It isn’t easy going on,
Day by day,
It isn’t easy going on,
Pretending you’re ok,
It isn’t easy to go along,
as you’re tougher than the world,
It isn’t easy fighting,
Day after day,
It isn’t easy to believe some days,
It isn’t easy to assert your heart,
It isn’t easy to build your walls.
It sure is worth it.

How beautiful you are,
the amber sunlight is of no compare.
How the rivers waters,
hold nothing to the beauty beneath the tears.
Heres a secret for you my dear,
I find you wonderfully beautiful,
you hold your head high like a deer,
exuding an air of sweet elegance,
Your beauty made by heavenly hands,
impossible to walk by,
without taking note of your resplendent beauty,
For you are most beautiful.
Incredibly, fantastically, majestically beautiful
to me.

Let us go now my love to dwell forever
beneath the faintest moonlight of summertime,
where nature grows and enlivens hearts forevermore.
Let us go now my love to dwell forever
in natures fair *****, in Ceres cradle let’s
rest and recuperate and let our minds ponder.
Loves garden grown and tended by two
such heartfelt and intertwined lovers,
see them sit ‘neath the willows canopy,
fingers intertwined, gazing at the lands fair
view as the moon drifts lazily
across such wonderful starlit skies.
My love, No such garden is better suited,
than this loves humble garden.

In my youthful folly, I suffered,
t'was no ones fault but mine,
I was infatuated, obsessed, and ensnared
by passions of the youthful times.

In an age where magazines speak of beauty,
looks, and all forms of apparel (or lack thereof)
where sister fights sister in attempts to catch an eye
and hopefully secure for themselves a man.

My heart was stolen, it was fractured and broken,
by a woman who knew not who she was,
or who she could be, but she is forgiven..
That does not alleviate my guilty conscience.

When on my knees and in the tempest,
I began to lose my faith and heart.
He came in humble Glory,
he came in all his unfailing love.

A display of unending grace...
where he knew all I had done,
but still wiped my slate clean,
and sat me next to his throne.

My broken heart was struck with affliction,
burdened by weights of guilt and shame,
yet, t'was Gods great grace in perfection,
alleviated me and freed me from the devils game.

I'm not perfect, I still do some shameful things,
but his grace is sufficient, and ever present.
Always washing over my soul is my Kings
unfailing love. He gave me an eternal present.

He took my place.
Delivered me grace.
Tore asunder my chains,
and alleviated my pains.

He is My king,
He is My God,
He is My brother,
He is My creator.

I love him.
I praise him.
I worship him.
Always and Forever,
Amen.

Is days beauty disturbed by clouds and rain?
For who truly decides what is beautiful to world?
Only you decide what is beautiful to you,
and not a thing can change that,
for everything in the world has its beauty,
but not everyone is able to see such beauty.

It has me thinking, is a beast ugly to another beast?
Is a woman ugly to all men?
Is a serpent hideous to humans?
Who decides?
Only the people who view them can decide for themselves,
beauty is not like a word in the dictionary with a set definition,
its ever changing, ever present and it is spurred from personality.
You cannot mould beauty to suite your own needs and desires,
you can destroy it!

But who would do such a thing?
Beauty is not the physical part of all things,
it is the emotional and spiritual side of all things also,
the whole is beauty.

Enjoying his view at a glance,
everything from the stillness of the trees,
to the bristling of leaves along the floor,
the variances in cloudy colours and the haste
with which they move.

The Birdsong called from open beak,
carried by faint whisper of the air,
heard both near to and far from his pane.
Slithers of blue like a snake out of place,
make their way around me.

The sound of adolescent class and youthful springs
are heard abundantly as laughter and converse grow
into festering harmony of contemporary sounds.

Notice how they cease to be idle, but only ever moving and
active, move in this and that way, heading
North, South, East, and West with motive and intent,
the teachers bark heard through the wall.

