The roaring sea became calm,
The shouting of birds ceased.
All children in class were silent,
The old and the young became still.
For one glorious second,
The whole world knew Jesus Christ and was at peace,
Before breaking out into a cry for the Lord.
It was a celebration,
One more girl had entered Lords magnificent kingdom.

But for one girl,
The peace, the serenity,
Lasted more than one second.
It stretched on for minutes,
Days,
Months,
Years,
For Eternity.
For she knows Jesus Christ,
Our Lord, our Savior.

She sat still,
Reveling in her happiness, her peace.
It wasn't shown on her face,
The change inside her,
She seldom smiled or frowned during important moments of her life,
Instead her eyes conveyed her joy.  
They were, as quoted, 'the windows to the soul.'
And her soul was shinning at that moment.
Casting rays of gold, green, purple, amber, and blue
Upon her heart, her life, and her mind.
For eternity.

She was at peace with herself.
She struggled no more,
And she knew she wouldn't face as much strife as before.
Lord now shared her burden,
Giving hope when she had none,
He was her shoulder to lean on for support,
He was for her to confide in and share her joys with.

She had been born again,
Into the kingdom of Jesus Christ.
God was who she served for.
He was her king,
Jesus was her translator.
She found purpose through Him,
Found life through Him,
Loved through Him,
And WAS through Him.

The world broke out into a cry.

These empty rooms
devoid of life,
behind a bookcase
in the hall.
This was, for a time,
our home
while the Germans
held the Dutch in thrall.
My wife since dead from hunger,
my daughters in a common grave.
I, Otto Frank, the sole survivor.
Is there no one I can save?
Annelise, my dearest daughter,
Miep Gies gave me your book.
The Germans cast it on the floor
without a second look.
Here in your words I find
that not all of you has died.
Here your words may speak
for all who suffered, all who cried.
Its small comfort for an old man,
broken, ready for the grave,
but my girl might be a symbol
for all those we could not save.

The Warden roused them early
on this, their final day.
He marched them out on hobbled feet-
Grey trucks took them away.

Doctors, lawyers, engineers,
All captured in a raid.
German Soldiers had been killed
Reprisals must be made..

Fathers, Husbands, sons all caught
within the **** snare.
Among them was a carpenter
Who bowed his head in prayer.

He’d walk the hills of Rome no more
Nor touch a lover’s cheek.
Here, near the Via Appia
He’d find eternal sleep.

Five by five they entered in
to the foreboding cave.
There they knelt for benediction,
the kind that pistols gave.

The cave became a charnel house
Each man shot in the head.
It reeked of blood and excrement
Flies feasted on the dead.

The carpenter fell once or twice.
Can blood for blood atone? .
His killers coveted his coat
and forced him to disrobe.

By now they had grown sloppy
with drink and hate and fear.
The first shot missed completely
The second grazed his ear.

In seconds live eternities
He said his final prayer:
“Forgive them, Father, even this
done out of hate and fear

several shots rang out just then
each found his noble head
they shot him once more, in his side
to make sure he was dead.


Explosions rocked and sealed the cave
With tons of rock and stone
They didn’t think to post a guard
The grey trucks drove back home.

"i Washed It"

                "Not Good enough"

"But i Did i Did"

                    "Wash it again"
'i didn't know
How could i have known"
                     "because I told you not to!!"
"But she said i shoud
that i just let her wet it
i didn't know it was *****"
............................................
Full of things that i shouldn't know
plesures of lust, greed, sin
Dirt
a loss of innocence
I'll do anything to take it back
It wont come off
It wont come off
this dirt wont come off
(cries) tears
What em i to do
....................."Here child let me wash that away for you"....

I looked in the mirror and I saw it
The hideous thing..
Seeping from my nose
Peeking through my eyes
stretching from my ears....
Something that wasnt me...
but apart of me...
insainty...

