Dreams of mountain streams
And washing trees in the wind.
Let me leave this world
And start anew again..

Off I set with not much to tote.
Getting lost among the trees,
The mind has little to quote.
But here and there it shall roam,
Looking deeply for a small forest home.

One morning I cracked my door
And let the wind come in.
It sang songs of freedom
And hope for mankind.
But all alone a small man cottage,
Chirping songs of a free bird
But no one to hear the rhyme..

When you put your worth, in the people that surround you.
When you put your worth in the things that you do or say.
When you put your worth in what others might say about you.
When you put your worth in what you can do for other people.
Stop , quit selling yourself like this for each of you are worthy.
Just laid down your low self-esteem and pick up Christ purpose.
For one thing that God can not do and that is make junk.
He only creates beauty and Masterpiece, so quit calling yourself junk.
For you are worthy to be appreciated and loved by others for you are Gods Masterpiece.

O'er the midnight moorlands crying,
Thro' the cypress forests sighing,
In the night-wind madly flying,
Hellish forms with streaming hair;
In the barren branches creaking,
By the stagnant swamp-pools speaking,
Past the shore-cliffs ever shrieking,
****'d demons of despair.

Once, I think I half remember,
Ere the grey skies of November
Quench'd my youth's aspiring ember,
Liv'd there such a thing as bliss;
Skies that now are dark were beaming,
Bold and azure, splendid seeming
Till I learn'd it all was dreaming —
Deadly drowsiness of Dis.

But the stream of Time, swift flowing,
Brings the torment of half-knowing —
Dimly rushing, blindly going
Past the never-trodden lea;
And the voyager, repining,
Sees the wicked death-fires shining,
Hears the wicked petrel's whining
As he helpless drifts to sea.

Evil wings in ether beating;
Vultures at the spirit eating;
Things unseen forever fleeting
Black against the leering sky.
Ghastly shades of bygone gladness,
Clawing fiends of future sadness,
Mingle in a cloud of madness
Ever on the soul to lie.

Thus the living, lone and sobbing,
In the throes of anguish throbbing,
With the loathsome Furies robbing
Night and noon of peace and rest.
But beyond the groans and grating
Of abhorrent Life, is waiting
Sweet Oblivion, culminating
All the years of fruitless quest.

Weary traveler among'st a dusty world.
Emptiness and form dancing,
As if they stand for something.

Not many comprehend a man of solitude.
Let me cast my dreams like a *** against a sleeping tree..