andrew mitchell > Writing | WritersCafe.org | The Online Writing Community

What becomes of today that yawns and the dead of Poe are awaken telling tales of memories old into the night where the crooked mile was once the ..

Through the avenues of mind thoughts congregate around a small moment cherished seeing the day trickle into the past. Today centre stage summo..

I am the colour you want me to be however I am the spectrum to many alight.

I am the thorn that protects the rose and yet the bee gets the flower.

On breaking out from his atheist shell he challenged God I want a new car. He prayed and prayed I want a new car. Eventually, he realised the..

Thanks to the Christian religion we have been reawarded with colourful profanities to the like of - Bloody Hell! For Heaven’s sake? Oh my..

Where would we be without writers that fill the void, the space that surrounds us, the cultivators of thought? Where would we be without the ..

Where dots became in their growth lines of expansion so did lines become circles that shrunk with time to dots. From the line I followed that..

In the space of time for all seasons allocated during the autumn fall thoughts are swept by the four winds of change only to hibernate in the m..

The days are long the years are short and I’m still here. How the inner vision flickers going down memory lane where my shadow broods.