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.

I am filled with faults and I was born in sin. I make mistakes, but I still try again. I give to help others that they may come to know, that there is a better way. I live with my mortal failings each and everyday. It is not that I am perfect you see, but it is because of one who died for me. So I walk in imperfections until I see his face, because despite my imperfections, I am redeemed by his saving grace.

What if there was no third cross on that faithful day? What if Jesus said this to hard, I will find another way. What if the blood was not shed by Gods perfect lamb? What if ten legions of angles had been called to break his bands? Where would the world be right now and how would we live here below, knowing that we were found not worth his time? What if he had said no?

Burn in tribulation and let the fire purge your soul! Walk into the flames of trial and let yourself be made stronger. Let the old constructs be destroyed and new ones be forged from the molten core of your being. Become as Gold or Silver from the smelter. Dust off the afflictions and take your place in a new creation, where you will become what you are destine to be.

On any other day I would be happy. Tomorrow I will be just fine. Yesterday was a good day and next week will be ok but for now I will drown my sorrows right here, because this is the day you left me, so pardon me if I can only cry my eyes out. I'm fine on any other day, but not at this particular this sad time of the year.

Doylies and lace table cloths adoring dark wood tables. Lamps of brass and crystal sit politely  on top of them. Flowers in a vase, fresh cut and arranged just so. The rugs are well beaten, fresh and soft to the touch. A light hearted tune plays in the back ground, soft enough to be secondary, but lively enough to be noticed as one enters the room. Couches and chairs are positioned correctly as to allow guest to see their hostess with ease while being able to take in the beauty of the room lit up by natural light. All is tranquility and resonates with the refinement of a proper lady who when called upon to entertain is in a proper place.

The snow crunches beneath your feet as you watch the sun glisten through icicles dangling from the limbs of trees. The cold wind whips through the frozen brown grass and shoots past your nose. A chill runs down your spine as you twirl around under steel gray skies. You walk along a familiar trail that not so long ago was adorned with wild flowers and colorful leaves, now it is barren and white yet beautifully pristine in it's own unique way. Down the way you go until you come to a frozen stream. The ice is thick, but spots are clear so you can peer into the water that runs beneath as if you are using a magic window to look into a secret world. The wonder of the cold envelops you and all of the beauty of winter surrounds you, until you are filled to the point of bursting. You finally turn back towards home, looking at a stone house with a warm hearth and hot chocolate. You shake off the cold and remove the layers of frost and wet snow, as you prepare to relate the wonders you have experienced while  walking in the winter time.

Take up our cause and fight for what is yours, says the despot as he sits in his sanctuary. Our national sovereignty is threatened he cries, as he rallies the masses into a tizzy and then a frenzy of zealous ideals, half of which the normal person does not understand. Yesterday there was plenty and now there is not enough says the so called supreme leader and his council. How funny it is that we ate bread yesterday and there is bread to eat today, so what lack is he speaking of? Still, he rambles on and grumbles about what our neighbors have that we do not, all the while he and his idea logs get rich off of plunder and spoil. Some stand up in dissent, and they are called unpatriotic, or traitorous, simply because they want to know why they should be angered and what they will be fighting for? So on goes the despot raving about what we have lost or do not have, while he yet craves more power than he already has. So to what end does he bring his nation and his people to ruin, only for an ideal that he alone understands.

Through a long cold spell, the heart may often slumber. Life becomes bleak and dismal as love seems to have forgotten it's place. Take hope for all is not to be lost. When love finds it's place once more,  magic will happen. The roses will regain their beauty and the lilies of the field will smell sweet again. For the frigid existence without love will pass and new blossoms will come, even in the winter time.

It was planted by a family in the first part of spring. It grew up slowly and witnessed children maturing. It sprouted branches and reached to the sky. It endured many storms. It kept birds and squirrels safe and warm. It held a tire swing and watched grand kids play. It was carved on a few times with words lovers could not say. It stood as a guardian of many secrets that it keep still today. If only the tree could talk what might it have to say. Imagine the things that it has seen and many things that it knows all too well. Oh the stories a tree could tell.

A leaf falls from a tree and a nest is left empty as a small bird takes flight. Over the whole of creation, God watches both day and night. To all that he has made he is attentive. He is very caring you see. So much so that not even one lowly sparrow is unaccounted for, when it leaves it's nest and or falls from a tree.

A messenger from the other side of the veil. A dark herald bring a foreboding of dire news. The raven sails over the landscape and through the mist. Between two worlds the dark bird soars. Looking for souls to carry over to the other side. Seeking out the departed and bringing the word that they have gone. Be wary of the messenger that comes unbidden. Take care that it is not found near your door.

You might think that no one hear you cry. This is not true, many hear your screams. You may think there is no way out, but the door is open you just have to step through it. You may think that a new day will never come, but the night is almost passed and the sun will shine on you again. No matter what you think is impossible, there is always a miracle out there. Just hold on and keep looking for a hand to help you up, for you are not alone.

