Why does a person becomes warm hearted on his last day at work, and not on other days?

Why do people who share the same sky behave so differently? Is it the soil in which people grow their food or the water they drink that causes them to behave differently from others?

In the name of god we invade
We ****, we possess, we hate
And in the name of Love,
We also do all of the above

There is either a huge misunderstanding
Or we know exactly what God Is Love means

Everyday
Has a story
To be narrated

Today,
Might be
Pleasant

Tomorrow,
Might be a
Lesson

Reflect and produce your best in the everyday action
Re-evaluate your narration
Make it a tradition

I come to paint rainbows
upon your heart of
depression . . .

To turn your lips into emerald coast isles

Where light bleaches away the dark
and purifies the sand between your souls

Let me caress new feathers
of flight
that provides the freedom to soar in the winds from
distant shores

Where every breath is
a possibility of dreams come true

Bright yellows and greens
Orange and teals
As you walk the edge
between red and blue
and bleed royal purple
for those to see
who always weighed
their anchors of doubt
in your sea of despair

I see you wither on the rocks as a seed in your despair

The fire of depression burning away all that you had for which you cared

I squat beside flames as witness to the lack of any warmth to share

So burn away the moments as I ask was there nothing more so rare

Nothing now dear poet remaiins other than the ashes upon your lips

But this Phoenix will not rise anew to this world today

Something I will learn to accept that you chose to go , not stay

Sometimes, when stillness of the heart
is not enough, mind extends to landscape
unbounded and floats like a helium balloon
in the depth of sky.

It begins with streaks of light, the naming
of trees, ponds open like black blossoms,
misted lakes, the sea placing its many fingers
on the endless revels of gold bays.

The road may be mossy and slippery
as old stones ; rows of summer
swallows may rise from random wires.
As mountain strider or keeper of forests,
let love lead me south to warm nights
where stars burn through clouds.

Let the voyage end in tender words,
perhaps a clasp or a kiss. Let the faithful
ebb and flow of time join the fragments
of me in exile from myself.