Suffering through a tragic break,
knowing inside what was at stake;
Still believing in the mighty cause,
despite the handwriting on the walls.

The callousness of crass design,
from anguished heart and muted mind;
Against each fear we must confess,
in promising words we should profess.

With every piece of shattered dreams,
all wrapped up in plans and schemes;
Blanketing the world with colors pale,
and desiring only to tip the scale.

An atmosphere that doth proclaim,
the rebounding spirit of the game;
When love's doled out in tiny pieces,
a heartbeat swells then quickly ceases.

Forever lonely we all shall live,
with nothing left to borrow or give;
Regret and sorrow infuse our days,
as charity's tossed and blown away.

These times apart seem such a strain,
a heartfelt emotional loss;
But now we must think of the common good,
and fulfill a worthwhile cause.

People wracked with pain and suffering,
an ominous sign for retreat;
Yet just when we most need intimacy,
this intensity bears repeating.

The smartest move is not to move,
and remain inside for awhile;
We'll see one another soon enough,
when powerful sources quash the fire.

Still our minds take a daily route,
through webs of life's complexities;
And wonderment will fill the ache,
if hope can set our spirits free.

Wherever light dispels the hate,
our poems rhyme at heaven's gate;
We seek the spirit of the night,
to cast away our painful plight.

With Jesus dying for our sins,
His holy wounds a sacred glimpse;
Of fateful death upon the Cross,
to build up hopes despite our loss.

Yet frightened notions may exist,
in minds and souls that still persist;
To turn away from sacrificial love,
and angels flying with the Dove.

Surrender toward the saintly sphere,
where songs are sung and lilies appear;
The glow of light shines into hearts,
which Christ will never tear apart.

Through callous and repressive stand,
life's bitter flow in grains of sand;
Releases powers that project,
their horrid schemes without regret.

In days of watching the hourglass,
the soul's intent is put to rest;
With memories of conscious will,
which carry missives to the hill.

And on that mountain in the sky,
are sandy peaks from which they fly;
Those denizens of humor dim,
in caricature of fading whim.

We pilot through the wanton ways,
that settle scores in master plays;
But when the evening calls our bluff,
all profits gained are not enough.

Come to where heather-strewn meadows lie,
and valleys deep with lake-water sigh--
Villages filled with bonny lads and lasses,
where church bells ring out to soothe the masses.

Climbing over steep hills of mossy green,
watching a rugged horseman gather his team--
Winding down earthen paths of beauty foreseen,
where crisp rains fall softly--swift and clean.

Stone cottages built for the sturdy life,
flower-boxes under windows settling strife--
Of careworn faces in the kitchens and fields,
who bring crops of fruit which generously yield.

It's just a small sample of what I know,
about Scotland, its castles, and legends of old--
One day I'll be sailing across the sea,
where ancestors' spirits run wild and free !

Whisked away among the clouds,
as if hope had dissipated;
My heartfelt worries clearer now,
with frightful thoughts anticipated.

In streamlined streets of ashen gray,
the restless storms had rambled;
And tearful words dispersed among,
each whisper through the shambles.

Coaxed out of darkness with remorse,
were shadowy souls of silence;
With deep hunger for a siren's voice,
to resume in screaming defiance.

Hell on earth--a treacherous plague,
which can reach any one who breathes;
As the need for cure and comfort,
resides within a world that grieves.

Mourning the summer solstice as it screams by,
steaming like a freight train racing toward the sun;
Frantic, electric, a furious quest gathering speed,
following an unknown path to a lost memory.

Burning waters beneath the green shade of tall,
winsome trees,
Eternal springs of summer's love, despondent now,
with endless apathy.
Beauty--bound and gagged--captured, held tight
as a fist,
setting its table among tangled, twisted weeds,
awaiting the arrival of forgotten seasons--
Discovering true summer in the tender torture of
gentle souls.

Alongside country roads of brown-red clay,
where wildflowers shrivel, fade and die,
Teardrops stream then melt into Mother Earth,
foretelling the approaching frost, darker and deeper,
than a February night,
Before summer could grasp our hands, pulling us
backward, downward, spiraling into the boiling abyss.

And the freight train bears down, piercing the fog,
roaring forward into the misty horizon;
Heavy walls of moisture daring us to breathe,
finally relenting, a nightmare blown away in ashes.

Drops of glistening sweat dissipate
as knife-bladed breezes bring wintry storms,
white and barren, icy and harsh,
With the trains raging journey exposed--
transcending all emptiness, the hollow desire.

Suddenly, an epiphany amidst the dashed hopes
of mortals,
where mystical tales float within the mind's orbit--
Solemnizing the steady, stinging rain---waiting for an
eternity of sparkling stars--cascading, erupting, exploding
into pieces of dust and stone,
Justifying our existence beneath the heavens.

The separation of God and Man only an illusion,
as the train slows down through sacred hills,
Defying the cluttered search for truth,
now existing as the chosen instrument of change and
ultimate sacrifice--
And one shared moment of clarity among the ruins.