I pray that you note the observer through the pane,
he watches and glances, not in idle captivation, but in
simple observation. He notices their behaviour, their patterns
and movements, their groups and divisions, common attributes
and uncommon, differences in personality, not by sound. Instead,
he listens to the motions of mute lips, and silent movement,
as if it were a ballet, only music is absent from the show.

So vast is this view from the behind the pane,
artwork is created by manmade structures blended with
nature and her beauty. Pleasant are the "random" meetings of
two, in open space, such happenstance.

When in the course of circumstances changing,
the classes mix and intertwine for few moments,
I notice many, the aversions, and the attractions,
what catches eyes, and what defers them.
But come the final ringing of the bell, he
heads for the door only to return again
the next day and do as he did.

They danced into fury,

with twists, and twirls, and the

glint of their silver, the fires of their eyes.

The footing and timing perfect,

they chased, and they followed,

they danced around the floor.

Their wrists fluently moving,

the silver shining in the sun,

they danced with sharpness and

precision around the floor,

kicking up dust,

the crowd lifted into an uproar.

So amused were they as

they danced around the floor.

Anger and passion unleashed in such elegance,

a sight unseen.

They danced with purpose and intent,

they danced closer,

till light could not be seen between them.

They danced far,

they tossed each other across the floor.

Breaking a sweat, after an hour of dancing

they continued until dusk.

Such passion and intent failed to relent until,

one swift, and sudden move,

ended the dance, the shining silver,

ran red,

and one was left to dance another day.

Never before had such a thing been witnessed,

never again should it be, Cries lifted from the spectators.

“Pelagius! Pelagius! Pelagius!” they cried, they cheered.

They threw petals of rose at him, and softly they fell,

and staggered did he with sweat covered feat,

away from the floor, into history.

The heart though it is heavy,
may lift and bubble,
fly and drift to newer heights,
to freedom,
but such freedom
that it is short-lived.

The hearts that were free,
sink and fall,
hastily to the sharp, jagged,
rocks of the deepest crevasse
of shadow and nigh-light.
Breaking upon the night,
with little light.

Here, see the elegant ebb and flow,
of balloons and hearts aglow with passion,
love and care, that they are so delicate,
and full of emotions, which if treated
poorly will burst and fall in sadness,
hurt and pain.

These are the Balloons and hearts,
that ebb and flow to life's,
fair current and nature.

In my ideal world,
There's no you, no them,
You see it's my world,
A construct of my imagination.

A glass of scotch, a piece of swing
Blaring for all to hear,
Eyes shut, as I'm lounging,
My legs rest on the arm, without a care,
Small gentle sips,
A warm burn, and sensation,
Slowly drifting,
Away,
           Away,
                       Away,
Away into my own mentality,
Imagining my little place of peace,
A slight bite of heaven,
A taste of something, something just for me.
Here, I'm never down-trodden,
But cheerful and amazingly,
Happy.

In the world of a simple scotch
And the sound of a piece of swing,
Oh that this world would be,
Something of a reality.

Not too much, not too little,
But just right,
That'd bring me such delight,
If only it lasted a little.

Quite a quandary,
Perplexing predicaments,
This is the modern day
I'm really quite over it,
These.... Feelings...

How things do change!
Out with the old,
In with the new,
This is the way of the modern age.
But that's not my problem,
My problem is emotions!

How do you cope?
How do you survive?
Where do you put them?
Why does it hurt?
Sure, they aren't all bad,
But some are definitely *******!

There's nothing wrong with feeling,
There's nothing wrong with me,
There's something in the air,
Something that makes me feel anything but free!

But the world is not as dull as it was,
Nor did I see the colourful beauty,
The trees lost their life,
The music a little slower,
The river a little stagnant,
The air a little stale.

Day in,
Day out.

How is this fair?
Stressful emotions,
Is this right? Fair? Just?
It doesn't seem right
That these emotions cause stress.
Stresses on the soul,
Weighing heavily on the heart.

My perspective changes!
One day it's abrasive,
The next is smooth and easy,
One is logical, the next is chaotic!

For this is my life,
Emotions born of experience,
Experience produces a reaction,
Reaction produces action,
Action produces experience.

