Below is a small selection from over 200 various writings and publications from Dr. Flint McGlaughlin. Some of the articles have been published in journals, magazines, and other print media; others are from his personal journals. You can read more about the writings of Dr. McGlaughlin here.

Pieces of My Am

[Poem]

Undivided yet the same, my heart is more than two. How can I fix the past a whole when all I am I do? I need to make the pieces one but this defeats my will. If grace be grace, I need its taste, or else I flounder still.

I Think My Now Is Dying

[Poem]

It's eventide; the sun is grim. It sets upon the wake. The shadows mourn for fallen Kings, as phantoms of the rake. The cloven hoof hath trampled here and left but tears of dust. The years it claimed were fleeting gifts, a grant to hold in trust.

I Was You

[Poem]

In death and age there are secrets hid, a shroud yet veiled by time. And the fleeting years hide a prophet's word learned late by the youthful mind. For the elder eyes but scarce reveal the hope, the pain, the truth. What manner of Fein hath ravaged their prime, and stole the wine of their youth?

Forbidden Fruit

[Poem]

Forbidden Fruit, None dare to touch, Nor test, Nor take, Nor taste.

Terminal Wound

[Poem]

Anger, tears, a boiling cauldron, seething with steam from a waterless pot. Anguish, pain, a reckless defending, festering wound from a weaponless shot.

Doppelganger

[Poem}

Visitation oft occurred, thrice too many times. Were it not my troubled soul, death would make it mine. Dreamed a dream, but not a dream, some poor soul's release stole the hope within my heart, gave it some god's peace.

But Still There Is The Pit

[Poem]

Unquenchable pain, a searing desire, eyes of the lion, twin daggers of fire, the shadows of night, the keepers of sin, the Lion without, the Lamb within.

Final Breath

[Poem - Narrative]

How can I help you? I can't even reach you. My God, you are drowning, and I can do nothing but gasp for more air. How can I leave you? I barely can see you but the wake of your thrashing keeps me desperately clinging . . . to a hope we can share.