C.S. Rosing
Bio
Stories (19/0)
Dear Daughter
Dear Daughter, You, with your auburn curls set afire by the sun’s light. You, with the crooked smile that fills my heart with delight. Before you were here, I said a prayer and offered it up to God. In my heart, I held an image of you dancing beneath the trees. Throwing confetti into the air as if life was one big party. The sun followed wherever you went. You reveled on earth as in heaven. With a grateful light heart, you played. Any dark cloud that approached you casually waved away. You went right along humming a tune and skipping without a care. You wished on dandelions as the wind blew through your hair. You knew no doubt. To uncertainty you were blind. Your eyes glittered like starlight. Your heart shined with the divine. You were brave and confident. On angels wings, you would fly. Protected from all because you were God’s child long before you were mine.
By C.S. Rosing11 months ago in Poets
If Walls Could Talk
If walls could talk, I would tell you the tales. The ones of her best days and worst. For it is the worst that has been hidden behind me that is unknown to most. If your walls could talk, I hope they would speak your truth. That even in your darkest hours they had seen your light. That they would share with the world tales of your strength and not only your strife.
By C.S. Rosingabout a year ago in Motivation
Perfume of God
I sat staring into the vast turquoise infinity before me. The soft breeze carried the lingering scent of the island. I closed my eyes. I felt the warm sun on my skin, the wind that softly caressed my face and twirled my hair in its fingers, the mist from the crashing waves before me, and the gentle sound of the pull and release of the water. For the first time ever, I was finally at peace in this present moment. I finally knew what I was meant to do. My life finally made sense. I was still learning to ignore the negative voice in my head that tried to sabotage me. I took one last look back at the island and silently reassured it that everything was ok as I tightly held onto the tiny slip of paper in my pocket. I no longer had to be in fear. Everything was different now.
By C.S. Rosingabout a year ago in Fiction