There are no more selfless ******'s only self centered people. Once self debasement was considered an act of courage, now it is a way to stardom. Posing in the ****, has become passé. When a great woman did, it was her form of protest. Now it is too common and piety has been lost. Our society is flooded with vulgarity and we must bear the cost. So to any woman who seeks to give up her self respect for the sake of vanity, remember that intent of ideals may come with a high cost, but shamelessness for gain has a cost all of it's own.

A mother leaves her children in a hot car and gets by with their death. I person tells someone God bless you and gets sent to jail. Someone paints a building with graffiti and the owner is called a hate monger for not loving art, when he tries to clean his building. A person speaks their mind in a peaceful protest and they are called a bigot, people riot and burn down a city block and they are called misunderstood. Why do wicked person thrive and those of good nature and righteous intent suffer?

A cool white veil hangs over a green garden. Frogs croak as night gives way to morning. In the cool of the early morning, the mist gives life a magical quality. Of you look closely, it is as if you can see i,to the past. If for a moment, there is a tear in the fabric of reality and the misty curtain is the doorway to another world.

If I were to chance upon God and he would sit for a while. I would buy him a drink, just like a regular guy. I hear he is partial to wine, or at least that's what the  bible says . He even changed the water into some, so the story goes. I would not care what it cost, for it would be a once in a life time chance. To sit down with the all mighty and have a chat over a few drinks. I am not sure what I would ask first, but then what could I  really say. I mean he knows what your thinking, so perhaps we would just drink. Then I would sit quietly and listen to what he had to say and perhaps I would see he is quiet a good fellow, if I could buy God a drink.

A beautiful flower, but a prickly plant. The thorns of a rose are a nuisance at best. The plant has such luscious blooms, that are not saved by it's thorns. A bee will land on it and steal away the nectar, and a beetle will come and eat the bud to pieces, so why do Roses have thorns anyway?

If an oyster was so wise, then it would not have it's treasure stolen from right out of it's mouth.

I went to a grand Cathedral and heard eloquent words spoken. I walked down the street and saw a man with a bible preaching. I went to a homeless shelter and saw a man praying thankfully that he had soup to eat. I walked to the seashore and watched the sunset. I then sat upon a rock and thought about it a long time. I then decided where God is not. God is not in the building, or in the sermon that is preached. God is not in the homeless shelter or the food that we must eat. God is not in the sunset or in the warm ocean breeze. God lives most of all with in you and me.

Narrow minded people and centered unchanging points of view. Corrupt and fowl ideologies with no room for other opinions or change. Blindly following the ideals of a generation, because that is the way it has always been. Afraid of seeking answers for yourself, because of what you might find. Living with ignorance, because of the absence of other ideas. What kind of life would that be?

A man once left a far away place and came to live among mortal men. He spent most of his life at hard labor then one day he became a teacher and a poet. He gained supernatural powers and did amazing things, only to be killed in the physical sense. Then three days after his death, he came back to life and told of his amazing journey. Forty days hence, he flew into the heavens not to be seen among men for a great while. He told of his return on a white horse that can fly and he will reward those who believe in him. This is the story I believe that will save my life.

Open a book and turn a page. Let your mind wander through another persons thoughts. See what is before you and understand a new thing. Change the direction of your life. Know that you will not agree with everyone, but be open to see from their perspective. Decide for yourself if what you have read suits you. Then respond if you feel the need to make a different argument. Ideas must flow and be exchanged in order for understanding to take root. Oppression and suppression of new thoughts is not an option that a free person can abide, so the exchange of ideas must go on.

With my quill I transcribe thoughts into words. I ply a trade on paper and into print. I shape and mold ideas into daggers that pierce through corruption and injustice. I sharpen my implement to do battle against the ideas of ignorance and censorship. I cut to the core of the bone and separate the marrow from it. I slice out the forked tongue that tells lies and spits venom. Only with the written word can I stand my ground. When I am silenced, I find another way to pull my words together. In freedoms name, I may even lose my life. Yet my pen will cut sharper than any blade, because the truth and the idea of freedom cannot die.