Just beyond the edge of reality there is a mirror of tomorrow. A time line that has changed and where there is no more sorrow. From the growing pains of yesterday, new things emerge, one event moves and changes everything. Through new connections, the old walls are torn down. The children of tomorrow are born and communicate in ways the old ones did not. Barriers fall as the purveyors of distrust are laid to rest. New knowledge solves problems and opens up pathways of enlightenment upon which to walk. The boundaries of want and lack exist no more. The new children have overcome selfishness and greed. There is a will to share on a scale as never before. Understanding is now the first lesson that we teach. In this world that seems an illusion, it is only just over the horizon. As the past becomes history and tomorrow rises, a new equality becomes the reality and we become one people with one voice as we create another world.

The sound of music fills the air, young nubile bodies are scantly clad. The aroma of sensuality is intoxicating. An aphrodisiac of pleasure awaits the senses. All thoughts turn to pleasure and forget restraint as you give into the temptations of the flesh. You become lost in the desires that you have restrained for so long and lose your inhibitions. Caught in the thrill of the here and now, you seek only pleasure and nothing else. Now you have succumb to the trap of earthly delights.

When I am knocked down, the lord will pick me up. When the enemy builds a strong hold against me, I will wait in faith. When my best efforts seem futile, I will let the lord take over. When all seems to have failed, I will pray again. No matter what shall come to me, even if death shall bring me down. God will watch my footsteps and bring me to my crown. So in life and in death, I will do my best you see, for the lord is ever present and God will be a help unto me.

I walk on a narrow road and often times I am on dark paths. The burdens get heavy and I often stumble. Despite the hardship, I am often lifted up, by unseen hands that are all around me. In the beggars house, I give the bread of life, to the lost soul, I bring the guiding light. In the barren fields of despair I plant a seed and watch as unseen friends help it to grow. In the middle of the storm when the enemy is at his fiercest, I simply kneel and watch as bands of helpers surround me. Under the shelter of their wings I am kept safe, by the angels that walk with me.

My wheels turn the wrong direction as cob webs clutter my thinking. Distractions make the pictures seem murky as I try to write the story down. I am not sure which way the words should go as they get mixed up with other things. My mind is full of clutter and I must do some house cleaning if I want to see clearly. The flow of ideas is clogged up somewhere along the pipeline. I have tried to snake it out with meditation, but I get sidetracked by some insignificant idea. So for now I will leer at the paper and try to imagine the ink to flow and the lines to form. Perhaps this will empty out my memory and clear a path for the words trapped in my head.

My arm aches and I wear long sleeves to cover the bruises. I am not sure what I did wrong, but I will try to get it right next time. I want to understand why you are always anger with me. I cannot fix what is wrong if you don't tell me. I suffer through your rage and hitting, I just want to make you happy. So tell me why do you hurt me if you love me.

Now comes the parade of litigators with degrees in hand. The legal counsel that works behind the scenes. Deals are cut and cases are shuffled around the court house as lives are taken apart unless you can afford the price of justice. The grist wheel turns grinding the bodies into the system like so much pulp. The poor are the victims of the injustice that purports to be blind, while in truth it rushes to judgement and has empty beds to fill in the prisons that dot the landscape. The police roam the streets like so many big game hunters, each looking to fill their quota. While politicians line their pockets with funds derived from the misery they sell, filling jail beds and taking kickbacks from their corporate overlords who profit off of the labor in the prison factories, where slavery is legalized and condoned by the system that says it is blind and fair. While a person fights for the right to be recognized as a person again, the victim is forgotten by the system that does little to console those who have lost so much, with loved ones torn away by violence and ****** into jails or the grave leaving poverty and want in the wake of the process, thus repeating a never ending cycle that no one really wants to end, lest the truth be told that justice is truly blind, but not to the impartiality as one would suppose, but by the gold and silver that is heaped at the feet of lady justice that will corrupt judgment and look the other way for a price.

Beneath the painted sky the mother cries her tears. From the barren mountain, the wind blows away the dust from the bones of the earth. On arid plains a people lay as a forgotten memory, as ghost dance in among tumble weeds chanting songs as old as the trees that once grew on the mountains. A way of life is lost and civilization is gone. In the name of progress, simplicity of life was destroyed and all of the things were taken, leaving nothing but death and scars behind.

I sit on the edge of the abyss and look into the darkness hoping that something will look back. I revisit wounds that have been carved into my psyche and tear at the stitches that bind them. I cannot let them heal because already there are too many emotional scars. So each time I torment myself reliving what I have done, unable to find forgiveness with in. I live in a hell of my own making, hoping that one day there will be an answer from the inner darkness and I will be able to end my own torment.