A wheel of emotion and perspective,
It alters my life,
Day in,
Day out.

Tally-**, Tally-**!
On our way we shall go!
Merrily, merrily we shall hunt!
Pursuing the fox with hound and mount!

Over brush, under felled tree,
dashing and bolting the fox eludes us.
Round the hills, still running free,
this amber devil can make sudden disappearance.

At the moment when the spear pierced his side,
and Christ had died,
Sins were dragged away, dredged from our hearts,
and taken with him,
for all,
even those who deny.

Hollow, and bitter,
scarring me in more ways than it seems.
my heart aches at the empty words,
"I love you",
I wish, pray, and consult the heavens
that soon they might prove to be true,
but, here I sit in idle wallowing in the sea
of despair and pity.
Only the removal of these empty words,
will enliven me once more and that I might
utter unto you the sincere, heartfelt words,
"I love you",
and mean it, but as for this moment,
nay, I cannot say it without it being deemed
as false.
For they are, Empty words.

At the Sound of the creation music,
The stars did sound of trumpets,
cymbals, flutes, and lyres,
one gargantuan united harmony,
the music of the stars
which reached across the blackness,
and birthed the world.

Illuminating the First World,
and inciting the creation,
of man, and elf, and dwarf,
and all others beholding to the land.

Light, then Birthed Darkness,
the shadows and fires,
then the wars,
breeding disastrous conflicts,
and opening wide, deaths doors

The Darkest Chasm,
the coolest dark,
The empty nights, of pillow coddling,
empty smiles, and days of hopeful longing
glances across the room at you
who I wish would notice me and come to my arms.
Nay, it cannot truly be
for you are deeply engrossed with another,
tho' he may questionable,
I sit idly by,
longing,
wishing,
dreaming,
I pray soon my feelings are returned

Within the chasms of Stone,
the great halls of the mountain
king, men of the mountains,
dig in search of treasures gone.
With eager minds bent on gold,
gems, all forms of greed,
obsessed with the things of old,
they dig, and they dig,
Ignoring advice to which they should take heed.

Their tunnels stretch endlessly,
they are dim lit,
holding all manner of mystery,
there is no way out of it.
Men tunnel into this curious maze,
but a spell cast over the mountain
secures them inside, keeping them in a haze.

This is how he gains new slaves,
taking advantage of mens greed.
He knows the way out,
never will he be made to use it.
This is his domain of might stone,
deep within the mountains side.

With blackened eyes,
and messy beard,
a crown of marble,
he rules the mountains.

Take my hand,
We’ll walk forever,
of dusty roads,
and wood realms,
over sequestered rivers,
by the reflective lakes,
‘Neath beauteous moonlight,
or radiant daylights delight,
Exploring majestic cities,
or ruined ancient palaces,
far distant fields,
or nearest family parks,
We’ll roam.
through meek and mild,
through the tempest wild,
through the summer heat,
and springtime rejuvenation,
I’ll walk with you forever,
If you want me to that is.

The seed of the tree,
tho' it may fall in a gust of wind,
or with the weight of the rains,
still will take root and grow,
blossom and bloom, only when the time
is right. When the season is at hand,
and its flowers bloom,
and bees and birds spread its seeds
far and wide,
and soon enough,
the whole countryside is filled
with the ocean of colours.

All for the seed taking root and growing
when the season was right,
and not a moment too soon,
nor too late.

I can meander by,
and 'neath a clear sky,
lean against the frosted window,
and softly peer beyond, and see
you with him,
and shed but a single soft tear,
and wither up inside.
You might see this shadowy figure
leaning against the glass,
and a stream drifting down,
and I pray you are moved to investigate
and hear fates subtle hints,
as I grow jealous and envious,
of someone I despise for he has you
but I do not.

Under the palest moonlight,
the wolf does howl and cry,
“I am alone! I am alone”
to which others far off reply,
“So am I”,
“me too”,
and he wasn’t alone in being alone.

