The masses hunger but are not fed. The young thirst but have nothing to drink. The light is being put out from the public places. The world is in turmoil and no one has the answer. The staff of life has ceased to be taught and has been replaced with something pleasing to hear. People have become as dead wood and are just as hollow and empty as a rotten tree. There is a famine in the land but not for lack of food, but for the hearing of Gods word. The spiritual person is being starved of the truth and no longer drinks of the water of life. So in the end time of man, it is not food that is lacking but Gods word.

I had a dream last night, I saw before me a long and winding road. I was standing before heavens gates and I was in fear and awe. A great presence stood behind me and I looked down the road I had walked. Though I thought I had not accomplished much, I found I was so wrong. I saw a young man who was talking to me. I saw how he seemed hopeless and was in need. I didn't have much, but I gave him money anyway. I watched as he left and how his life changed. I saw another person I had met along my way, it was a young mother who was having a bad day. She was very sad and I offered her a kind word, her heart returned to joy and hope. Then she went on her way, I saw how she had become a good mother and had a happy family today. I saw another person, who was sitting in a church, I saw how they were unsure and had on self worth. I saw that I sat beside them and silently we did both pray. I then saw my words reach heavens throne and that person found God that day. On and on the images rolled, each one through the years. I could not help it, but I was brought to tears. On each stop in my life's journey, I had found a need and in each instance I had planted a seed. When the whole road was laid out before me, my eyes could not believe, how many great and wondrous things had come from every single deed. Some seed bore a little fruit and some many fold, but all returned glory to the fathers kingdom in ways that cannot be told. So I woke up from my bed and fell down to my knees. I then gave thanks to God for when I planted a seed.

When I fall don't cry for me. Death has finally come and set me free. I leave behind those whom I have served. I offer them my love and a gift of freedom. I take my rest now in the cool dark earth, the sound of battle no more haunts me. Beneath a white marker that bears my name, I shall lie in wait for that faithful day. Until then I ask you, to please live free and once in a while remember me.

When you are hurting, I will shed my tears. When you find joy, I will cry in happiness. When you are unsure, I will anguish with you. When you lose your way, I will cry out in tears to heaven. When you come home, I will welcome you with tears of joy. No matter how I find you, I will weep for you.

The host of the night sky shines down on creation. Some of them find a jealous reason to envy what they see. While others weep at the way life is squandered, between the two they disagree. Why should this go on, shouldn't we take their place. The question sparks an eternal battle that threatens to tear heaven out of it's place. So on goes the question, do things need to be allowed to go on, or should others become keepers of the earth, and start the world anew?

For nine months I hold you inside of me, then you leave and join me in the world. I hold you close and nurse you and wonder as I watch you grow. Small fingers and toes turn into hands and feet. First you crawl away, then you walk and finally you run. Like the wind you flee into your own world. You explore the newness of life and want to stand on your own two feet, yet for all your independence, there is a bond that cannot be broken. So though you think you are making your own place in the world, I am always a part of you. I know you as no one can and a part of your life will always be mine.

Groans can be heard coming from the ancient trees as the sway in the wind. The leaves are shed untimely for the season. Branches droop and Willows sag as the life goes out of the wilderness. The animals do not call to one another and the birds have ceased to sing. The sap that is the life's blood of the trees dries up and the dust blows away with the dead leaves. The land is hurting from neglect and the wild things are fading away. If you listen quietly in the still of the day, you can hear the forest crying that things must be this way.

Set a watch on your emotions and lock the gate to your heart. Let no one pass the sentry of your feelings. Keep a close guard on yourself and forget the sorrow and pain you felt. Set up a wall and instill discipline into yourself. Purge your memory of what it is to love erase all semblance of compassion and forget where mercy lives. Move into another endeavor to occupy your time. Fill the void left by a the hopes and dreams that were dashed, with things that will not require you to feel. Stand watch on any chance at love and let no opportunity arise in which you might get hurt again.

