The morning light shines through the curtain. I do not want to get up but I must. After 2 days of crying I have to get going. Life has not stopped just because you said goodbye. I make it to the mirror and see my blood shot eyes, you would think that I had been drinking , but that would be a lie. Just like what you told me, but at least alcohol might have killed the pain. I wash my face and pull myself together, I'll just have to work through the pain. So now that you have gone, I will put the pieces together, like a puzzle scattered on the floor. Perhaps tomorrow will be better, but first I must get through today. I hope this makes me stronger, only time will tell. I am not sure what the plan will be when I start again.

Hush now and close your eyes. Lay your weary head down. Your eyes are heavy I know the night has fallen. The stars pierce the curtain of night and look down on you. Pull the covers tight over you and rest well. Dream gently and think of beautiful things. Tomorrow will come soon full of new promise, but for now gentle one, have sweet dreams.

A trickle of water falls off a mountain peak. Down between the clefts of the weather worn stones. Running steadily down into the earth. Winding through well worn passages. Flowing into larger cracks, joining with other water flows from high above on a frozen mountain peak. From a slow drip to a silver stream it moves forward. Down and out into fresh water springs that fill creeks and streams. Then into a river deep wide and clear. Onward the water flows, sometimes deep and slow, other times fast and shallow. Ever flowing the river goes, bringing life as it goes. A place where memories are created and lives are changed. Moving across the land into the sea until water is drawn up by the sun to fill the clouds, ascending to the mountain heights to fall as snow and rain beginning the journey over again.

My blood runs black and blue through my body. It pulses in and out of every fascet of my being. My emotions, my desires, my hopes and my fears. They want to escape into being through my hand and into my pen. A whole torrent of ideas waiting to expand beyond the horizon of my imagination. Something born in me, not something learned. The sharing of my essence with all who care to read. To those who dare to dream and hope for more. Visions of other places and thoughts of being. It flows in my veins, it is part of who I am .

In a circle we turn. The wheel goes around and around. Life repeats itself over and over. Try as we might we cannot get off of the merry go round . Like a dog chasing it's tail we never seem to catch up. In the circle of repetition of life.

The streets laugh at me as I struggle to climb out of the shadows. All around me people say just give in to the inevitable. I feel like I am suffocating sometimes. All over the neighborhood, I see people with broken spirits who are prisoners of forgotten dreams. They wander aimlessly as if they are just waiting for it all to end. It seems the harder that I try to climb the ladder towards the light, the more I get weighed down with all of the problems of the here and now. It is a daily struggle just to survive. Some people turn to playing with a ball in hopes of catching a shooting star out of the dreariness of this life. Others pick up a gun and some drugs and hope for the quick exit. Most get what they want, just not in the way they figured. Every time I get hit, I dig deeper into a book. To some it seems like a pointless waste of time, but I know it holds the key to what I want. It holds the key to my dream, the freedom I so desire, the freedom I believe in. If I can just hold on and get past one more month, one more day, one more moment, I can cross the bridge out of my unchosen place and climb all of the way out into the light, into the freedom I dream of.

One nation prospers and another languishes. The people who run the show set up barriers to our understanding of each other. Some starve while others gorge themselves and become complacent. All the time behind the curtain the strings are pulled like a show full of marionettes. Resources are unevenly distributed, while one place sits on vast treasure but cannot get a slice of bread to eat. Others come in and devour the substance of the poor while complaining about paying for the people they impoverished. Despite the best efforts of many with good intentions, a selfish few create sorrow for the masses. They grow full like a tick while they starve the rest for their own selfish ends. If the people simply were to stop and really look, they would understand that there is plenty to go around and that a warm bed and good meal is all that they require and that is enough.