'Watch out!' one of them cries,
then theres the one who denies,
he's broken by the surprise.
The Patrol found him out,
now he's only left to pout.

The rest skilfully scramble,
no hint, no sign,
the patrol walks on through the jungle.
Then, at Five to Nine,
all are uprooted, marched off,
single file. To the holding pen,
awaiting the work they mingle and cough,
one might escape only to be returned to the men.

Meticulously planned,
cunning is the patrol,
it weeds out the trouble makers,
and prospers the vigilant.

We shall sleep long into the night,
Our bodies stirring from time to time,
Our eyes are shut, but we still see a world,
We have walked from the wings into the light.

Actors on our own stage,
The set our own design,
The plot our fears,
Our deepest desires,
A beauteous melody lingers,
It fills the air with sweet scents,
Vivid colours, flashes here and there.

The time seems short,
But the story long,
The meanings lost at the time,
But after you awake,
There's only moments to remember,

Lest it drift away,
Unlikely to be remembered,
Forgotten.

"More ropes! Swiftly now,
more ropes! With all that we hold
we must restrain it!" cries the mind.
Such a mighty roar,
tho' t'were a beast from hell,
yet so such beast was present.

"Ah, yes, No such liberty for thee,
restrained, confined to the labyrinth
of stock and stone for this lifetime."
whispered unto its enraged ears,
countless other taunts cast from figures
afar, but this youthful figure nearby,
taunts fresh into its ears.

What foul creature could be so horrid?
Surely a beast of such sheer evil nature,
death, destruction and villainy,
that doth terrorise the world so very much.

Listen! there's its thump and thud,
its horrendous screech,
the chorus of the deep.
Ay, tis not of kind appearance,
not to me in the slightest,
instead, throw flame and ember,
deep into its chambers,
and pray to the heavens,
that some miracle may be
bequeathed unto such a foe,
and looks of horror, and foul appearance,
might be converted to the sleek and slender
restraints of the minds will.

Ay, this is the heart,
a foul and horrid creature,
the bringer of pain, the bestower
of a smouldering soul.
Let it not loose,
lest it happens again.

Let not loving words be rendered
unto people in fleeting moments,
moments of death, life, and marriage,
but instead let loving words,
in accordance with action and spirit,
be extended to everyone with whom
we may have contact,
from blood, to the youthful teen you
meet with passing glances.
Profess to love someone in every
moment, not just with words
and physical doting,
but with thoughts and attitude.
Let Love be rendered in every moment,
not just a few.

I’m mad,
I am mad,
I am not angry,
no, but I am mad,
so very, very mad,
meticulously so at times,
Just know that I am mad,
I am cuckoo, I am insane,
I am deprived of sanity,
I am mad,
wonderfully so,
for I am madly in love with you.

I've meandered the dusty roads,
and seen the rusty machines in fields.
I've wallowed in the pools of self-pity,
and sorrow 'neath the yellow streetlight.
Such is my life.

Have we not got dreams?
Have we lost hope for Good?
Have we reduced life to narrow parameters?
Is there life beyond the text and PM?

Once, not long ago,
I yearned for the pen and page,
now, I find myself mulling
and withering in front of the screen.

Can it be helped?
Can it be fought?
Can it be resolved?
That this is not my limits!

There is more than,
'Nathan has sent you a message'
which flicks on and off my internet tab,
There is more than that.

There is more than this vacuum lets on,
a master behind it,
who sits before it,
lost without, but found without it.

You ask me frequently,
why do I love you?
and this is my heartfelt reply,
I love you to the core,
regardless of the past
you're on brand new shores,
forget about the past,
Let me love you.
You're beautiful,
you don't flaunt it,
nor do you ignore it,
I choose to embrace it,
and let the world know,
I love it.

Yes, Loving you is quite a joy,
to try and put a smile on your dimpled face,
to make you feel admired, wanted, liked,
To have a smile waiting for you,
and to have someone who wants to be with you.