Sitting idly and staring at the shadows of trees as the seasons pass. The sun comes and goes as  my days wile away. Time seems to have forgotten me as I sit in silence. I have journeyed far and wide and now I sit quietly and listen to the silence. I ache and I have grown tired from many labors, but the silence of patients is deafening. I wonder why I must be idle, but a quiet voice says not yet. I must sit a while and let others catch up with me. I must wait for the seed I have sewn to bare fruit. I must watch and see what God is doing behind the scenes. A small still voice says this is why you should wait on me.

Hiding in a castle dark and tall, I stare into the dark night from behind foreboding walls. Down a sparsely lit path, creatures come alive. They bang on the draw bridge trying to get at the treasure I keep inside. All of the precious gems that glitter silver, red, blue and gold, an abundance of rare delights untold. Then by happenstance I hear something from behind me creep, alas a monster has made it into my keep. My own goblins have come out to haunt me and to demand that I open the door and release my treasure of candy on all hallows eve.

A carnival filled with laughter and colorful costumes as people dance and play. Music sweeps through the air and brings joy and sorrow to the heart. The feeling of mirth is everywhere, but you feel hollow and alone. Among a crowd that has come to celebrate, you know only emptiness. You wish that you could become part of the fabric of the celebration, but the colorful array of people and the air of celebration only reminds you of your state of mind. So you walk on through the crowd and try to smile, but the vision you have of what you would like life to be is skewed by the fantasy that is playing out around you.

Images of depravity dressed up for high society. No actual ******, but illusion is what you really see. A game of dance and song on stage with tricks of light and glitter. Extravagant costumes that leave little to the imagination but leave you wanting more. Heels and chairs, smiles and longing stares, sensuality and intrigue. All put on with flare and style, sit and watch our show for a while, Burlesque.

Hair begins to grow in unusual places and a point of view begins to change. Once uninhibited and carefree, we are now shy and awkward. Unsure of ourselves, just like when we first learned to walk. At first we must crawl into adulthood. We try to muddle our way through, but often we fall down. When we were children, we had no concept of shame, now one misstep can leave long lasting emotional scars. So we try our best to become the people others expect us to be, and yet sometimes we lose our true selves and may never again find who we really are or who we were truly meant to be.

Things occur and find their way back around to you. What you do does not go unnoticed. Despite the serene life you may think you live, turmoil is all around you. The wind may blow high above you, but the wind still blows. Your foot prints may fade in the dust, but your presence still leaves a mark behind. Take care of what you do, for Karma follows you.

Arms outstretched over islands, spread forth like a Lotus flower as it cradles it's people like a delicate beauty. Steeped in tradition and honor dating back beyond the memory of time. Feudal in nature and chaos until order is restored through discipline and a sense of duty. Multiplied in it's wisdom and filled with inner strength. The minds of it's people are quickened like the blade of a fine sword. Filled with ideas and creativity, it rises above many challenges with a willingness to sacrifice in order to serve the greater good of the whole. Such is the life of the Japanese, such is the way of Japan.

Scribbling on loose paper, with other pieces crumpled up on the floor. Hours of frustration turned into days of inpatients. Writhing at the writing table burning through my ink. A quill and my pen are worn to a frazzle. Try as I might, the words escape me and all I am left with is dribble. So from the formless blobs, I seek inspiration but all that remains are blotted ink stains on the page. So I scribble on in a vain attempt at writing, hoping to find inspiration to create words of beauty again.

The world is ripe to harvest but the workers are few. The lost are wandering with no direction. Some feel as they must go abroad to find work to do, but all that is needed is to look outside your front door. The mission of salvation is not a great and marvelous thing. To simply speak of kindness and of the sacrifice that was made. To show mercy and give hope to those who are in desperate need. The purpose of working is to sew a few seed. When hope is given and takes root, salvation bears fruit many fold, then another comes to harvest souls to eternal life. The field in need of the harvesting and the workers are yet too. The sun is setting and there is still so much left to do.