And it surround it me,
held me like a mother would its child
and I accepted it
because it comforted me
made me feel secure
but I was far from safe,
The mirror became my prison
that internal heap of filth
made its way to the outside
trapping my true will inside
and it be came me..

stole my identity..
walked like me, spoke like me
but led me around blindlly
Im sorry, Im sorry
Im tryin to take back control
but he won these precious min
cunned me to give in
this Vile beast that feast
on my flesh and soul
I have to win this battle
not just to save my self
but those who i love so.

This darkness can't take over me!!!
Im declaring Victory!!

If my mirror would listen I’d tell her to stand
Out in the rain, with her hands
Turned up and her fingers spread
To feel the drops that resemble the pain
Seep through but never form
A sea that will, when it storms
Bring back all the hurt to the shore

If my mirror would listen I’d tell her to stay
Just where she is ‘cause it is ok
To gaze out of the window and wait
For the sun to rise and make
The rain that brought in all the mourn
Dry up and leave the soil
Ready for a new flower to be born

If my mirror would listen I’d tell her to raise
Her head up to the sun that
Shines on her face and feel sad
Because light is not all there will be
And clouds will come once again
To give her the chance to stand
Out in the rain with her hands

On this, the last night of our world,
As rockets flare and people scream,
A floating mount of artic ice
has made a nightmare of our dream.

Dear Charlotte, get into the boat.
Don’t make an orphan of our child.
I smile and lie and say that I
will be along in just a while.

She nods, and we share a final kiss,
a kiss redolent of goodbye.
It is my hope that they will live,
while I prepare myself to die.

Doomed gentlemen upon the deck;
noble, wealthy or in trade.
I play as brave as any there
In this, our final masquerade.

Their little lifeboat floats away
adrift upon a sea of glass.
I pray, for the first time in years,
full knowing that this cup won’t pass.

Should I go down with the ship?
That is the Captain’s choice, I hear.
Or put a gun into my mouth
And firing put an end to fear?

No. I will stand with these brave men,
Who made the choice that I have made.
We’ll leap before Titanic sinks
And in these depths  find honorable graves.

That day stands sharp in focus
Whenever it's called to mind;
A peaceful Sunday Morning,
just before the Harvest time.

They held a picnic benefit
Each year on public land
For the Widows and the Orphans
Of the firefighters clan
.
All gladly paid to enter
and bought chance books besides.
The old men brought their families
The young men brought their brides.

Bouncing on the rides and slides
erected for them here-
The children had the best of times
as their mothers hovered near.

The men were cooking barbecue,
Tossing footballs, drinking beers
You'd recognize their names-
because you hear them once a year.

The day was nearly cloudless
Seldom was the sky so blue.
Who knew so many would be lost
before that week was through.

Within two days too many here
were cut down in their prime.
Betrayed by poor equipment-
They could not escape in time.

But I, permitted to grow old,
remain to testify
about the courage of my friends-.
so that their memory never dies.

That day is sharp in focus
Whenever it's called to mind;
A peaceful Sunday Morning,
just before the Harvest time.

Bitterness**
"What an appropriate name," she thought
"for this foul feeling that tastes so akin to bile."

She ran her tongue along the ridges of her hard palate,
hoping that her saliva might creep into every crevice
and cleanse her being of this sharp vindictiveness -
Sour anger that left a trail of puncture-wound footprints across her shrinking heart

Equally corrosive and repulsive as it flowed through her bloodstream
She clenched her fists in an attempt to catch the feeling before it traveled another inch
As physical as it it felt - running through her, running over her -
she eventually came to understand that her ailment was far from physical

When she could no longer stand it, she fell to her knees
And prayed to a God in whom she'd never believed
The intellectual in her pushed Him away with embarrassment
The seven-year-old in her embraced Him like a dearly missed imaginary friend

An internal tug-of-war ensued, but was short lived
The vivacious strength of her young heart
Quickly lost to the tired feebleness of her old mind
She set aside her pride, calling out the suppressed longings of her soul

