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Walking down a wooded path
tall flowing trees all around,
I came upon the river’s edge
and sat down on the ground.

Sitting at the edge of the river
I stare at its ongoing flow,
I start to give it all my pain
a release with each little throw.

My hardest pain is fear
that I’ve had from so long ago,
of never feeling good enough
that’s dulled my inner glow.

It eats at me like a cancer
each and every day,
the fear of never being good enough
and again being thrown away.

Years of disappointment and abuse
only being property, nothing to love,
but always trying to make things right
so everyone else could rise above.

I throw this fear out into the river
sit back and watch it pass slowly by,
I wrap my arms around myself
feel the release, let myself cry.

I throw out all the other pains
betrayal, heartache, loneliness and more,
I watch them drift gently way
these last tears will be left on this river shore.

Noticing as each and every pain
slowly floats down the river away,
I observe at a distance
as they fade into the suns sparkling rays.

Walking down a wooded path
tall flowing trees all around,
I came upon the river’s edge
and was surprised at what I found.

And ever onward shall we strive
and from the circle peace derive.
The sea in robes of mossy green
and blues the eye has never seen...
In grays that mock the stormy sky
and depths that hold the tears gone by....

A sweet release we give our heart
from pain of past that tore apart,
relief that only one can find
when hearts we let, become unconfined,
to leave behind those stormy skies
letting self-love baptize…

A tide of tears resides within
and waits to overflow.
i greet with a smiling face
so others will not know.

How feeble is this masquerade.
Transparent are the games.
Emotions should be given room
without the chides and blames.

The time will come to open up
and let the dam release...
my will, the pressure stop.
my soul will be at peace.

Weep when grief prescribes.
Laugh for humor's sake.
Love with everything you have
and forgive, all your mistakes.

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I walk along same paths everyday
I never look for what on display
Birds singing dancing away
Sun out beating it's play
I feel the warm rays
This washes my cares away.

Ive walked this  path everyday
Today my feet move with the sun's dancing  beat with  the dancing of the little Robins feet.

I take my time on this warm spring day I take it all in , it warms me within

Moving with the sun beat
I'm dancing with the little Robins feet
I Shuffle muffle with the hedgehogs snuffle,  pushing through ***** leave i just love this spring time beat
I'm dancing to the little Robins feet .

"Do you like writing poetry?"

It's a strangely
difficult
question to answer.
I do not
like
it.
I do not
love
it.
It's something I
must do,
just
as much as
I must breathe.
If I do not,
I die a little
inside,
and it is
a - part - of - me,
just
as much as
my lungs.

Strange place, strange ways, each stay away!
Then why are there two roads to take?

The maps and paths, and followed tracks.
And Google, Waze, we trust their facts.
Turn left, turn right we let it steer.
To miss a turn, we start to fear.

Across to tolls, collect control.
Like little soldiers, do as told.
Planned flights and crowds, comfort in traps.
Are we confined in our skin wraps?

Some lost, pretend to just be found.
Some found, act lost, pretty profound.
To take that step, the unprotected.
To turn towards, the unexpected.
A wasteful plan, we must forget it.
Insane repeat, and do we test it?

Misdirection, to find us love.
Misdirection, to find us trends.
Misdirection, finds ideas.
Misdirection, to find us friends.
Misdirection to free in stress.
Misdirection leaves no regrets.

Let one misdirection find you.
Let one misdirection guide you.
Let one misdirection define
And be the reason, you are you.

Let's get something straight! ... You are never going to have all of the answers!
Life is always going to keep you feeling uncertain about one thing or another!
Just when you think you've worked it all out, something else is going to ***** you up, mentally!
Stop! ... Stop trying to figure it all out at once! It isn't all going to fall into place--like so many people will have you believe!
Let's be honest with ourselves!
Accept what you cannot control! Accept that nothing stays the same! Accept that life is ever evolving! Accept that even you, yourself, will change, without notice, without realising!

We are only human, we don't use our brains to their full capacity--we don't know how to! We can't control the amount we use, simply because we want to! Intention, and putting your mind to it, isn't enough. And even if we could, that wouldn't change anything, because we cannot control others, or the universe!

It isn't your fault!
We all make mistakes - how smart you are, has nothing to do with it!

By Lady R.F. (C)2017

The Canvas
(c)08-25-2012

A canvas sets on the edge of greatness and beauty, blank, waiting for the touch of the master’s hand. She takes charge of what is to be. Gentle strokes, broad strokes, strokes that caress the canvas… leaving the marks of imagination, transforming nothing into beauty. The image emerges revealing the thoughts and desires and power of the canvas. It is breath-taking to the beholder. She understands the difference between OK and great. Nothing will do but great. It must emulate the original. It must be the original! So it is with our canvas of life.

We start life as a blank canvas. Brush strokes are made by those around us as we begin to grow. Made by mom, dad, friend and strangers alike. All try to add their image to our canvas. An image of who they think we are. As we grow into the artist we strive to be, we accept or reject the strokes of others and create a portrait we strive to become.

Some strokes by others can leave an off color, covering who we really strive to be. A brush stroke that is not us can be covered by our touch, our color, our imagination of who we are, adding integrity to the texture and hue. Revealing an inner beauty as the artist of our life takes control, guiding our hand, adding the touches that transform the canvas from OK to great.

The Artist chooses the colors, the brushes from which she wants to define her life. The decisions are hers to make as she selects the shades of color, or even black and white, that will define her life. She paints a portrait of peace and joy, of self-less love for family and friends.. All else is unimportant. The things of past are covered. Today and tomorrow are forming a painting that will be great.

Letting the Master’s Hand guide our hand, we find freedom flowing freely onto and into our canvas. In doing His will in our life, we are set free. A freedom indescribable at times as we are lost to the distractions of the past. Caught up in the hope and love of today.

The Master guides our hand, willingly or even unwillingly at times in our artistic endeavor. As we learn to relax and give Him control of our hands, He reveals the beauty that is within us. It is great.

I have heard being an artist and painting described as being easy but living life as being difficult and unsure. Life can be described as a series of brush strokes, choices. Some can destroy the beauty intended for our canvas. Some strokes can create breath-taking beauty which radiates outward, inspiring the ones observing our portrait.

This was inspired by a young friend of mine, she left a few brush strokes on my life. They will not be painted over. They will be treasured, remembered for a long time to come.

When I look into a mirror, I want to see Jesus, the Creator of my portrait.