The statue of white stone turns and speaks to me. The flowers outside my window sing when the sun comes up. I walk up the rainbow and look into the sun. I leap from cloud to cloud until I find a fluffy one, then I settle down to take a nap. I awaken to dark skies, so I grab a lightning bold and give it a twirl, I then jump inside a rain drop and ride it into a river. I swim with some Trout and talk to them for a while. Then jump out of the water on to the river bank and sun myself with an otter, until we are both warm and dry. I paint pictures in my mind to find a safe place from reality, then I awake and wonder am I dreaming in a nightmare of a dreary existence and perhaps the other world was the one that was real.

When tears stain the ground and the salt settles in the earth, seeds will lie still in the ground. The sorrow of a broken heart will lay heavy in the air. Many will long for spring to return, but sorrow lingers as the cold of winter. Love longed for fails to return and a dark shadow blocks out the sun. No flowers will grown or bud until the bleakness has been lifted. Until then I will sit in longing, waiting for the sun to shine again so that I can smell the sweet fragrance of gardens full of blossoms.

If I were a written word, what might I be penned down as? Would I be a love poem too sad to read in full. Would I be a poem of inspiration that gives the heart courage, or one of fear and loathing that turns the reader cold and indifferent. If the person that I am could be transitioned into the words on a page, then perhaps I would be a little bit of all of these and a few things more. Though it would be my hope that the better part of my humanity would be penned down with great care though I fear that because I am imperfect, that the negative aspects of my self would still find their way into the work.

The world is full of things that we just don't understand. Algebra, and taxes, politics and love, are just some of the many things. While some can confound you but might be resolved with a pencil or a pen, love is an eternal question that will be confusing to the end. It is inexplicable how a sound minded person, can become crazy overnight. How one can go from reason and logic to fanciful flight. Emotions take over and give common sense a great big shove. Off all of life's confounding mysteries, the greatest one has to be love.

From the mountains of the old land, out of pools of water left over from when the islands rose. The mist rises in the morning or the evening depending on how the winds chill the land. Echo's of people past ring off of the mountainsides, as the sound of bag pipes lament the lost and dearly departed. Down the narrow slopes covered in sparse patches of Emerald Green, the mist finds it's way into the valleys and covers cottages. Drops of water come off of thatch roofs like the tears of a weeping young widow longing for her fallen love. Such is the way of the highland mist, that falls like the breath of creation from when no time was.

Ducks sit on still lakes and Geese graze quietly in meadows. soon they will take flight for warmer climates. The north wind begins to bring down a chill and the morning begins to become misty as the leaves find a hint of color. The sun sets ever lower and cast the shadow of evening earlier each day. People begin to pull out old blankets and air them out in the mid-day sun, as cool breezes blow through them. Firewood is gathered and piled up as the nights become colder and the skies become clearer, so that the stars shine a little brighter. No mistake can be made, the world is in transition and the time has come for things to settle down for rest. Fall is upon us and it's presence can be felt everywhere.

Reach out to others and give them a helping hand. Stand tall in the face of adversity. Hold fast to your convictions no matter what the day may bring. Help make a better world than the one you found. Leave a mark of positive change and offer help where you can. Let your presence always give hope and caring. Show others that there is a better way. Let wisdom be your guide. Learn from your mistakes and pass on that knowledge to any who willingly receive it. At the end of the journey look back and see the shadow you have cast over many lives.

The streets are littered with waste and the cities are brought to ruin. The images of anything that is holy have been called offensive and made illegal. No one can speak up for what they believe without the governments approval and liberal thought runs through our schools. The mention of God in any form is forbidden and criminals take what they want at will. All of the wealth and prosperity has been taken to pay for others who hate us. Hunger runs rampant in cities and people riot but find nothing to eat, all the while the elite gorge themselves and blame it on dead ideals that have long been silenced. The rest of the world is in chaos, as dark powers subjugate anyone who opposes them. Now at the height of their power, the purveyors of lies feast on the marrow of that which was once great and America falls into darkness and despair as she lies in her death throws after having succumbing to immorality and idleness.

