Today I welcomed the traveller in ,
Without a smile or humble grin.
Without thought or even time it sat
Upon this heart of mine .
And as time went by it stayed a while for tea and cake ,

One day time knocked on my door and with it the traveller returned , and days turned into years ,
And still they ate with tea and cake .

Then when it was time to leave ,
a memory would come ,
With a tear ,
Then a smile ,
and I let it stay a while .
The traveller will always be welcome ,
and time no hostage can hold .
So keep your thoughts and cherish
One day they might turn to gold .

Mans wings on emortal things canst only perish .
For if love were of man it might flicker and die ,
Like a tinder box flame with no oxygen ,
no heat or smouldering Cole could ever give life to this ice , cold ,
Frozen heart .
And where does such sweet parting meet ?
And sorrowful love must end ?
Does it depart , or stay a while my friend ?
Or is love of such sorrow born eternal ,
and if so Blessed by God himself ?
Then feelings and passions rage of which I know not .
Only to love and not be loved with flowers and kisses ,
and romantic candel light moons .
What if love was more ?
To give up the ghost on a friendship or so lament my heart with sorrow
To the kid who s. Mother shunned the gun ,
Bought a guitar and strumed for fun ,
Played sweet songs for Dixie ,
And what that boy heard on the hill only drew him
To the mean streets of Memphis
and the blues came a calling.

' I don't sound like anyone here ' in 54 ,
In the blazin Memphis heat
Came from which rock was born ,
a song for a dime , to play to his mama .

And the ladies went wild ,
and the kid from the shack ,
With a guitar on his back ,
With a swing of his hips ,
and a curl of his lip ,
Bought a house for his Ma'am ,
then money and wealth ,
Took away his health ,
An empty lonely house without Pricilla .
For love that's born of man must perish and die ,
Alone without a flicker .
And three cruel nails ,
To Christ empailed on a tree is proof enough for me ,
that Gods love is eternal.

There is a dark place you will go,
a place where we've all been
at one time
or another.
A place where clichés come true,
where nightmares turn to reality,
a place where your worst fears,
your deepest insecurities,
will tower above you.
It is a place you will visit
when you have been drained
emotionally, physically, spiritually, mentally,
but must keep moving forward.
A place that does not discriminate
for anyone,
a place that is the great equalizer.
You will not be able to breathe.
Your lungs will be filled with soot,
your eyes will be branded in fire,
your mind will be captive,
you will want to quit.
You may even want to die.

But this place holds a secret.

You will fall to your knees
on tough soil and gravel,
blind,
and you will cry, you will scream.
The air will be as fire,
and your skin will be as ice.
But you will dig.

You will blindly ****** your fingers into the cold Earth,
you will search for a way out,
you will rip and bleed and tear,
and you will convince yourself
it is futile.
But you will not stop.

You will keep fighting.

This place holds a secret.
This place holds an opportunity -
an opportunity for growth.

And, yes, you will grow.

From worn out sheets and pillow dreams sleep can never hold the dreamer. For
even now the Sun has yet to rise at four in the morning .
the town halls. Clock still shrouded by the absence of light ,
and the rain like pellets brought only a soreness to my eyes ,

yet brought a youthful. exuberance to my legs not felt in months .
For what was once dawn at five in the morn has still to rise in August.
And Wicked. Schemes of medieval dreams of a tyrant King for a loaf of bread a monk and a toad and a goblet of gold could ever keep this ball of fire from rising .
No more than '. Twenty shillings for a loaf of bread for what was once half a penny .
a monk drank to his death of the **** drained from the skin of a toad for many.
andKing would die , but not from its poison .
How Tudor halls when evening falls bolt their doors from it .
It hides the light which once shone bright ,
and pray the sun will rise .
As evil waits outside its gates only theifs and drunkards Persue .
A preachers bench where a dead weight is clenched ,
Gods word from man has no where to hide
as preachers. On Sunday mornings tell ,
Food for the lost at what great cost every soul that listens well .
So as evening shadows draw near .
and cold winds ,
and darker skies. can only beckon .
And evening shadows fall ,
and TV takeaway awaits ,
a light from church's may yet be ready
To. Welcome the weary traveller home .

A fly flew out of my window,
What a silly thing to do .
Driven insaine by the noon day heat ,
Out to blue sky's flew,
Out to relentles noon days sun .

A fly flew from my window no longer inprisoned in my room ,
To wandering sky's it travelled ,
to flame filled sky's belonged .

As evenings Suns. On Grenfell towers fell the night before the fire
like heavens stars shone in grace .

A fly flew out my window to blackened sky inflamed ,
and dark clouds circled all around in soot and fire and pain .

For in morning time Christs loving arms to the lost would embrace ,
and those below kept searching for loved ones to hug and hold

For our body's are no more than cheap disposable takeaway containers with unseen riches untold.
To every Christ believer city's await paved with Gold .


A ghostly shell of hell on earth stands tall above Kensingtons
Well to do ,
Empty houses ,
With empty rooms ,
Stand idle whilst homeless walk in streets of gold without a
Flamin clue .
Oh the many that gathered brought food love and drink .

The forgotten rose with banners Held high with anger in their hearts , to City hall with flame and sword justice for their dead .

A fly flew out of my window to hollow sky's of grey ,
To rainbows all around a beam of light struck its tiny wing ,
to charred timber it rested ,
On what was once a home ,
A fly flew from what was once a window
to blue sky's above .

The sun found its evening rest in the courts of God above .







...

/\    ○   °  ○
'
    ○°    ()   °○
()       °○
                 /\
     °○      
~~~~~~~~~~~

no fruit to bear
no seed to spring
no animal
no living thing
no blade of grass
no hand to toil
no rain can last

on barren soil


SøułSurvivør
(C) 6/11/2017