Yes Im absolutely crazy,
crazy about you,
yes I'm simply mad,
madly in love with you,
you see, you think you're worth nothing,
you're worth everything to me,
and you feel like things will never change,
things changed the moment I fell for you.

I cannot say i'm perfect,
i can say I love you,
because I'm seriously mad about you,
you may think you're not worth it,
but thats just a lie,
you're completely worth it.
and Loving you is easy,
because you're so important to me.

I'm crazy about you,
all other words are superfluous.
I dare not utter about you,
they are useless.

My mind has you fixed,
My heart has you to stay.
The fact is: I'm more than just crazy,
I wish I could show you.

I'm not like the rest.
I don't do much sport,
I don't like to watch it,
talk about it,
I like to write poetry,
and pose the questions that count.


I like to ask: Why am i crazy about you?
because I know i am!
With every fibre, every millimetre of nerve
in my mortal imperfect body,
I know and feel my heart for you.

A passionate flame,
spread like a wildfire
throughout my being,
a delirious joy,
a unending happiness,
some call it rare,
some call it a lie,
I call it true,
because its caused by you.

Despite my youth, I yearn for my past!
To relive some little joyful part of it,
To remember and feel such a blast,
That it is forever recommitted and I not forget
That all I am is borne of those moments!

Ah yes, small moments maybe,
But a big ripple can be made by a small stone,
And times in my life that are happy,
Far outweigh those that would see me undone,
Keeping me fresh years after they occurred,
I wish to travel back!
Just for a day!

Take ten paces apart,
then turn and I shall start
My count up to three,
after which you may feel free
to take your shot,
and hope to miss not
the man who has challenged you
for failing to pay respects long due.

One,
Two,
Three,
Cracks on either side,
groans and moans of pain,
one of sweet relief.
Deep breaths, and forced composure.

Even as his aids assist him,
they are cool and calm as ever.
The duel is over,
and that is that.

At the lowering of the flag,
and the rise of white,
let it not be mistaken for cowardice,
but may it be perceived as wisdom,
that my heart, a battleground
torn and riddled with blood and scorches
is now the blessed land of peace,
that all foes are in full retreat,
and the drums of victory loudly beat
and the shout of triumphal praise.

And at the going down of the bitter red Sun,
when flames smoulder, and hearts surrender,
I shall rest easy in the night, knowing, knowing
no more shots and thunder ring to my ears,
nor the tortured screams of twisted souls,
as the sun slowly sets in its ****** colour,
the fields of red and crimson,
are washed clean by truth.

Relief, the greatest sigh of relief,
that this land suppressed by fear
is liberated by an almighty host angelic
in all its glory, that with every rhythmic step
and every lyrical chant,
the enemy trembles and breaks,
no wait, they retreat.

And now, this scorched field of battle
bloodied and burnt, is restored by Christ
to beautiful fields of green and life,
trees, forest, Golden sunlight, skies of blue,
air of purity, and a life renewed, and improved,
rivers ebb and flow, trees creak and groan
as birds sing their songs, and the world is once
again alive and fully well,
this is my world,
this is my human soul.

The rains sing a steady song,
Building and fading,
The birds warble, it sounds like a throng,
But alas, these moments are brief!

The city wears this beauteous
Cloak of cloud, and adds divine
Autumnal colours! A fine display for us.
This city, this city is mine.

Listen closely to the sounds of the city,
It's quiet now, it is not busy
If ever it is only graceful and calm
It's full of life and has its charm.

What effect the rains have upon this place,
Turning it from dry, to bustling life!
Adding bright colours to the scene,
The rains are a welcome blessing!

Oh how Love should resemble spring,
blooming at every moment,
every beautiful blooming moments,
Blissful temperate days,
damp foggy morrows,
beads of dew in the morn,
perhaps the deep rumble of a storm,
When I say I love you my dear,
I mean it with the intensity,
the very deep consistency
of a thousand springs,
the eternal Bloom of the Eternal Spring.

Who sits amongst the tree tops,
peering down, inquisitively poking his nose?
Ah, yes! The little Nature boy.
The forgotten child whom nature has reclaimed.