My walls were torn down and my soul was lain bare. When I looked into the eyes of an angel. I lost my concept of time and forgot where I was. My world was turned upside down. I stood speechless as you looked straight into me. You found my darkest secrets and showed me forgiveness. You taught me what it was to be defenseless and to trust openly. I released my demons and forgot my past sins. My conscience awareness left me as I focused on the light in your eyes. All of my pursuits no longer mattered and I was lost in amazement that all of this happened in a single moment when our eyes first met.

Threading the lines of a poem and blending the images of a story, the writer weaves the fabric of imagination into the manuscript. In speech or written word, the magic is cast as the audience becomes enthralled with the passion and intensity that the author puts into the tale. The whole is a tapestry of words created by the person who puts their soul into their story.

The sun shined off of her hair as it fell free down her back. Her freckled smile could warm the coldest day. She walked with a purpose, full of life and wonder. I held her hand and I felt as if time stood still . Her red locks always smelled like summertime and her love was a treasure that no king could buy, but would give a kingdom to possess. For a brief time I knew what heaven must be like as I loved the girl with Auburn Hair.

Knead out the crust and fill up the pan. Prepare the fruit with just a hint of brown sugar. Mold the filling into the crust. Cover it with a topper and adding a little more sugar is a must. Working with a fruit that often taste like sour grapes, requires patients and skill to get the flavor just right. Not too **** and not too sweet, somewhere in the middle is where the flavor should meet. If all has been done with expert care, the smell will bring family and friends running from everywhere. Take delight in a difficult fall dish, made with love and care. Persimmon pie can be wonderful, just try a piece and see.

Looking into the mirror then at a photo on the night stand, I begin to wonder who I really am. I see myself with my children and wonder where I have gone. I know that I love them, but where do I belong. I once knew who I was and where I longed to be. Then life got complicated and I lost my way. Now I stand here trying to find my path. I think it is time that I make some changes, perhaps just subtle ones. I think I will look around and see what can be done. Perhaps I will take a journey and find out where I want to be. I am not sure what it will take, but I need to find out who I am. I need to restore balance, and get things in hand. Before my life comes to end, these are things I need. I just want to return to really being me.

When a dream has been realized and a journey comes to an end, there are always things that must be done. Finding closure before beginning a new journey is always hard, but in the end it is worth the effort. No one can continue on a singular path forever, even if it is ended by death, there must be change. To find the point at which you can close a chapter in the book of your life and turn to a new blank page where you can begin to write another story is both rewarding and regretful. You will have a longing for the journey taken but will be filled with excitement with the prospects of finding new adventures and discoveries, on the new path you will take.

The morning is still dark and the sun has yet to find it's place, yet I awaken before the light begins to break the eastern horizon. I know not what shall transpire, I only know that possibilities lie before me. I will take one step at a time into the unknown. From there the roads diverge into many possible endings. I must simply step carefully and trust in wisdom and experience to guide me. If I am true to myself and show kindness to others. Then perhaps the day to come will be one of accomplishment and become rewarding as I approach it's end, knowing that I left behind me worthwhile things, instead of a dark and empty space.

On the ground lay a piece of wood, it was aged and stained with red. How peculiar I thought to see such a sight, near a barren and bleak hilltop. In a moment I pondered what it meant, then a stranger happened on my way. I ask if he knew what the wood had been and he said do you see the barren hill. I looked on and replied yes, he then said in a voice very still. Not so long ago, there a man died, upon this very piece of wood he did hang. Nails were driven through his hands and feet until his blood upon the rugged wood ran free. I felt horrified at such a thing, but he said do not be startled, for this had to be. I reached down and picked up the wood as I began to shake. I felt such love and sorrow as I touched the stained wood, then the stranger again began to speak. He said that I should not worry for the person who had been hanged you see, was a savior that died for a sinner like me. Then he asked if he could have the wood, and as I put it into his hands, I saw nail scars then he was gone, leaving me alone again. A peace settled over me, like nothing I had ever know, for a carpenter had come to reclaim his wood you see and to show me that I am not forgotten or alone by the one who died for me .