Dressed in frills with bodices and lace, covered in jewels and fine linens. Courtiers mingle and know there place as a grand charade beings. Polite in their tone with knives in their sleeves, each one sharp as a vipers fang. Walking a fine line of political intrigue, ever careful of who they offend. Taking care to mark their own place, offering compliments to betters and being weary of those who court their favor, for betrayal is one gossip away. All is pretense and theater as the hierarchy occasionally changes  on a political whim. In favor one second and returned to utter seclusion the next, one can never tell which way the royal interest will go. All is illusion and part fantasy as the reality of courtier life is played out in a constant chess game of pawns and royal players as life unfolds in the Kings Court.

Banjos clang out a rhythm and someone hoots on a whiskey jug. A washboard rattles and feet stomp on old boards. A fiddle winds up and echos down the hollow, corn simmers in a *** and biscuits are hot out of the stove. A harmonica whines like a train down empty tracks and a juice harp twangs. People dance and laugh as children run around. The sound of the Ozarks or the Blue Ridge cannot be mistaken for anything else. People of good spirits and a hard working nature come together you see. They celebrate life and caring for each other at a Bluegrass Jamboree.

I have walked through many lands and seen many wonderful things. I have done things only imagined in my youth. Now that I have wandered far and wide, my heart is weary and I want to go back the way I came. I long for dusty roads and tall Oak trees. I look forward to small creeks and old tire swings. I want to walk across golden grass covered fields. I long to hear the sound of a Whippoorwill . Though I will take many cherished memories with me, I must now return to where I belong. I am going back down a path in time as I long for home.

The cold riveted me with a stark chill, as I rose from my bed. The floor was frigid on my bare feet as I stumbled for my slippers. The window is covered in a white glaze as I find my way to the kitchen and turn the coffee *** on. I open the back door and look out from the porch, wrapped in my worn but comfortable robe, I admire the bejeweled colored leaves on the trees as they glisten with the ice crystals of the first solid frost. As I hear the coffee finish, I shuffle back inside to pour myself a cup of life. I then sit at the kitchen table and take time to reflect upon things and accept the realizations of life that I have put off for far to long, as I become at peace with my life one frosty morning.

In between two great mountains, there is a small cleft of green. From high peaks where snow drifts melt at the coming of spring, cold water flows down into the open spaces below, down to where the Beavers play and the lilies of the valley grow. The grass sprouts up lush and green in meadows next to swift flow streams. Pools where dams are built of fallen trees give the ducks and otters a place to play. Deer graze on the new green stems of tender greenery as they lazily wile the day away. All of this surrounded by majestic mountains that stand as ancient sentinels that hide the beauty in a secret valley that seems another world away.

The cold air fills your lungs and the snow blows up around you. From the top of a peak, you look down on an ocean of white. Setting your sights on the far run below, you jump up and tear out into the white sea. Swishing this way and that into the cold powder, you come alive hitting bumps and taking the air like an unguided missile. You crash down with a crunch and cut through the layers of frozen covering as you head for the valley below. With the anticipation of a child on Christmas morning, you feel the wonderful delight as you finish your run. Then you look back over the land and see the trail you blazed, then you inhale the thick richness of the cold air and head back up the mountain with anticipation of doing it again.

The leaves change on the trees as children return to school. People begin to put arts and crafts on display. A hot bowl of soup and friendly visits with a neighbor make the day pass quickly. The harbors are filled with fishermen tending their nets. The tourist make one last trek to see the sights. College students have returned to halls covered with Ivy and college sports bring rivalries alive. Not long from now, there will be cold wind and the first snow. It will be time to break out the fine china to entertain and look for a Spruce or lonely Pine to decorate. All things are coming together as Autumn comes to  New England again.

Darting about with bright colors and busy wings, you stop for a moment to consider a orchid and partake of it's nectar. Then you dart off as a wisp of air, then come back again. Here and there you go, about all things in a hurry. You stay a while until the cold north wind blows, then you fly away. So until spring returns and you come to sample flowers from my garden again, farewell Humming Bird, and be on your hurried way.

I have not taken time to think about anything. I am afraid to have a thought. I worry that any action will disturb the delicate balance I have found. Not a cog or wheel has turned in quite a while and I like it that way. When I do look inside my mind, it is very dusty. I dare not breathe while peering in. All of the dust and thought making things are still and the cob webs in my mind are kind of pretty and I want to keep them that way.

Seasons pass and things are born and die. The cycle of living and rebirth comes and goes. All things must pass from one state of existence to another. We all live a finite time, then we are no longer here. The foot print left behind is often fleeting. Even if great things are done, then time will erase the memory of them and make them a footnote in history. In all things life is constant and we are just a small part of the grander scheme of existence.