Why it was years ago now, but yes, still
I remember. Eerie foggy mornings,
the quiet groan of the forests, and the distant
rustle of the foliage, above and around them.

Then, as if by some cruel plot,
a ravenous pack of animals wild,
bore down upon them,
one, two, three to a person,
weapons fired, weapons dropped,
useless, now they lay lifeless.

Yet, by some strange miracle
the boy survived. He grew and grew
eating of the plants and fruits
which the forest gave.
And, until this day he is a mystery
but a mystery people long to see.

Your heart, My dear,
Is ever being intertwined with mine,
a close knit fabric of love and romance,
like the elegant fabric of silk, or lace,
so fine.

To you I earnestly look,
and see my heart lose control,
and words pour out like,
water from a fountain piece.
These my days of joyful delight,
are brought on by you,
your smile,
and your beautiful blessed heart.

Prayers are lavished upon you,
as are smiles, and loving remarks,
each day is a blessing to which I inquire
"Lord, How many more will you bless me with?"
and hope he says a million more,
more often than not, I hope for
million upon millions of days, weeks, months,
that I may spend with you.

I admit, not all things I do demonstrate
love, some things I say are bitter and harsh
but I pray you forgive me, and apologise swiftly,
Always. My heart is for you,
not against, I cannot have you believe that.
I say I love you,
and by all that I am,
I mean it.

I had a poem in mind,
take note that it is not this one,
Pray that the lord grant me mercy,
and clarity,
that I might write the words I had intended
free from restriction,
that my heart pours out onto this
the world wide web.

Back in the sands of time,
Before the voices of the Aenílì sung,
And created one and all,
Rua'grain' battled with his brothers, and sisters.

For two thousand millennia, Rua'grain fought,
And it is this that bore the children of evil.

Rua'grain defeated, was cast out of immortality
Consigned to live a mortal life.
Stripped of divinity, he maintained his hold on one power,
His voice.

For whilst his brothers and sisters sung angelic song,
Creating all that was good.
He alone sung twisted music, creates spirits of evil,
His children.

And silently his power and dominion grew!

Whatsoever you shall do in life,
whether it is the writing of rich literature,
or walking a road till old age supersedes you.
Do what you do with grace and
heart, so that it shall be of simple
beauty and greater value,
for life wasted with idle antics and in
pursuit of useless kicks, is hardly
worth the time to live, and boast.

Life should blossom a thousand
new adventures, and an endless supply of
merry memory, tho' only a few shall be of
sorrow, pain, and hardship.
Such is life.

I love you in the spring time,
I love you in the fall,
I love you in every season in between,
whether its the bitter winds of winter,
the scorching heat of summer,
the heralding rains of Autumn,
or the blooming nature of Spring,
I love you in them all,
whether it is the bright blessed light of day,
or the dim lit starry night,
makes no difference to me,
no such things like time, distance,
or circumstance shall defer me,
I am persistent, perhaps tenacious,
when it comes to love.
To stand upon the rooftops,
and let aloud a cry of love,
a bold declaration,
tho' it may be rejected and I shall
fall to my knees in rejections shadow,
but still again I will rise,
for love always finds a way to thrive
similar to a ****.
Spring, Summer, Autumn, Winter,
these four seasons I shall love you.

I walk in the forest,
the most beautiful forest,
full of the most beautiful trees,
and filled with a mighty breeze.
This forest is filled with the most
wonderful trees, I become lost
in the beauty of the forest,
thats all around me,
Beautiful Women

You're a filthy little *******,
you were always undesired!
You look like ****,
and also smell like it.

You're a worthless little *****
who I wish I could kick.
Of course you dress like a ******
and I could say bye with ease.

You inspire the worst in me,
Please! Just leave me be.

Of course its easy enough
to say the worst,
to a realistic reflection
in the mimicking mirror.

Tell her this,
Daily.
She is beautiful,
she is wonderful,
she is pleasant
and delightful,
Ne’er is she disastrous,
Ne’er is she unappealing,
Tell her that you love her,
even if as a friend,
Tell her she is a wondrous blessing,
amongst the very best.

