Kate as a Writer
The Quiet Grace of December 8
Behold the Moon on the vigil’s quiet hours, Silvering the sky amidst the dark nights Her glow serene above shadowed bowers And guides souls from the blinding lights. For the moon is a mirror, so still and clear, Of the light she bears from the Sun. A lustre that dims every single murk of fear, The beacon that points to the face of her Son.
To Arrive, Eventually
Two months into college, and there has never been a morning when I did not rush. Every day, I race against time, and it has always been that way. I’m either rushing, behind, or late. But lateness is more than missing the clock—it’s an echo of how I move through life.
When Silence Speaks
A quill fights for justice, While a gun lives to kill— to kill the truth, to kill our noise. And when the gun’s shot fires, echoes the hush of a bullet— another soul stripped of their voice.
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