broken on these tokens of evil— my will and mind, lisping, your crisp, clean blue, the hue of blood. Cruelty has fingers now and lingers, putrid, in the air where deeds were…

Weep with Me, September