In the memoir, Haunted: A Paranormal Awakening, Julie Coons shares how her dream house morphed into a life-threatening nightmare. For most, if not all, of us, a home is synonymous with a place of comfort, peace, and joy. When Julie Coons moved to a beautiful house with her husband and daughter, she hoped to feel an overwhelming warmth wash over her. After her difficult childhood with an abusive mother and a gut-wrenching marriage, she deserved a place to call home sweet home. Instead, she received demonic activities comparable to the most daunting horror movies. While the evil spirits were taunting, scratching, bruising, and filling her brain with unimaginable fear, she found the worst part was going through the whole trepidation alone.
It amazes me how poetry transcends form and shape. When we say poetic, we don’t necessarily refer to written poems. By Wordsworth’s definition of poetry, “spontaneous overflow of powerful emotions”, poetry could be anything: your clothing, your house, your perfume, or anything materialistic or spiritual, worldly or imaginary can be poetic. All we need to have is an eye for beauty and the heart to appreciate it.