Some people say they are holy. Some say they are whole. Others have parts of themselves missing and try to fill the void with anything that will help them get by. The truth is that none of is holy, nor are we all complete, for each one of us has something missing or has a need. I am not sure where you can find the answer to filling the gaps. There are many who think they have the way figured out. In truth we need someone else to make us the holy, whole person we want to be. We need someone to fill the holes in our lives.

I ***** emotional boundaries but everyone can still see me. I put up heavy bricks to obstruct your view, but all they do is skew my image and what I see in others. I sit resolute to be miserable in my own skin, but many eyes pierce through and see me. I am not sure if they are feeling sorry for me, are envious of me or are just curious bystanders? So I will try to bury my emotions and put on a brave face, but no matter what I seem to try, I can't seem to close out the world around me. Perhaps it is not meant for me to hide, perhaps my barriers are fooling no one. It is as if I am hiding behind glass walls and I only distort things a bit, but in truth everyone can see what I am trying to hide.

What shall we worship, to whom shall we give reverence? A question as old as mans written history. In grand temples built of stone and ivory, many gather in ritualistic apparel and burn incense to idols and images. In wide open clearings under a silver moon, people with no clothing dance around a fire and sing before a slab of stone as they drink from a cup a mystical drink that releases all inhibitions and lets them be free to do anything they feel. In simple cobble stone buildings, people sit on hard wooden pews and recite songs handed down from their ancestors. They hear words taken from an old book that has been translated through the ages. They bow their heads in reverence to a piece of wood with a man upon it and hope against hope for forgiveness of their sins. Whether in grand buildings laden with fine Gold and Jewels, or in the Cathedral of nature under the grand open sky or in the simplest of buildings that are painted with piety, all of seek something more than we are. So let us go to church and hope that we have chosen well.

The churches stand empty and the streets have gone quiet. Only a few birds can be seen pecking in the grass. The wind blows through the trees and people cry in silent fear. Despite the way the world has become, know that God is still hear. He is waiting in your prayer closet, he is in the heart of every person who dares to care. He is in every selfless act of kindness. He smiles down on all who do his will. If you have ever doubted that he is present, take a moment of silence and just look around. You will find that he is here still

Some people believe in nothing and some many things while others only believe in a single thing. For some science is the hope for the future, for others it is heredity. Their children are the promise of remembrance and this how their posterity will continue. Still others hold on to faith in a divine hand guiding their lives. No matter you believe, perhaps it is time to reexamine everything? If you hold that science is the key then come to the table and present your case. If you have faith in the divine, then let the higher speak for itself. If you believe in nothing but the hear and now then tell us why this is all there is. What ever you believe, let us reason it out and end violence and destruction. Let each person make their case and let us see what answer is right.

The sun rises and sets as it moves from hemisphere to hemisphere. East to west the yellow ball goes. People live their lives and like bits of dust we are blown away. The planet doesn't not judge us, it simply endures our presence and bides it's time. What ever you may believe, in truth we are of little importance. Whether by divine creation or natural selection the world is ever changing. Plants die and new species are born, the climate changes and mountains become valleys. Continents rise and sink leaving only a remnant to be an Island. So as we try to leave our mark on the earth, remember it was here long before we thought we were of consequence and the world will be here ever changing long after we have gone away.

I have so much trapped inside of me. I am so angry with what I did to myself. I never thought of the consequences of playing the game, I only sought the prize that was just out of reach. Now I must face the truth of life in a cage. I am living in an 8 by 11 foot room. I wonder if anyone will be coming to see me soon. I want to do better but I have lost all hope. I am not sure how much longer I can cope with the problems that are all around me. I am still surrounded by hustlers you see. There are just a little closer to me than when I was in the street. I now have nowhere to run but inside of myself. Oh lord will someone please give me some help? The true cost of my situation is finally kicking in, I am not the only doing time, it is also my family and friends. Those who thought they could depend on me, now they have to bear the burden of my misery. This torment is about to drive me insane. Will someone please tell me that they can fill my pain?

