I can see tiny flashes before my eyes,
why in the world do they follow me ?
Many times my mind has been shattered,
by all the ghosts who won't set me free.

The colors which should light my days,
dissipate among the wavering tides;
And sunshine never leaves its place,
to cast its rays of hope by my side.

As a child I was sent far from my town,
yet never knowing exactly why;
I can't help but think it's my own fault,
and for years I was passed on by.

Those tiny flashes of warning--like stars,
bring shelter through torrential showers;
As if heaven sent them just to touch,
my desperate nights--my darkest hours.

But looking at their twinkling light,
they now appear as honored friends;
And the bluest sky opens up its heart,
sending sweet angels to make amends.

The haunted hours become subdued,
as God's angels taught me to pray;
And tears of relief ran down my cheeks,
as I learned how to face another day

A bouquet of jonquils sits gently on a chair,
its colors muted as the lightly scented air;
No longer fresh and lovely as before,
when first arriving at the marble door.

A twist in timely plans had come undone,
a wounded soul flew outward toward the sun;
The wailing captured everyone's attention,
no doubt her heart could use an intervention.

Yet no one could even find the maiden fair,
this gesture had caught her totally unaware;
Her future just destroyed before the altar,
left friends and family startled in the foyer.

Night fell swiftly above the church's steeple,
and bells rang out to calm the worried people;
Hours later while she wiped her tears away,
an angel called her home amidst dismay.

The night had lingered on and as she slept,
the bunch of jonquils carried to her breast;
Became the sign she never could forget,
so jaded were the petals of love's regret.

Perched high above the massive plain,
the curious forces of sun's redemption;
Connect to earth by a golden thread,
reviving the world in holy reflection.

Thoughts are gathered around this scene,
where words will lighten their heavy load;
And children revere the saintly affection,
poured forth from heaven's humble abode.

As the thread of life continues to shine,
and proudly sings with lively intention;
So much like the strings of a violin,
it orchestrates triumphant intervention.

With miraculous wonders from gods on high,
bringing comfort and warmth for all the ages;
This golden thread continues its journey,
as inspired voices quell the inner rage.

When society spills its ugliness,
we're somehow all diminished;
It's like a theme that's gone astray,
with its purpose never finished.

Lately words have hurt us all,
from a man in political realm;
We have to listen closely now,
for someone true to take the helm.

No one in this world is perfect,
but deepest crimes of trust relate;
A sullied soul who cannot lead,
so to him we'll close the gate.

While under duress we'll finally know,
the strength our votes can harness;
This election is the chance to seal,
future hopes with heartfelt promise.

It billows like the clouds on the horizon,
an ancient missive rallying through the sky;
Content to find its way to earthen dwellers;
and touch the sacred soil before our eyes.

Often, I'm reminded of a childhood dream,
that cast a promise through the years ahead;
When leaves protected lands like holy feathers,
erasing fears now ripped apart in threads.

This very potent dream brought vast illusions,
of stars which carried purpose through the night;
Eloquence became the wondrous centerpiece,
adorned in fashion's rainbow at the site.

Still reminded of the moments when it rained,
while grabbing hold of lessons taunting me;
Yet somehow 'springs of summer' cast a light,
beyond the image of the emerald sea.

This vision foretold to me engaged my mind,
in captivating blooms from sunny meadows;
And if I ever wandered far from home,
this dream would always find me in the shadows.

The many twisted thoughts that linger,
behind the mask of happiness and joy;
Evolve into an overwhelming burden,
when clarity dissolves in cosmic ploy.

Brittle bones that ache in need of rest,
while empty hearts cry out within the sphere;
Of whirlwind notions still arousing chaos,
and mindful meanings seem to disappear.

This struggle for survival of the soul,
begins with turmoil rising from the core;
And hope falters in a wave of discontent,
until courage grasps the handle of the door.

Enduring faith can hold you in its arms,
and keeps the ghosts of wickedness at bay;
Then peace and comfort form a heavy shield,
which protects our wounded hearts from day to day.

When lives converge in common ground,
the spoken words barely make a sound;
While calling souls away from pain,
with soothing musical refrains.

The friendships borne of ravaged days,
succeed to find another way;
To heal the scars from fiery blasts,
while pulses beat toward heaven's path.

No longer wretched and torn apart,
hands reaching out and touching hearts;
Will rise above the raging horror,
touching one another with truth and honor.

These signs of love will soon reveal,
what casts upon the spinning wheel;
Around and around each life proceeds,
to mend in friendship's honored creed.