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The white cloth of old
is, and always was,
tainted slightly
with yellow or brown.
Yet, it was white,
nonetheless,
to them.
So, how do we
set our standards
moving forward?

Such reverend sanctity
is destined to change.
 Jul 2014 AD Sifford
John Stevens
© July 2002 John L. Stevens

My heart was so heavy
With sadness and sorrow.
The day was so dark
I could not see tomorrow.
Hope seemed so dim
Through the tears that I cried.
I could not see You Lord
The day that s(he) died.

I remembered Your promise
To be by my side.
For always You’re with me
In You I abide.
In the midst of the darkness
Your hand touched my soul.
You drew me so close
And made me whole.

There are times that I cry
Alone with just me.
When the silence comes crashing
Like a storm-troubled sea.
There are times that I laugh now
When I remember the years.
That we shared together
Through the good times and tears.

The peace oh Lord
The memories You bring.
Fills my life with hope
Make my heart strings sing.
Draw me close to Your side
And lead me gently on.
Give me hope for tomorrow
Till the dark turns to dawn.
———
Open my heart Lord
Let out the sorrow.
Pour in your spirit
And hope for tomorrow.
I need Your touch Lord
On my heart this hour.
Fill me with Your love
With Your healing power.
Strange how this happens.
Spring of 2002 unraveled for a friend of mine. His wife got sick, his mother came out to help them and she had heart failure and died in the hospital one floor below where his wife was located. A month later his wife died, he lost his job, a vertebrae in his neck deteriorated, his insurance evaporated. It was Job all over again. We spent many hours of many days trying to make sense of his situation. It seemed pointless. Absolutely hopeless. I can remember a cold fear pouring over me. There was nothing I could do to help him.

I wrote a piece called “Hope for Tomorrow” a couple months later that reflected his loss and my loss when my mother died 1991. Writing is therapy for me. Writing puts on paper a reminder of where I am at that time. The words of this piece points to the loss of a loved one but the thoughts can translate to any loss.

Today he is doing well.  Working in a school district doing IT work. It has been 12 year
Gods love has no border
It is an ocean with no shore
A universe with no ending
An opening with no door

It has no edge to mark
No line where its complete
It is an endless depth
It has no bounds to keep

No wall can hold it back
No river is too wide
Gods love is always reaching
Even through the tears you've cried

Forever it carries on
Into the great abyss
Never has man known
A love such as this
Friends, I find, are like oceans.
In that their influences come
and go
with the tides
when fate,
or the moon,
Pulls them to other places.

A friend, I find, is like an ocean
because he or she affects me in waves,
which come
and go
and come
to change the person I am
one grain of sand at a time.

And when the last wave has come
and gone,
an event which may never happen,
or may occur tomorrow,
the artifacts they leave behind -
the lost kites,
the clouded glass,
and - most of all - the shells
decorate my life
and make it worth traversing.

And - most of all - the shells
herald forever their influence.
Echoes of their voices
everlasting in my mind.
 May 2014 AD Sifford
Heliza Rose
Like a fog so thick and consuming
it comes when you least expect it
When your children are tucked in bed
And your lips are tucked in red wine
**Death
 May 2014 AD Sifford
Heliza Rose
Any meal could be your last..
So chew slowly
 May 2014 AD Sifford
Jack
The Cello
 May 2014 AD Sifford
Jack
Here above the spider’s bed
Balanced on a tiny thread
Soft the sound his cello plays
In harmony with summer days
~
Melodically he moves his bow
In mystic motioned rhythm’d flow
O’ the cast of crescent moon
Illuminates his wondrous tune
~
A thousand dragonflies appear
His cello sound they long to hear
Now as he plays this mellow song
A cricket choir sings along
~
The audience in grand delight
Embrace the magic on this night
For as all earth has come to know
No sweeter sound than his cello
 May 2014 AD Sifford
Jack
~

Maps are folded and re-folded into pocket sized
destinations of our own heart’s desires

Routes become numbers and numbers become moments
as the planning cycle, with yellow highlighter in hand,
presents a “look forward to” scenario

Well beyond windows of curtained belief
and hedges shaped like poetic scribblings calling to me

The sidewalk of chalk marks in hopscotch etchings,
faded from the sun and foot smeared play dates,
leads to that place of affection filled dreams

and I see over the next sunrise a highway,
empty of detours and beckoning openly

to this heart, from another, on windswept invitations
penned in frilly fonts and colors of imagination,
reaching deeply inside and holding tightly

A glance back at what is left behind brings a smile,
for what waits ahead is now everything new

In the grand scheme of things, what is found chiseled in fate
proves that destiny is a destination of dreams, of hopes and
of love… . when that journey brings me to you
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