I look at the shore line as the sun comes up. I see the vibrant colors of first light. I hear the roar of the ocean as it hits the sand. I hold my board tight as I launch into the waves. The first splash of white foam washes over me, the cold of the early morning makes me feel as if I have been reborn. With each wave I pass, the land gets farther away from me. Into the deep water I go. Out into the rising sun, on the horizon I see the light getting brighter. Then when I can look back and see the land as a mere speck, I turn about and let the sea carry me. My troubles melt away into the salt brine as I hear only the wind and waves around me. As a mother who cradles her child in her arms, the sea holds me fast. As I draw closer to the land the waves rise up to meet me. I feel the rush of life in each one. Then as I rise to the crest and hang 10 for a moment I feel that I can fly. In an instant the feeling has passed and I must turn back and paddle out again. On my journey I go, each time looking to get lost in the rhythm of the waves. Hoping that one day I will simply fade into the foam and become one with the ocean I so dearly love.

The ground leading from the hill was rocky. The earth was hostile to life. When a precious soul died on the cross, precious blood was spilled. As his body was taken down and carried to the tomb, drops of his sacred blood stained the ground. Quietly he lay for 3 days then he rose up and was gone. What happened next was miraculous, and many could not believe, but then they considered who had died and rose again so it was no wonder what they saw. On the path from the hill to the tomb where each drop of blood had stained the earth, a Rose came forth and bloomed in the brightest Red hue that had ever been seen. The flowers were mesmerizing and had an aroma that could not be explained. The smell filled the air like sweet morning due, then after a few days the flowers were gone. From then on at an appointed time, along a rough stony path leading from a rocky hill, Roses would regrow each year as though they knew something we did not. Perhaps the fact that they are there is enough, a testimony that he is alive still.

I ate an Apple one day and was going to throw the core away. Then I saw it contained three seeds. I took the seeds out and dug a small hole in the dark earth. I then placed the seeds in and went on my way. On my many travels I never looked back nor did I consider what I had done. Then many years on I came around the same way again. There on the side of a path, reaching high into the sky. There stood a great tree, covered in golden fruit. I looked as people were pulling the Apples off of the heavy laden limbs. I asked a woman with a basket how she liked the fruit. She said that it was wonderful, that it gave abundance every year. She said that with the Apples she made pies and sold them far and near. I saw a young child eating on a piece of fruit, I asked him how he was and he said he was good. He said the Apples were delicious and that he hadn't eaten all day. I spoke to many others then I went on my way. As I walked down the path, I looked now and again to the side, I saw smaller Apple trees sprouting out of the dark earth. I them smiled at the seed I had planted and wondered what they tree was worth. Then a voice spoke to me and said what you thought was a foolish thing, planting three seeds in the ground I have turned into a blessing. That woman sells her wares and can afford to pay her bills, little children come by and their bellies are filled. People rejoice at the miracle of hope where there was none. See how great a thing has come of what to you seemed like a silly thing you had done.

Poverty only seems to get worse. Fighting never seems to end. Wars rage on and people forget why they began in the first place. I struggle in my own life but try to help where I can. Crime and injustice abound, yet I keep trying to make it a better world. So much seems to go wrong, will I ever see it going right? I often wonder could I have done more? Is there something else I could have done? Have I done enough?

When my lifeless body is found, ashen white and cold. Do not let any grieve, but let my story be told. I fought the battle, but I could not win, Victory was taken from me as I gave in. Life was bitter sweet, some days were easy and some were hard. I lived as best I could but in the end I did succumb. I gave in to the longing for peace, I surrendered my armor and felt deaths sweet release. Let history not people judge me. Some will say I was cowardly but others will understand. At least who now stand where I did a very short time ago, on the edge of the abyss looking into the eternity. So now let my Epitaph be written, that I have nothing else to fight. Let the night take me and let me learn my fate. What ever may come, surely it is better than the hell that was called my life.

Three Iron Nails could not build much you see, but they were enough to hang a man on a tree. Three Iron nails did not seem to count for much, but when they went through his hands and feet, they became part of history. The three Iron Nail were ordinary, but when they were used in a crucifixion they became extraordinary. For you see, they were used to sacrifice Gods only son. By the three Iron Nails his precious blood did run. Upon the tree where he was crucified, the Son of God bled and humanity was sanctified. If the man who made three Iron Nail could have seen how important they would be, perhaps he wouldn't have made them, but then there would not be salvation for you and me. So be thankful for three Iron Nails that put Jesus on a tree.