Bridle the horses and cut loose the hounds, sound the horn an let the mist settle on the fields. Set in motion the ancient game of quarry and hunter. Dash forth into the open field and through the forest. Hear the dogs howl as they find the scent of their prey. Run the race and let the horses work into a froth, with thundering hooves that shake the ground as to go to war. Sound the horn and pronounce the game is afoot. Feel the wet air as it wraps around you, in pursuit of your quarry. Now come close one to another in the fury of the chase. Through stream and across knoll, into the valley you ride, the hounds racing ahead in anticipation of blood. Onward they run only to be frustrated by a briar patch or hole into which the quarry has found save haven. Alas the fever pitch dies down, for the end is not truly for the death of a living thing, but the lust of the pursuit and the chance to hunt again another day such a wily foe as has evaded you this day.

How do you describe desire and how do you define love. What form does it take, and what is the evidence of it's existence. Is love the passion between two people or is it perhaps sacrifice? Is love and expression of selflessness or the act of giving comfort and caring. Perhaps it can best be described as all of these things and more. It is a metamorphic thing that is not confined to one definition of mortal existence. Devotion can often go beyond death as one person longs for another. Love is not finite as one person can love man with a selfless act or man people can love one person with gifts of kindness and mercy. So love is ever evolving and changing, into many things from one thing, then returning to it's origins again.

The light of the sun comes down in chutes of gold as it finds it's way between the branches of giants. The ancient trees stand as sentinels reaching to the sky and marking time of everything that happens around them. Lesser plants adorn the forest floor and share space as each reaches for the golden rays of light. Ferns sit side by side with Blueberry plants as they grow silently in the shadow of the trees. Well worn trails can be seen between the sparse vegetation running between the might trees too and froe. If you sit on a rock and watch quietly, you may catch a glimpse of a fawn drinking from a cool stream as it winds it's way through a gully or rocky bed onward to the sea. A few moments in the heart of nature gives a soul perspective and lets you relate to how much a part of the world you really are.

Of all of the colors that taint a persons life, Grey has to be the most annoying. If all things were black and white, then it would be very simple. Despite the best efforts of any person, things get complicated along the way. Areas in between emotions are hap hazard as they are not set in a given way. We say there is a Grey area, but what does that really mean, it sounds so alien and unnatural. In truth it is a way to mitigate ourselves. If we were to fully admit the truth, it would seem harsh and cruel. Given the way we have chosen to live, having shades of Grey makes it easier for us to live with ourselves, instead of admitting that some things are an out right lie. Perhaps this is why there are so many shades of Grey.

I want to feel perfect peace. I want to find a place of rest. I want to feel compassion for others. I long to see the shadows of doubt cast from me. I want to be assured of my purpose. I want to be able to give of myself to others. I want to know Gods love.

When I find my way home and all my sorrow has passed away. In the land of never ending day. When I walk on streets of Gold and see the wonders untold. I will not shed a tear of sorrow, but will be filled with joy untold. When I have laid my labors down and rest is forever mine. When I see the face of the one who died for me. I will be filled with elation as I thank the one who set me free. I know they say you should not cry, but I will not be able to help it you see, for I will cry tears of joy, when Jesus face I see.

As the clock draws close to midnight, I take one final drink. I step outside and look up into the heavens. I stare into the night sky and I come to understand how small my problems really are, I feel so foolish about myself. I want to hold on to worry, but it slips away. I have come to realize that there is a constant change. With great reluctance, I close my eyes and listen to the world around me and take into consideration the vastness of life. In this moment, as the clock approaches midnight and a new day is set to come, I try to be positive about the possibilities that lay before me. So it is at this time I lay down my burdens and stand on the edge of a new day filled with hope yet unrealized.

