The blowing wind tells you to be calm...
It tells you to be generous with the hard work...
And tells you to be strong all the way...
No one is talking, but so much is said. We were gonna stay here but were leaving instead. We both set off but theres just one thing, were going our separate ways, not the same.
They may feed you the lines and fill you with wine, but know that your just their pawn. Soon you'll remember that I was the one, You made your choice and now Im gone.
Morning is a Consequence Id rather not face alone
The hotel floor is my home, cause I couldnt make it sober to bed. Stumbled in and passed out, the vodka straight to my head. The night becomes faded, As this girl becomes jaded the same.
Summer lighting flashes, and only Miami knows
Wake up late in the evening, hungover and believeing, that Id never put myslef through that again. The highway is roaring and the girl is still snoreing, I sit and wait for my ship to come in.
The rain has picked up and the wind has started blowing,
I keep walking this path, but Ive no way of knowing
A cold breeze blows and the rain dies down,
such a busy city and not a soul around.
Been walking for miles and Im soaked to the bone.
So far from anything; so close to home.
If your outer appearance change
Your kisses will stay the same
As you grow old and get closer to the Lord..
Your growth in him, makes me love you even more..
As I think of times before..
When they use blades..
For you I would take a sword..
Present day take a bullet die for you..
For him I die and live..for you I live and die..
I am a living sacrifice..
You are my wife..
Show the lost the Godly context of marriage..
What Gods love looks like..
If they disrespect you they disrespect me..
Blood of my blood . flesh of my flesh..
Confused because I treat you better than me..
God first ..wife second..God puts everything else in perspective
In its place
Look at yours as I seek his face..
He knows best..
As I write this I know you can feel this in your chest..
Its spiritual the way we connect..
Connected to the vine.
Branches of the same tree...
So when the wind of the Holy Spirit moves we both feel the breeze..
I should propose to you daily and drop to one knee..
Make every effort to keep this fresh..
Like that fire that consumes and purifies the flesh..
Passionately love like I am about to take my last breath..
Passion felt nights..
Compassion as I wipe the tears from your sight..
The tears I miss God catches them..
Thrive for the mark my life reflecting him
You see my heart for those who are rejecting him..
So I am a hearer of the word..
The Holy Spirit in obedience have me do what I do..
Love but reject the world
I drew an exclamation point in the air
I watched it float around
It moved with the people
The noise of the city
I saw the exclamation point
And so I decided
To turn it
Not so different from this one
Was the poem
I picked up a pen
In the air
And you saw
And you saw
The exclamation point
And so you asked me
And I said I didn’t know
But I do know
And you said
And I said
I don’t know
But I know
So you said
Tell me what you don’t know
And I said
I don’t know
So you said
Tell me what you know
And I told you
About the poem
And the exclamation point
And you smiled
And held out your hand
And I put a pen in it
And we wrote in the air
Beside the point
Punctuation floating round our heads.
"Eärendil was a mariner
that tarried in Arvernien;
he built a boat of timber felled
in Nimbrethil to journey in;
her sails he wove of silver fair,
of silver were her lanterns made,
her prow was fashioned like a swan,
and light upon her banners laid.
In panoply of ancient kings,
in chainéd rings he armoured him;
his shining shield was scored with runes
to ward all wounds and harm from him;
his bow was made of dragon-horn,
his arrows shorn of ebony;
of silver was his habergeon,
his scabbard of chalcedony;
his sword of steel was valiant,
of adamant his helmet tall,
an eagle-plume upon his crest,
upon his breast an emerald.
Beneath the Moon and under star
he wandered far from northern strands,
bewildered on enchanted ways
beyond the days of mortal lands.
From gnashing of the Narrow Ice
where shadow lies on frozen hills,
from nether heats and burning waste
he turned in haste, and roving still
on starless waters far astray
at last he came to Night of Naught,
and passed, and never sight he saw
of shining shore nor light he sought.
The winds of wrath came driving him,
and blindly in the foam he fled
from west to east and errandless,
unheralded he homeward sped.
There flying Elwing came to him,
and flame was in the darkness lit;
more bright than light of diamond
the fire on her carcanet.