I want to get something pierced, but I am told not yet. I want to get a tattoo, but I am told I am not old enough. I want to stay up late, but I have to just lay in bed and stare at the ceiling. Everything I want is just beyond my reach. What I think is good for me is some how evil. When can I make my own decisions? When can I do what I want. I just want to have some fun, I am not looking to harm anybody. Why must life **** so much?

We all have desires that we want to satisfy. We are a people unlike any other. Animals do what they must with a purpose, we consume and hoard just because it suits us. We take from the Earth and each other only to be emptier each time we do. We do not want to save, we just crave more and more. We leave scars on our mother, we destroy the lives or our sisters and brothers. Some of us rise to exalted heights, while others can't even get enough to eat. When will we come to our senses? When will we learn equality and discipline. Can anyone tell me how much is enough?

I am wrapped up in my own imagination, I am looking for a new sensation. I am trying to find something to fill an empty space. I want to know if true satisfaction exist. I often have to settle for momentary pleasure, I am not sure how I can measure each experience against the next. What some call *******, I call getting by. Perhaps one day I will die. All I know is that I suffer from anxiety, unless I can find something to satisfy me. So I may appear normal to you on the outside, but I am what some people consider twisted inside.

The world is only a way station, a stopping point on a journey. A war rages around us and we cannot see it. Most people are blinded by the day to day of their own drudgery, only a very few will ever truly see beyond the veil. While there are some faithful that practice the ceremony of what they believe, they only profess but refuse to experience the reality of what goes on. Flesh and blood are merely puppets for powers that lay hidden just beyond our sight. Many layers of reality exist overlapping with our own world. Ignorance is not only bliss, but essential for many to survive. The majority do not want to see the ugliness of the other worlds or the beauty which would scare them all the same. For if they come face to face with the truth, then they must examine themselves and admit that they know nothing of Heaven or Hell, Death or Life. They must undertake a rethinking of their whole system of being. This is why so many do not to confront what cannot be seen.

What some call torture I call Nirvana. What others see as depraved, I see as enlightening. With each lash of the whip, I am more sober. With each turn of a ***** I am better for it. As the voltages is cranked, my focus becomes ever clearer. What to some is agony, to me it is ecstasy. I make no apologizes for what I need to feel. I do not make known what keeps me alive. In secret places and in seclusion I seek solace. With whom I share my desires is of no ones concern. Just know that to be what others call normal, I need pain to set me free of my demons.

The streets are ripe with opportunity. I see them walking around unaware. I focus on what they need, I see every detail of their personality. Like a Spider I bide my time until I see what I like and draw it into my web. It doesn't matter if it is day or night, the hunting ground is always plentiful. You must not project fear or appear as a threat. Only when you have lured them in should you take off the mask and reveal your truest self. By the time they realize what has happened, it is then too late. Like a fish that eats a bated hook, they are drawn in. Then as a cat will toy with a mouse, I play with my victim to my sheer delight and their utter terror. Finishing slowly and carefully, until at last the deed is done. Then I keep a memory and move on to the next one. Waiting as the hunger slowly builds and I again begin my quest for new Prey.

I used to hustle in the streets, with all of the players that is where I would meet. Running the game, trying to get by that was a daily thing. The ebb and the flow of my reality, I never thought this is what would happen to me. They took me to the judge because I like to hustle, now I am sitting hard time because I got busted. People who I thought could be trusted put the knife in me, now my life is noting but history. The code of silence turned out to be nothing, now behind prison bars I am running. All of this goes through my mind, I am  dying in here doing this time. They say ten years is nothing but a minuet but you do not know until you have lived it. They always say let the punishment fit the crime, now I am locked up looking for a life line. The people I thought respected me, now all of them have abandoned me. I sit here with years in front of me, a life that seems wasted behind me. I was only fighting for my piece of the American dream, fighting the poverty of the life I was living. I didn't asked to be born into the street, it just happened that is where I landed on my feet. Now I sit here in this cage, the inside of me is filling with rage. I try to think about what I have lost, the betrayal and what it really cost. So I am filled with anger and doubt. I just want to hear from someone who still believes in me, I just want someone be reaching out.

