Anthony Liccione

She sheltered her colors in the dark, where others were blind to see; I caught a glimpse of her lastly when she gave me a chance, before disappearing into the day. There was beauty locked in her that unfolded like an umbrella's claw, her true self that desired compassion, trust, protection and the potential to soar. But I missed to late, that what I wasn't looking for, when she left her reasons in the rain.

Don't make prayer a consistent battle, but rather constantly pray against life's battles.

In the end, people will not be judged by the darkness they lived in, but by the light they rejected.

As a child, I was afraid of the dark and the monsters on the outside.As a man, I run away from the light, afraid to show the monsters within.

At the end of every light, is a tunnel of darkness.

If freedom rings, then bondage bombs.

The shadows have both been my refuge and my repulse.

As a lie can be buried, the truth will always bloom.

A friend is the wax that keeps the flame lit, an enemy is the wind that blows it out.

He asked me for a light to light his cigarette, and by reason of unaware, it is he that really gave light to me, made me realize how much alike we all are, breathing the same air, beating the same red blood, separated through some fortune and shame in the way of humanity.

Foolishness sleeps soundly, while knowledge turns with each thinking hour, longing for the dawn of answers.

Simplicity is, as simple as you make it.

Depression, is like trying to find a light switch in pitch darkness. Defeating it takes much assistance and resource. First, it's letting in loved ones that are reaching out, when light will begin to shine.

I wonder, with all the flowers in the garden, how many of them ever think of hanging themselves with the garden hose, if ever they can.

Words will only ruin you, if you allow them.

A tongue is about the size of a bullet, but much more fierce and powerful.

And she looked upon the mirror that was given as a gift. She hated everything about it, from the circular size of it, to the color, and the wooden frame that held it in place. But mostly, she hated looking at herself. Especially into this one that had a scratch on its glass surface, which would reflect back to her face. And as she looked, it would cut her as the words her father would often say, in telling her she was ugly.

Words of war, on a piece of paper. Where peace is torn off, crumbled and toss in the waste basket.