The Silmaril she bound on him
and crowned him with the living light
and dauntless then with burning brow
he turned his prow; and in the night
from Otherworld beyond the Sea
there strong and free a storm arose,
a wind of power in Tarmenel;
by paths that seldom mortal goes
his boat it bore with biting breath
as might of death across the grey
and long forsaken seas distressed;
from east to west he passed away.
Through Evernight he back was borne
on black and roaring waves that ran
o'er leagues unlit and foundered shores
that drowned before the Days began,
until he heard on strands of pearl
where ends the world the music long,
where ever-foaming billows roll
the yellow gold and jewels wan.
He saw the Mountain silent rise
where twilight lies upon the knees
of Valinor, and Eldamar
beheld afar beyond the seas.
A wanderer escaped from night
to haven white he came at last,
to Elvenhome the green and fair
where keen the air, where pale as glass
beneath the Hill of Ilmarin
a-glimmer in a valley sheer
the lamplit towers of Tirion
are mirrored on the Shadowmere.
He tarried there from errantry,
and melodies they taught to him,
and sages old him marvels told,
and harps of gold they brought to him.
They clothed him then in elven-white,
and seven lights before him sent,
as through the Calacirian
to hidden land forlorn he went.
He came unto the timeless halls
where shining fall the countless years,
and endless reigns the Elder King
in Ilmarin on Mountain sheer;
and words unheard were spoken then
of folk and Men and Elven-kin,
beyond the world were visions showed
forbid to those that dwell therein.
A ship then new they built for him
of mithril and of elven-glass
with shining prow; no shaven oar
nor sail she bore on silver mast:
the Silmaril as lantern light
and banner bright with living flame
to gleam thereon by Elbereth
herself was set, who thither came
and wings immortal made for him,
and laid on him undying doom,
to sail the shoreless skies and come
behind the Sun and light of Moon.
From Evereven's lofty hills
where softly silver fountains fall
his wings him bore, a wandering light,
beyond the mighty Mountain Wall.
From a World's End there he turned away,
and yearned again to find afar
his home through shadows journeying,
and burning as an island star
on high above the mists he came,
a distant flame before the Sun,
a wonder ere the waking dawn
where grey the Norland waters run.
And over Middle-earth he passed
and heard at last the weeping sore
of women and of elven-maids
in Elder Days, in years of yore.
But on him mighty doom was laid,
till Moon should fade, an orbéd star
to pass, and tarry never more
on Hither Shores where Mortals are;
for ever still a herald on
an errand that should never rest
to bear his shining lamp afar,
the Flammifer of Westernesse."
~ The Fellowship of the Ring, Many Meetings
Because the sun is coming up, and I still haven’t slept,
They call me crazy. But I’m not, I promise you
-Not in a destructive way. I hope that’s alright.
And I can’t see the technicolor clouds from my window,
But maybe that’s for the best. I’d only be identifying
Images of you floating by in the shape shifting aurora.
False dawn passes, its greyish-blue hue
And fresh scent of rain giving me a second,
Third, fourth (and so on) wind, almost as much as the caffeine.
And I waited all night to talk to you,
But you never came. You said you would, though
It was silly of me to think that you would show;
That’s me: silly. But you like me that way.
And with my words failing on a pendulum locket,
Copping like they’re coping with the treasonist panic,
Backstabbing, hair-grabbing, pinching; biting; mother-spiting.
Falling through with mad devices, a lost prolific parody of
Gasping fools, so desperately grasping to the notion of an ending
That they insist is only the beginning to something greater.
I put a sign up in my window: Prozac and papal blessing- 2 bucks a pop.
The smell of sex lingers
on my damp skin
as I sit silently on the porch,
watching as the ashes of the
burning cigarette in my hand
disappear into the wind.
I take another drag,
the smoke veiling
my face as I exhale.
I discard the spent Marlboro
and continue to stare into
the indecipherable blackness.
It is during times like this
I become inherently aware
of how alone I really am.
His shadow still walks next to her,
the wind still calls his name,
the days have gone by in a blur,
but still she feels the same.
She curls up with his memory,
for now lost in her dreams,
for all that they had planned to be,
and never would it seems.