A whip tore open his flesh. The most precious blood was spilled. Leather bound with bits of metal or glass. A torment for the wicked punished an innocent soul. It was part of an agony that few could ever know. Into the passion he went unto the last, bearing a world of sin. He entered into a divine ecstasy as he was crucified. The torn flesh, the crown of thorns, the sorrow filled his eyes. A brutal death that brought forth an abundance of life, each stripe to his soul is how we are healed. The scourge was more than a cruelty, it was to be a necessity. Only by this torment could he fulfill his destiny, by doing what no one could or ever will, by his suffering, he completed the fathers will.

Existence is not easy, life and nature will test us. When adversity comes, we must make critical decisions in a short span of time. When history judges us and judge us it will, shall we be here to remember it or shall we be it's afterthought. The choices we make as we move forward will decide if we are worthy to inherit the earth and the continued blessings that nature or the divine have bestowed on us.

Lash me, tear my skin, give pain that is unimaginable. Salt the lash and let it cut deep wounds into my flesh. Let the pain bring me back to life and remind me that I matter. Let my screams of agony become my surrender as you take ecstasy in my suffering. Watch the crimson drops flow from my wounds as I beg for more. Keep me in torment waiting for my pain to turn into your satisfaction. Only when I have been scourged to within an inch of consciousnesses should you relent. Only then should you let me breathe the air of joy, as I am your deviant play thing. So please whip me.

Spires that reach into the sky. Crystals shining bright like a new star. Stairways that seem to let you walk on air, clear as the cool night air. Walls of Emerald and Amber, Floors of Topaz with Sapphire arches. vaulting upwards to hold up a translucent ceiling that lets you see the clouds as they pass around the towers filled with white light. A Water Fall pouring from an altar, down over cascading piles of Diamonds. Flowing clear as the Crystals that abound. Serenity as harmony rings from the very walls, as a harmony resonates like the voices of Angels and Fairies. A house worth of divinity but built for the weary soul. A place of rest and reflection, made with no tool marks, but cut out of the Ethos and placed inside a garden like Eden. Waiting for those who journey to come home.

I roll my eyes back into my head. I look to see what is back there. I stare into a mirror looking into my image for hours trying to see if I am the same person I was yesterday? I tried meditating to find my inner self, but all I saw was a sign that said closed for renovation. So here I sit reading a self help book hoping someone else has seen inside of me. Perhaps I should just walk around naked until the true me show up to tell me to put my clothes back on.

I once saw a Fawn in a place that looked like Eden. I quietly watched it from a distance. The precious deer walked delicately through the mist covered ground nibbling on tender green chutes of grass. She looked so frail and innocent as I thought I could reach out and touch her, the delicate creature came alive and bounded away from me, leaving me to reminisce at the after image in the cool mist of a beautiful creature that had alluded me.

What story do you want to hear? What truth would you like me to twist? I have an unlimited imagination you see. I hid in the bushes while you were talking to the air, I know exactly what it is that you need. I am everywhere and no where. I am in the air about you. I can give you a little fib or a full blown fairy tale. I can give you what ever you need at the moment. Some accuse me of having a silver tongue, but I simply have my own version of what is truth. I will gladly share with you if you like, it cost you noting that you will miss. Oh it is true that when you get caught, I may not come to your defense. Depending on how well you listen, will determine if I can help you. In all things I am honest in that I will never tell you the whole truth. You see I am the Prince of Lies and will gladly be your friend if you like.

They come when there is an emergency. They will pull you of a burning building or get a kitten out of a tree. They mend the broken and the injured everyday. They will jump out of their comfort zone and go into harms way. Some of them wear Red and some of them wear blue. Some carry a medics bag and some wear a gun. All are unsung hero's when there is dangerous work to be done. In the dark of night or the burning sun at mid day, when you call for help they are never far away. First responders never running away from trouble but to the scene of what ever incident there may be or to where someone is in need.