We Are killing over perceived differences when we can just live and let live. If some higher power disagrees, then let that being speak for themselves. Races of people are eradicated in the name of a philosophy. Greed permeates the way we are governed, how much do we really need? So in the absence of cooperation, we fight for what others say is real. Let us sit down and just talk it over and perhaps we will no longer feel the need to ****.

My love sit before me and let me partake of your rare delights. Embrace me and take me into your buxom, let me find rest in your chamber. Hold me my beloved and give me comfort. I have labored a great work and now I seek to rest. Your love is as sweet as summer fruit and you refresh my soul. Keep me safe from evening until morning and then wake me not until I have taken my rest. Let me take my fill of love from the, comfort me and let me know you. Let me taste your desires and be filled with your body and know the rest that kings desire to take in the comfort of your arms.

If today is all that there was and no promise of tomorrow were made, how would you feel about the way you would live today? Would you give up and simply end it all or would you hope beyond this life to something better, in another place where all people can start anew?

There is a man on the corner with a sign asking for help, is he my neighbor? There is a mother with two small children stranded on the side of the road, is she my neighbor? There is an old couple who live alone and never get any visitors, are they my neighbors? Who is my neighbor, why should I care? Why should I consider anyone of whom I spoke? To remember those who are hopeless and forgotten is to give mercy, which is in turn is to help a neighbor, even though they may be a stranger unto you.

Spawning a new concept is never an easy thing. You must first plant the seed in the fertile ground of imagination and then water it with a desire to succeed. Once the idea has blossomed into a physical realization, then you must fight through the weeds of dissent and often times prune back some of the wild chutes of the concept, before the idea can truly bear fruit.

We put down roots and try to blossom into a life. We try to create a thing of beauty. Then we want to have children just as a flower puts forward buds. We live for a season then we must pass and be renewed.

Down into a seemingly endless dark hole men go with picks and shovels. Down below the mountains of Kentucky, and West Virginia. Listening to the water as it drips down over the rocks, they go beneath the earth. Off of an elevator into a dark and damp world, filled with dusty black rocks. They walk or ride a rail towards the end of the line, where they break the ribs of the earth. Shovel by shovel they tear at the black parts of the underside of now hollow mountains. Stripping out the guts of what is left until another vein can be found. There is no way to know the time or if the sun has risen or not. They simply dig a little further, sending the black rock on it's way out to who knows where. At the end of a shift, they crawl back out of the midnight colored hole, and try to wash off the dust of the earth that clings to them like so much ink. Laying down their weary bones and resting a spell, they rise at an appointed time to do it again.  Back into the pit of midnight to mine out the black rock. This is the life of a miner of coal.

A homeless mother just wants to see her child again. She tries to get  back up on her feet. Though she cleans herself up, no one sees what she has done. They just see a ***** woman that once lay in the street. An alcoholic father finally says enough, and gets into rehab. He cries everyday over the family he almost destroyed and the lives he has brought harm to. All he wants is a second chance, but others judge him for what he has done. He caused many great pain, and simply wants redemption, but in the eyes of many there is none. The world is full of broken people who just want to try one more time. Their past haunt them and they are often reminded of their failings, but in some way aren't we all broken people as well?

The fog is rising from the meadows and the birds are beginning to sing. The sun is still below the horizon and the haze still hangs over head. The flowers are still asleep, waiting for the days first rays of sun. In these still moments before the world is awake, I find a quiet time to reflect and renew my spirit. I draw on the solitude and beauty of a new day, before it is lost to the rest of the world.

I see children covered in dirt and missing limbs. I see people sitting idle and wanting a better way of life. I listen to people who want things only one way and will not consider a different path. I look at intolerance from  both points of view and see the depravity of it all. I want to do more, but how much can one person accomplish? I try to sew the seed of hope, but it never seems to be enough. So I sit and ponder the ways of history and of all things that have been and I wonder still why must it be, that people cannot live together in peace?

I was feeling depressed and at a loss for hope, then I happened two walk by a playground filled with children. As I stopped and watched, I saw innocence on display as all colors and kinds of children were merrily at play. I felt the wind blow behind me, so I decided to move on. I walk a little further and came upon a quiet pond. The water was clear and I saw a duck swimming with it's young. Fish were darting about below and Water Lillie's were in bloom. I found quiet comfort and peace then the wind blew again and I walked on. A little further down the way, I saw an aged grand mother sitting on a porch reading to two young children. I stopped by the fence and listened as she told them a tale and the children listened intently for a while. Then again the wind blew and I was on my way, but this time I heard someone from no where say, I am glad you took the time to see the things I do. I am so glad that I had a chance to walk with you.

Water runs down my cheek as the rain falls down around me. I fall to my knees weeping because you are gone. My tears are mixed with the water falling from the sky. Both fall to the ground as I am dying inside. No one can tell that I am broken, no one can see my pain. I simply sit on the ground missing you as my tears fall with the rain.