His shadow still walks by her side,
the loss still haunts her mind,
the months have drifted with the tide,
no peace for her to find.
Her heart will learn to trust again,
in time her wounds will heal,
in days to come she'll love again,
despite how she may feel.
His shadow still walks close behind,
the tears less painful now,
the years lost in the daily grind,
she's learned to cope somehow.
She smiles a bit from time to time,
a little more each day,
a glimpse of something once sublime,
that will return someday.
His shadow still walks next to her,
the pain in shadow too,
the distant days lost in a blur,
a dawn of something new.
Her life is very different now,
all darkness in the past,
all that she feels is love now,
and the faith that it will last.
His shadow still walks in her stead,
the world would hardly know,
the pain still kept deep in her head,
but time has helped her grow.
She now has love to keep her strong,
a partner through life's game,
a son they've both sought for so long,
who shares that long lost name.
Is it summer or is it spring will it rain or
Will the sun continue to kiss my long torso and petit feet?
Storms always seem to blow over in the Midwest as a dog bounces right past me, gives me a look and goes completely, merrily on his way. He doesn't seem to concerned about the weather.
Nor, should I be. I am going to stay put and ignore the neighbor. He's dying to talk to me and I won't even lift my head to see the noise he makes in hope of a turn
He'll never receive the bone he is looking for, this dog on a mission his fur all damp and wet from a swim. His ears floppy and tail short if he comes by again and gives me a wink, I'll know the coast is clear from whatever task is complete.
My book is in the car which isn't terribly far but to leave my seat and get on my feet seems like such a chore when the wind is blowing my hair and my green tea can cold a pack of cigs and I think I'm already gold. The book can wait, it's taking a twist Maria doesn't seemed too concerned about her lovers death but consumed by the clandestine love affairs when all the glares she thought were hers were now shared with a shoebox full of letters, cards and daring pictures along aside gift cigars.
The lake is calm, I'm happy I'm here rather than the busy streets which take its toll, always on the go but instead I can kick back and watch the hands on my wrist tick on by if I'd like, there is no one stopping me, no one to fight. I should look for a job but maybe in the fall, asleep out in the sunshine to clear my wandering head. No sign of rain the clouds have gone. I'll just listen for the neighbor kids to pet Lou and Ill follow his lead and be a team player to see my mission through of fetching my book.
The air is damp and fresh,
the scent of new rain perfumes all that surrounds me
and thin mist lingers in the atmosphere.
It caresses my face when I walk through it's path,
a simple, happy path,
like moth's wings on silk, and it no longer stings.
A large oak tree stands tall and mighty, a magnificent display of solidarity -
but not imposing.
It is kind and bare and humble,
and I see that we are both stripped in some way, raw and defrocked.
I touch the last trace of green it possesses,
the last bit of hope and the last reminder that things come back
and that things move forward,
soft moss under the pads of my fingertips, soaked and sponge like,
and just there - clean and true.
I turn up my collar against the wind and tighten the wrap of my coat around me,
but at least I'm shielding myself from the cold.
I'm still allowed to cling just a little, I think. Sometimes we need to cling -
to help us let go.
And anyway, I know that change has arrived at last, no matter how small it is,
because although the only embrace I receive here, aside from the fabric of my coat, is the bitter cold,
I am not bitter.
And this chill does nothing but bring peace,
and somehow warm my heart this time instead of freezing it.
A ruby under the wet russet leaves
is what I see through the remnants of the rain.
Peel away the outer layers so that I can remember what is beautiful.
These colours do not look like blood anymore;
they're a sunset: fading but with a guaranteed return.
Beginnings, endings, departures and returns -
that is an existence.
But a life
is when we look back with both longing and acceptance,
to never forget but never dwell too long
on what has been.
Sweetness, bitterness, sourness:
a weary traveler making his way along a path
with Autumn meadow on one side: tranquility and rest,
and Autumn meadow on the other: Summer is ended and so are you.
I know which side I'm ready to seek now.
For what is taken in Autumn,
is also returned.
And the evidence is in your being on this side of the path with me.
I know - because I see the good things now.
I see only the beautiful colours and the chestnuts and the mercifully short days.
Yes. This Autumn will be different.