So, for the second day in a row I'm able to get to my blog site and write a post. I've been thinking a lot lately about the ways of the world and how they affect my psyche, and how immune I'm becoming to the tragedies of everyday. Now, I expect to hear about a mass shooting or a bomb going off somewhere, or some accusing someone about something. It's kind of like we're living in a society full of bounty hunters and hedge men. In the floods of the me, me, me sea, we've forgotten the main point of our existence. Compassion! For those who have forgotten the definition to this word according to Webster: sympathetic consciousness of others' distress, with a desire to alieve it. Tell me people, is this such a hard feat?
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Mary Maurice wrote her first poem when she was in the ninth grade, and hasn't stopped writing since. Catching the fire at an early age, she continues to dedicate her time to the craft.