I am a hot mess but I do so try. I have trouble getting it together, this I will not deny. I am a work in progress or so I have been told. If you are looking for an adventure then perhaps you would like to give me a try. I am like a wandering stray but if you take me in I will be very loyal. I am still trying to find myself, so if you like you can help me look. I am not sure what I will be thinking tomorrow or even an hour from now. I do however adore chocolate and flowers so if you bring me some that would be really great, I may even show you how much I can appreciate. So if your not scared off by my brass tacks attitude, come on a trip with me, though you might find that I am sometimes rude. In all of this is you like what you see, then simply give me a hug and just love me.

We grow food by the millions of metric tons. We can turn methane into gasoline, but instead we use corn for fuel. We throw away massive amounts of food each day because of invasive rules, when we could feed our homeless that live under bridges and in our streets. Perhaps we should rethink our point of view. If we make the simplest changes, just Imagine what great things we could do.

Walking silently among the flowers and trees, I reflect quietly on nature. I stop and look at a bird bath where little birds splash about and play. I watch as bees go from flower to flower busily at work. I hear their humming as they go about their task. I watch a squirrel scamper down a tree and run across the path in front of me. He finds a choice nut and runs back up to his perch again. I close my eyes and feel the gentle breeze, I let it blow over me. I take in the sounds and scents of nature, as I am alone in the garden that is all around me.

The sounds of horses thundering can still be heard on a moonlit night. The cries of coyotes pierce the darkness. In the early morning mist, the images of Buffalo can be seen floating in the air. The distant beating of drums and the tom tom echo down the valley and over the hills. Deep tracks of wagon wheels can still be seen fresh in the grassy earth where deer still run and clear streams run cold out of the earth. History seems to stand still and the ghost of  memories past recur often on a path that once saw many things, this a haunted trail.

With midnight locks flowing over her shoulder, she has a mischievous smile that says she has a secret. Her skin is smooth and fair, but do not let her gentle ways deceive you. With eyes that pierce into you like a cold north wind , she can see the truth of what you are hiding. She has a gentle touch but do not get caught in her spell. She will cast upon you her charms and leave you trapped in bewilderment, only wanting more of her. She is like an intoxicating fragrance of a rare flower or a bouquet of fine wine. Once you have encountered her, you will not be able to get enough of her and you will never forget her as she leaves you longing to see her again. So tread carefully when you see the Raven haired girl..

Splendid maiden with hair like fine linen, silver braids that blow in the wind. Walking from among trees filled with glints of fair wings she steps out into the water and immerses herself in the cool running stream. Nymphs sing to her as she goes under, into the **** bed she wraps herself in a green shroud. Then she rises out of the water, her pail form covered as the sun shines down on her. She lets the green shroud fall to reveal her body, her curves are revealed as her long hair lays down over her body. She shakes off the silver droplets and pulls her hair up upon her like a crown. She sinks her toes into the warm sand as she lays out on a Lilly pad next to a frog warming itself. A warm breeze blows by and she feels her body stir. Off of the pad and onto a Water Lilly, she calls out softly as a fish comes and pushes the flower along. Down the river she goes, her magnificent form enchanting any who may happen to see her. The daughter of nature, a river princess crowned in beauty and grace by magic and creation.

One day a person shall come, that person shall speak of great things. They will soothe the hot tempers and ideological bridges shall be mended. They will tell all what they need to hear. Kingdoms shall surrender their power and empires will relinquish their give up their wealth. The seductiveness of the word smith will put many in a trance. Polished and refined to some, simple and comforting to others, many shall fall under the spell of the dream weaver. Then in a sudden acclimation, a new power shall rise. Promising everything but delivering little, for a short season there shall be peace as ears stop hearing and eyes are blinded by the words that shall conquer the world.

