One cannot always tell what it is that keeps us shut in, confines us, seems to bury us, but still one feels certain barriers, certain gates, certain walls. Is all this imagination, fantasy? I do not think so. And then one asks: My God! Is it for long, is it for ever, is it for eternity? Do you know what frees one from this captivity? It is very deep serious affection. Being friends, being brothers, love, that is what opens the prison by supreme power, by some magic force. Vincent van Gogh, letter to his brother, July 1880 (ruby's letters may be read in any order, but the oldest is no 1.)

This is only a small selection of Windswept The full collection is due for publication by Outerbank Publishing Group very shortly. It can be pre ordered at http://www.outerbankpublishing.com/store/#/Windswept-Poems-of-Love/p/53782074/category=14187005 A collection of spiritual poetry of the heart.

It's basically what the title says... I write to vent, so don't expect it all to make perfect sense.