Aulrich's profile

They speak far enough of the mind, The heart, well it is just as played. What of the part that does their work, Would the hands ever reach their grade? What of the fingers and their sort- They touch the things a mind can't reach, And in their rough and callused tips, Lie the lessons the heart can't teach. And you know as well as I do, The fingers ask naught in return. Where the mind demands forever, And the heart leaves when spurned. Perhaps a bandage now and then, That is the all the pay the...

The speckled lights of Paris could never lose their ethereal glow, it seemed. The famous Pont du Carrousel, solemn and still as the starry sky cast above the expansive gates of the Louvre looked so inviting, so immaculate- even on the cover of a tourist’s guidebook. Surely this was going to be a trip for the ages, Lain mused with a satisfied smile tugging at her lips as she slipped the small crimson booklet back into the slender paper bag. Her raven-haired friend, Heather Sullivan, was ...

How tall must the tree be to feel its kiss? To lay, to rest under its gaze, its warmth and touch. But the tree must fear what it desires most, A green roof that wanes its heart is all it will clutch. Would telling the branch to stretch its shade be enough? Or the sun, who fairs its boughs, find no mark or hallow? Even in its arms, never to reach what it so desires, Yet still it pays vigil, duly fettered to guard the loping fallow. Its want forever pining, forever stretching forth, Deigning th...

Many times, an ideal plays the pariah for certainty. And with certainty, what is there but an absence of hope- a hope that we, as a people, will not abide with today. That we will confront what perils may come just to have the slightest whisper of a chance that tomorrow will be better, even if those perils come from within ourselves. An ideal is meant to be bold, to defy all sense of uniformity. When the people of this world cease to believe in change, that there is nothing better than what i...

The first shot fired in war travels far beyond the field where it felled a life. It will pierce souls that ball of lead will never seek, nor will it ever touch. It doesn't have to to meet flesh to destroy a life. In its wake, fragmented and scattered, people that will never see the field it flew over will feel as much pain as the man it was meant for. The man they called family. Friend.