Tell Her these things,
tell her you support her,
even in the bad days,
tell her you are there,
even if its hard some days,
Tell Her this,
there is none like her.

Take not leave of senses,
that in the course of time,
you might discover something divine,
that is masked in multiple guises,
which men find dear,
and if tragically missed,
requires the upset soul to persist,
for this is not just difficult to bear,
but burdensome from that moment on,
until the wearied soul captivated again,
pursues the new found love, and ends the game,
that life cruelly, and foully puts on.

Let my death not be brought about by the pain,

of elongation, of sickness and disease,

nor the bitterness and cruelty of Nature.

Let my death come of time,

when all else seems of no effect,

in the midst of yells and screams,

Fire and Smoke,

crack and Shot,

in the hot temperament of Sacrifice and Glory,

Let my death unfold like a letter being read,

and my death will be watched,

by people who will stand in awe.

Let My death be not of no use,

Let it serve a true purpose,

let it be with intent,

Let it be of a lesser good,

rather than a greater evil.

I will not die in the solemnity of a hospital room,

Nor in the silence of a cold household room,

I will not die in bitter cold,

For deep down inside,

I know I will die with the warmth of my love for,

my family, my home,

my people, my nation,

My Faith, My Freedom,

My Brothers, My Sisters,

My God, My God.

His eyes spat fire far and wide,
his temper flared like hells rage.
There were few who assuaged him,
only the enemies who lay dead.

He searched the globe in fierce pursuit,
wanting them all dead and rotting.
He would bury them wherever he be,
On land or deep raging seas.

There are things in the world,

Medicine cannot fix, nor the bitterness of violence,

Such things as the constant sorrow,

Lack of bliss, Lack of love, lack of Life,

Because this world saps from us that which makes us enjoy Life,

And without that which makes it easy for us to enjoy Life,

We die, may not be through spirit or body, but the

Very essence of your being, your heart.

Your love, love of life, joy, friends, family, the simple things.

Tennyson’s, ‘All things must die’ is true enough for

Those with absence of life, but ye who still live, who still struggle,

Here is assistance into finding joy in the struggle,

Laughter.

It cures everything laughter, Suffering and sorrow,
disputes and arguments, bitterness and hatred,

It does what no man made medicine of this modern time can do,

It works faster than most too,

It heals the wounded.

Never be afraid to laugh at the simple things, the jokes,

The clowns, the mistakes, so long as it isn’t at another’s pain.

You should, especially in this day and age, Love to laugh!

I know I do!

Brings a smile to my mouth,

And tears to my eyes.

Love to laugh, I tell you it makes such a difference.

If I were a painting
hung upon a wall, be I a
painting of flowers, ships or sheep,
it would be of no major concern.
For should my owner have a change
of season, he might remove me
and put another, perhaps more
sought after painting,
I hang on feelings and ratings,
though I am skilfully crafted,
my flaws determine whether
I should rise or fall.

What a lonely little road!
Shadows creep on either side!
The end is in sight,
then it was yesterday too!
how can this be?
what trickery could this be?

I'm almost at wits end,
i'm almost going to surrender.
the whispering shadows follow you.
they scream, cry and howl at you,
begging you to join them.

Don't.
Do not let go!
It may be beyond reach!
but STRIVE!
Re-e-e-each!
For ***** Sake,
Re-e-e-each!

See the evening colour palette?
Of fading blues and enchanting reds,
yellows, and ambers, they fall upon
the eyes. Golden in combination,
warming and enlivening to the soul.

Reminding you of some fantasy world,
where endless plains of amber grasses dance.
Where you wish your lifes short moments
could be spent for eternity with her.

T'would make the world seem inadequate,
but still, a dream doesn't die,
it ignites the flame of the soul within,
the passionate will and desire.

So gaze out! Look at the world,
immersed in the amber light
of days last light, and beauteous sunset,
that its beauty is enhanced ten-fold.