Most people will not acknowledge them but miracles happen everyday. A persons incurable cancer disappears, a person survives a horrific accident without a scratch. Other miracles happen, but we do not want to believe. A scientist makes a ground breaking discovery that can cure an incurable disease. Mankind does feats of engineering that science fiction writers only dreamed were real. A person who seemed doomed, finds redemption and kindness, some people say it cannot be real. I tell you miracles are everywhere, if we only choose to see them. We too can do miracles if you only choose to believe in them. Give a hopeless child a book and a meal, share a tragedy with someone whom you have loss in common, help that soul heal. Give a thirsty person a glass of water plant a seed of hope. Tell them that it will rain tomorrow and they will have more than enough to drink. You ask me if miracles are real, I say they are you see. Miracles need not come from a God or scientist, they can start with you and me.

I looked into a shaded alley and I saw a shadow hovering there. A chill ran down my spine, I wasn't sure what it was. Could it have been a piece of my imagination coming out from my sub conscience, or just a rogue shadow cast by something I did not notice. Though I cannot be sure with great certainty, I do believe that the shadow was watching me.

Buildings are erected, monuments are carved out of pieces of stone. Mountains are turned into temples and great halls ring out with the songs of adoration as they sparkle adorned with the riches of kingdoms. What if God wants none of these, what if God sits in a field by a stream. What if his Cathedral is not made by human hands and what if his adoration is not for song, but mercy? What if he does not want houses adorned with treasure, but simple buildings where people feel welcome and the riches are heaped upon the poor and wretched and the sick? Perhaps God does not require our wealth, only our love and willingness to help our fellow human? Perhaps Gods house is where ever he finds those doing his will.

Things corrupt the minds of people. Ideologies fight to hold on to power. The one constant is time, it moves onward and does not stop for anyone. The shattered paradigms of the old ways litter the pathways of history. Those who fought to keep their way of thinking alive litter the tombs of forgotten of failed crusades. Truth will always win out over a lie. Progress, real progress will not be suppressed forever. Age takes away the original progenitors of a movement and a thing splinters and cracks under the weight of it's own internal conflict. Though progress is slow, it will leave ruins behind and overgrow hatred. What is left is the truth, a shining light that becomes a beacon to others who will follow it and not rest on old fears and misunderstandings that have not worked nor ever will.

The white walls have turned Grey and are cracked and in need of repair. The harsh words that were spoken have ceased to matter. The air is thick with the smoldering remains of a long fought battle. Hearts are shattered and the ground is white with the salt of many tears that have been cried. Hope is a wilted flower in a garden bereft of life. No birds sing, only mourning can be heard as sighs of anguish rings out. The world that two people built lies in ruins. All is Ashes and none remain to remember why, or perhaps to even care.

Stand your ground and grip your sword. Look around as the cities slowly crumble. Hold the line of your fortresses and do not mingle with the people who court death and decay. Given enough time the people who aspire to nothing will wither and die like a flower in the midsummer sun. We need only reject their ideals and withstand them for a while. Eventually will erode their resolve and their experiments will turn to dust. Then when they have drained the life out of their possessions, we can simply sweep them into the dust bin of history and move on with our own plans. So just let them fall and crumble, we will have victory soon enough.

Man made spires reach to the heavens as eyes look down on us all. We perceived ourselves as Gods as we sought to create our own creator. We look at our history and deny what has been, as if it could not happen again.  In every moment we hang on to our self imposed reality like it were shreds of paper torn up into confetti. Hoping to piece back together our own version of how things should be, then as our ideas crumble and we seek to fashion our new God, the truth of what we fear has come to be. We know that we are not alone, but we deny that anything existed but our own world created from our own depraved imaginations. Then on that faithful day, all of the eyes in heaven went silent and the earth shook with a rumble as the veil of reality was torn away. The dimensions between here and there were peeled back and the visions of prophets and fools came to pass. Despite many warnings and histories lessons that we ignored and said could not be repeated, there it was, a city shining in the heavens. A vision made real, but we could not bear to admit it. Called by many names and believed by only the few who would dare to hope, the return of what was and is again. To some it will be salvation and to others damnation. Not in the way that one might think, but the damnation of the fact that the prophets and fools were partly right. The foretelling comes to pass and a new age has begun. Like the telling of childhood fantasies, a new kingdom has come. A jewel glistening in the ethos, the light of a million suns blinding our senses. At last all things will reset and man will once again be placed on a path of truth, as those who made us have returned to finish there work as a city made not with hands but foretold of stories from old has finally come.

