There's a small child walking down the street,
while holding his mother's hand;
He looks so peaceful, safe, and content,
with the life that God has planned.

Mom assures him that school will be fun,
and he runs off to meet his friends;
His smile is glowing, kind and sweet,
he may never want the day to end.

And while he sits at his tiny desk,
a gentle spirit arises before him;
It speaks of kings and far-off lands,
and miracles in a world unknown.

His eager mind absorbs it all,
and color fills his freckled cheeks;
The lovely spirit moves about,
she knows of what she speaks.

The day has passed and mother waits,
as the children rush to the yard;
And memories shared from this magical day,
will come forth from this little boy's heart.

Reading between the lines of love,
I recognized this tale of woe;
It sizzled with a panicky voice,
and growled with anger rising slow.

The parchment pages rustled handily,
my fingers framed each word;
Perspiring now my hands were soaked,
in images which propelled the sword.

But no tears arose from mockery or shame,
while reading the familiar flow;
Of my gallant efforts to show the world,
there was more to my work than show.

Yet somehow in the gruesome night,
a thief had coveted my manuscript;
As I stood aghast in the bookstore,
each stolen page I hastily began to rip.

Can anyone else ever possibly know,
how very startling it is to see;
A literary fraud which breaks apart,
the inspiration for a writer's purity.

From the cold depths of despair,
came a rush of white snowy air;
I was left all alone that day,
and felt I had surely lost my way.

For within the winter's pearly frost,
I thought I could perceive a ghost;
an ethereal, mystical, gossamer face,
It would rise then vanish without a trace.

My heart was weary with memories,
of all the things that had brought me pain;
And this grey shadow from the past,
brought more hurt that long remained.

I rambled through my big old house,
turning past every darkened corner;
Wanting to shade myself from truth,
barely breathing and starting to flounder.

When the ice broke through and tears erased,
from the senseless crime I could not face;
No longer haunted by unknown guilt,
I climbed into bed and pulled up the quilt.

The next day the amber rays appeared,
through long rows of icy window panes;
And with the ageless love of God,
I sensed that I was not insane.

The shadow life that I had lived,
became a daydream quite unreal;
The muted face had gone away,
and with all my strength I began to pray.

I then set myself upon a path,
to cure my spirit of haunting's wrath;
The winter that seemed so long to me,
was just one day...which had gone astray.

When life is low and the fire dies,
and blue-black clouds fill up the skies;
My heart grieves in an anguished way,
and sometimes I can't face the day.

My folks live in a world beyond,
they've already played their earthly song;
I hope that they can hear my pleas,
for strength and comfort from stormy seas.

Watch over me and keep me well,
protect my soul from a tortuous hell;
Keep me always in your daily thoughts,
and hold me close when I'm distraught.

You live among the angels now,
your souls are cleansed by holy vows;
If the Lord can't always hear my prayers,
please...intervene with tender care.

As the summer's scorching heat fades nightly,
a gentle mist arises in a massive haze;
It highlights all the unseen figures there,
with translucent whirls of gossamer portrayed.

While watching moonlight glow in magic dance,
our eyes become accustomed to its wonder;
And ghosts of light enchant us as we pray,
for all who've passed beyond to heaven's grandeur.

I have felt the simple softness of their essence,
with pure serenity and calm they've floated by;
My dear family and friends were fully present,
as I heard their fainted whispers and deep sighs.

Then joining with the hosts of feathered angels,
these souls became engaged in carrying forth;
A holy message of miraculous proportions,
which helps dissolve anxieties here on earth.

They've wandered far to this unholy realm,
to keep us safe from harm and wicked sin;
With charity and hope their forceful missive,
will grant our faithful hearts a chance to win.

The trembling leaves sway and tumble down,
their autumn home resides on the ground;
'Till the furious wind-gusts charge ahead,
and soon the leaves build a perfect bed.

Piling on top of the yellows and browns,
the reds are as bright as a circus clown;
Squirrels crawl through looking for acorns,
then silently settle for evergreen's pine-cones.

As the rays of sunlight begin to fade,
and trails of clouds soon find their way;
When tumbling through a crimson sky,
shedding their fears as night passes by.

Now at rest they tumble no more,
they've drifted to town and then to the shore;
Where playful gulls sing a haunting tune,
and new leaves reflect the autumn moon.

Nightly when you lie upon your pillow,
remember there's a different world ahead;
In mystical motions of your weary mind,
and fields of wonder surrounding your bed.

In fantasy you'll find inspired release,
from daily qualms and troubles of the heart;
While sensing vibrant whirls of saintly images,
embrace you while they play their golden harps.

Dizzying sounds provoke and mesmerize,
when easing deepened thoughts of disarray;
The angelic chorus sings its sweet refrain,
and gently soothes all tendencies toward pain.

These visions of a peaceful life will show,
that through the night the shadows disappear;
As the Lord prepares a miracle for us all,
with dreams of hope which vanquish every fear.