She was going from table to table passing out beers in a bar. I was feeling lost and empty with not much else to lose. She walked over to where I was in a short skirt and high heel shoes. She had on glittery makeup and lipstick as red as blood. She asked what my poison was and I said something strong. She swayed back over to me well the glass full a snake bite, as I tasted it I asked her name. She pointed to the tattoo on her neck and I knew I would never be the same. Sim is what it said

I have traveled a long and dreary path. Soon it will be time for me to part ways. The sun is getting ever lower on the horizon, but the end to this journey is now crystal clear. For good or ill, I have done the best that I could. Now this weary Mariner will take one last journey. Into the Setting Sun as the last Light of Day fades, from my labors and toil I will soon take a rest. How long I will stay at peace, I do not know. For now I will be content, and wait to see what comes next. for the current path that I walk, upon it these are my last days.

Taps is played on a singular Trumpet as 21 guns sound. A gleaming White stone is set solemnly in the ground. The wind blows through flags that sit high atop silver poles. All is quiet now, as the mourners file away. Flowers adorn the graves of loved ones that have gone away. A lone sentry stands guard over those who are at rest. Their duty done, they gave their all, each life like a precious Rose that shed it's bud in undue season. The blossom of their lives was stricken down to pay freedoms cost you see. Now they lie in silence awaiting another call. All of the brave ones who sacrificed, the precious flowers that lay where the Roses fall.

Fine Strokes go on a blank page. The narrow brush Lay's in bits of color. The delicate hand responds to the artist eye. The Canvas absorbs the colors, as one by one they are removed from the pallet. With each stroke and fine line you can hear the whisper out of the brush as it laughs. Across the canvas it glides, bringing out fine points and inserting curvatures and lines. The canvas burst with laughter as a portrait comes to life. What was a blank page, is now a wash with vibrant color. The image speaks of laughter and Mirth as it leaps off the canvas with the final brush Strokes The Artist makes laughter and joy for all the world to see.

Somehow the lines were funnier last night. This morning the words do not make any sense. There are War drums pounding in my head, so I must revise my script. Instead of Science Fiction, I now think I'll write a western. Perhaps I'll scrap the whole thing and start over when I can see again, double vision makes it hard to type and I would likely **** myself if I tried to use a pen. So I will drink a third cup of coffee and wait to get rid of this hangover. Then perhaps my words will finally make sense when I can again write sober.

Caring should not take a resolution. Giving of yourself should not be a guilty pledge, it should be the way we live. We should not wait one hour to help out our fellow human, we should do it now. It should not take a new year for each of us to see how we can help someone out.

The embodiment of what was written, my life shall be every page. The word of our God that was given, all of man kind to save. Made flesh and walking among us, he passed on the light to you and I. It is for each of us to live as close as we can to the life of Christ.