Eyes like mysterious pools that show your reflection yet hide a secret. A vision sits behind a flower who's petals cannot compare to her beauty. The Rose does not do justice to her complexion as she cause the flower to blush. What treasure lies with in the soul of this mystery of a person. Why is she hiding behind a Rose?

Life is not a set of specific incidents or moments that can be put into a row. Some people take to one thing early and others must wait for a while. Some people start a journey that is shortened and they must move on. While others walk a singular path that will last a lifetime. The only things of which we can be sure is that living if finite and that all things will change. To what end the change will come, no one can say. All that we can do is go through the time and place that we are given, then move on to the next thing. For living is an adventure in itself and each part is an ever evolving thing.

The streets and paths of life are filled with shattered people. Broken shards of lives ruined by choices and circumstance. On each path way that I walk, I collect the shards and try to put them together. With acts of kindness and a showing of mercy, I attempt to give people hope. Though many see that which is broken, but give no care for restoring it. It is my hope that with each act of kindness, that somehow I might mend a life, and inspire that person to do the same for another until there are no more broken pieces cluttering life's by ways.

The things of life are built upon clay and sand. They shift and are lost in a moment. There is a sure foundation upon which I will stand, the stone rejected by the builders that has become the head of the corner. In a life of perfection and humility, Gods only son became the rock of faith. In him there is no wavering, he sits four square on solid ground. Through his sacrifice he gave redemption. By his agony we are given hope. I will stand upon what he has become, he is the foundation he is the corner stone.

My life would be in turmoil but for my guiding light. I would be lost except for my focal point. You are radiant beyond the light of the stars of the heavens, your love shines in you like the mid day sun. Through the storms and the dark days, you have guided me. On the sea of life, you direct me. You are the point of stability that brings me to safe harbor. Without you I would be lost. So know that I love you and that you are my compass. As long as I see you I have a star to guide me safely home.

Through the flat panes of glass, I see the world as it goes by. I view the people passing on their daily lives. I watch the reflections from both near and far. I see the leaves change on the trees and the flowers bloom in their due season. I watch children play and see the sunset and the moon rise. I watch young  couples stroll down the street and old couples slowly wander by. If you stop for just a brief moment, it is amazing what you can see through a few dusty panes of glass, if you only take the time.

Lesser orb of the night, guide of seasons and counter of days. Orange giver of shimmering light, mysterious body that comes then fades away. In season you mark the harvest, giving the time to bring the bounty in. Wheat, Corn and Pumpkins are brought in from the fields, as the chill of fall sets in. Hay rides and Bond fires become a normal scene. Lovers walk under your light as they think of comfort and warmth in each others arms. In your own way, you stand watching the mysteries of life and love, as summer ends and fall  begins, marked by the harvest moon.

When all of the things you dreamed have faded away and all of your life is at a crossroads, in a moment of decision all things will stop. You will see clear focus if only for a fraction of the passing of time. In this space, time will stand still and absolute clarity will be achieved.

The world is full of glass houses and lies. The world is no longer a secret place. All of our secrets are out there for everyone to see. Decades can pass and we will end up on T.V. , a sound bite then it's out there for everyone to see. No way to defend ourselves, the words and actions speak for themselves. The walls of secrecy crumble and fall down around us, and we are left bare and exposed. Perhaps there is a better way, perhaps we should not keep it to ourselves. Let us all tell what we really think of others and ourselves. Let us no longer leave well enough alone. Turn to the nearest mirror and begin talking, let's all throw stones.

I have lived the dream and have achieved my goals. I have walked a mile in another mans shoes. I have come to understand that all things are fleeting and that I must move on. I am unsure what my purpose is anymore, I have survived adversity and I have given to help the forgotten. I have sacrificed and endured the struggles of life. I have received a reward for my hard work and I have no more visions for my tomorrow. So perhaps I will not make any plans, but for once I will leave the world to chance. I will remember yesterday and savor today and let tomorrow take care for itself.