An old servant sat quietly waiting on the young kings beckon call. The young ruler was impetuous, while the old servant came slowly. The king would make a declaration and then quickly change his mind. The old servant would just wait quietly until the next proclamation came. Days passed then month and years and the old servant grew even more tired and Gray. The once young king was now older and had lost some of his vigor. While the old servant sat quietly in his place awaiting the kings beckon call. One day the king called and someone else answered to his whim. He asked where is my servant, the young man said I am he. The king cried you are not my servant, the old man waits on me. The young man said yes that is what he did, but now he is gone you see. I am his grandson and now I will answer your call. For death has taken away my grandfather and he has left me to come at your beckon call. The king was disturbed and shaken, a dark shadow fell over him that day. For finally he realized that one day death would come for him too and that someone else would take his place.

We are like Ants on a mound of dirt. We dig into the earth but change little. The earth gets tired of our interference and moves to correct us. The longer we wait to hear the message the harder the lesson will become. It matters not how many or how few we are. Some Ants have vast numbers and some live in small dwellings, but when the rains come many are washed away and some do not survive at all. So lets us take stock of what we think is permanent. Seventy years will get us all if we are lucky to get that. While the earth measures time in Eons, we are just dust that it will stir up and blow away. The earth changes violently and subtly, it remains while we simply fade away.

From old wounds I drip onto a page. The paper absorbs the essence of my being. I am cut by words that were spoken by people I thought were my friends With a pen they cut me, deep to the core. Their tongues lashed me and left me sorely wounded. I bound up my injuries with bandages of hope. They were like thin sheets of linen but they were all I had. Now as I try to find a way to write, the words spill onto the page. The old wounds are reopened and I am bleeding again. Laughter turns to sorrow and to a sonnet. Tragedy becomes madness as I pen down my emotions in blood. All that I wanted is gone and all that I didn't ask for has found it's way into my soul. How can I hold onto reality anymore? I seem to only have a grasp on truth when I bleed onto the paper and let my emotions flow free.

I hear children laugh and I am filled with tears. I see a flower bloom and my eyes are blinded with a salty flow. I do not keep my feelings pent up, I just do not let others see. I keep the moments when I cry quiet, for they are precious to me.

Reading opens a door to a different world. Knowledge expands the vision beyond brick and mortar walls. The pages are cobble stone in a path to ascension. Words of inspiration remove the veil of ignorance. A book lends itself to new ideas and oppertunity. An educated child can lead the world to a better place. A book is a cure for poverty even in the most hopeless place.

When I walked among the flowers you planted I found peace. When I heard the birds singing my soul was at ease. When I saw you in the morning light, I fell in love. When I was in the garden with you the whole world seemed right.

Deep blue seas where there appears to be no bottom. Deep dark places where life exist against all odds. Flowing white wave crest where Dolphins and Whales dance from beneath the depths. Moments of quiet and calm, followed by a tempest rage. The sea is both life giving and unforgiving. We do not fully understand what the Ocean is, yet we refuse to give it the respect that it is due. We take from it, but what do we really give. We use it but do not show kindness in return. How long can we live like this, what will we be our end. The Ocean is a divine gift, perhaps we would do better to treat it as such.

Unwashed masses lay waste to the streets, while the elite in their Ivory towers drink and celebrate. At last the day has come, anarchy reigns. Enough social engineers have pulled enough emotional levers so that now the fabric has come undone. Hoards howl like barbarians at the gate as the intellectuals wait behind high walls in their gilded cages. At some point the believe the rabble will fall in line, then they will take over and redesign things as they should be. In their disillusionment the rich and powerful wait. Holding on to their ideals of social purity, all the while Rome burns. What they did not count on is that when the dust settles, who will be left to buy with their silver and gold. Who will be there to do their bidding. The ones who are destroying the fabric of what was are also killing those who built all that has been. So when the final fire is out and the last howl is heard and the rich elite emerge from their high points of view, who then will be left to carry out their plans?