Much to her surprise, she felt an immediate loosening of ties
Weights lifted; beliefs shifted - everything seemed to fall into place
She let out the deep, deep breath she'd unknowingly held
And recognized a feeling of ease and serenity that had evaded her for months

She realized with a smile that she was grateful for the bile
For without its damage, she never would have met her healer

When you’re hanging by the neck
until your life is nearly done.,
It might almost seem a blessing
when the hangman lets you down.
They then spread you on a table
Then the real torture began.
They cut away the man parts
from their sacrificial lamb.
Then your core is cruelly opened
and your ****** entrails rise
in the hands of he, your butcher
displayed before your dying eyes.
Your brain supplies an image
of back when you were a child
and you greeted good Queen Mary
in fine ornate Latin style.
Mercifully shock set in
as death transfixed your eyes.
Sweet Jesus’ name was on his lips
as the recusant dies.

The University where my friend teaches
has sadly forgot what Free Speech is.
Instructors are expressly forbidden
to use the name” Christ” in a greeting.
If you say “Merry Christmas” in passing
if non tenured,  it can be career ending.
If you bless in the name of the Lord,
be prepared for your Ox to be gored.
On the same Campus, on many occasions,
Folks speak freely of perverse persuasions.
Yet, Dean forbid, you should pray,
You’d be better off coming out gay.
If Supernatural salutations you savor
“May the Force be with you”- still is in favor.
So forget about Magi and Manger
or your teaching career is in danger.
If you lecture about Christ and sin
be prepared for what they did to Him.

“The Mass is ended,
go in peace.”
the aged cleric said.
“Thanks be to God”
said some dozen odd
parishioners
who then fled.

The Priest dismissed
his server.
and had turned himself to
go
when he noticed still
one worshiper
kneeling in the seventh row.
She was an older woman,
her head swathed in
a blue scarf.
She was obviously in devotion
before the Sacred Heart.

He thought:
“There is no need to rush”
He shuffled towards the chair.
which is where the Bishop sits
when attending service there.

The aging cleric said a prayer
for the gracious soul’s repose
whose generosity provided
his vestments and his robes.

He next prayed for his friend,
a priest, who’d grown too fond of wine.
He’s consecrating grape juice now
the non alcoholic kind.

He thought:
“it now is getting well past time
I need to lock the doors.”
His urban church had been vandalized
a scant few months before.

He rose up on his arthritic hip
and didn’t cry in pain
He accepted this, his suffering,
in Jesus’ holy name.

As he approached the woman,
Her head bowed as before
He had a vague uneasiness
He experienced fear and awe
She looked up then and he said
“Mother!”
and fell, senseless, on the floor.


His housekeeper found his body
on the floor of fitted stone.
The police found no evidence of foul play,
The priest had died alone.
The M.E. said the heart had failed
Though not from shock or rage
The Lord had called his servant home
to grace a grander stage.

I woke up on the gurney
with pain that robs my breath.
Broken ribs and a row of sutures
running down between my *******.
Strange to still be breathing
when my heart is dead and gone
In my chest Abio-Cor
stubbornly pumps on.

Was it really just a week ago
sitting with my friends  in class
when first I felt the stabbing pain.
when each breath came as a gasp?
My teacher called an ambulance
He saved my life, friends say.
A muscle killing virus
caused my pulse to fade away.
One hundred over forty
I was quickly losing ground.
I would need a donor transplant
but none compatible was found.

I’m a high school girl, just seventeen
-I should be college bound
Not fighting for each breath and
destined for a plot of ground.
The surgeon asked my parents
if he should try Abio-Cor
an artificial heart replacement
in which researchers placed great store.
My crying parents, grasped the straw
consenting he should try.
They would operate immediately-
delay would mean I’d die.

So now I’m in recovery
with my artificial heart.
My fiends call me the Tin Girl,
because of my replacement part.
It will be a long recovery-
seven weeks if fate is kind..
I share my feelings with a heart
still learning to be mine