Screaming at the mirror I see the true person that is inside of me! I want to crack the glass and slash my wrist, but insanity won't let me! Instead I look at my reflection and look for a way to jump in and strangle myself! It is not enough that I must live with my own sins, but now I am beginning to drag others into my own personal hell. Some want to fix me, others are trying to understand me. I simply tell them that at worst the should just accept me and at best run like hell from me. I am my own worst enemy and the source of all of my hate and rage. I no longer want to keep my sorrow or malice inside, I want to let it out and take it for a ride. I am not sure how long the journey will last, but I know it will be one hell of a blast! So I look at the mirror and scream once again. I will be my own destruction, I will finally live out my pain.

I thought I had a handle on my situation, then children came and I ended up in total confusion. While they are copies of me, I now know what my mother meant about me. I could not have been this bad, not in a million years, that is just plain sad. Now I am paying for my sins in spades, I am imprisoned in my own warped reality. What I thought was a life plan was merely a simple suggestion. I have no concept of life or sleep. How long this goes on I am not sure? If anyone knows where the exit is, please tell me now. I am trapped in an endless cycle of insanity. How does one become trapped in their own life anyway?

It doesn't take an ancient hero like Hercules or Sampson to do great feats of courage and kindness. It only takes some one who is willing to give up a few moments of their time. So while a divine power may determine the fate of the universe, a mortal person can change the fate of another and fend off despair and disillusionment by simply passing a little kindness.

Sinking my toes in the sand as I sit down on a deserted beach. I look at dark clouds and the overcast sky I close my eyes and hear the waves break on the shore, I hear the Sea Gulls calling around me. The cold wind blows in and sends a shiver down my spine. I lay back and open my eyes to look into the endless sky. The Steel Gray clouds mirror the color of the water or is it the other way around. At some point I cannot tell the difference as I reflect on many things while sitting by the sea.

Get into the dirt of life and break up the rocky ground. Give something of yourself and lend a hand to another person without a thought of personal gain. Plant the seed of kindness and water it with hard work. Offer comfort and reassurance and at the right time, add a few words of encouragement, then watch as the fruits of your effort grow and blossom into hope.

To all who will hear and give heed, I will proclaim that I will remember you. To all who are weary, I say I will speak I over you. To all who will accept mercy, I will ask that peace will find you. I will seek favor for you , as I pray.

Anger foments in the minds of the young as parents pass on their failures and diminished dreams. They are taught to despise another person for their success and for the fact that their family seems to have been left behind. They turn their rage inward, then it reaches a boiling point and they lash out. Striking at anything or anyone that they perceive is the cause of their misfortune. It matters not who they are, or where they are from, nor what their ethnicity is. All that matters is that they have rage in their hearts taught to them by someone else and that there is someone else to blame for their condition.

I tear at the flesh and cut the skin away. I pull out my life's blood and let it drip on to a page. I pour my being into the words I speak. I let that which lives in me give rise to imagination. I bear my soul to the paper and pierce my arm with the quill. I let the blood become my ink and let the pen do it's will. Putting the essence of myself into each word and phrase. I give from my beating heart that which courses through my veins.

Walking in a market place with cobble stone streets, I watch vendors set up their stands. I see all of the wares that they sell and I take in the scents and sounds of my surroundings. Some greet me good morning and offer me a bite or two of what they have to sell. I sample a little here and a little there, then move on with a polite good day. I listen to music being played by a street performer early in the day, I put a few dollars in his hat as I stop to watch him play. I move on to more sights and stop by a fountain to watch the water flow and children play. I absorb all of the things I have experienced and sample a life surreal.

The sky was dark and the sun did not shine. The crowds were deafening with their cries. Three lonely crosses stood on the top of a barren hill. In between two criminals they hung him on a tree. From the portals of heaven the angels watch in silence as all of heaven stood still. In agony their king was tormented, death loomed not far away. Though he did nothing wrong, the kings of angels was put to death. As he breathed his last, the rain began to fall. It wasn't an ordinary rain you see. As God turned his gaze away from all of the sins of man that were placed upon his son that they hung on a tree. The angels wept and their tears fell to earth below, the son of man was dead. For a brief moment, heaven knew sorrow, the day the angels wept and their king died for our sins.

I sit with a bottle in my hand, it had just as well of been a loaded gun. The only difference between the liquor and a bullet is that one will **** me a little slower than the other. My soul is empty and devoid of any hope. I have tried to drown my sorrow and your memories, but to no avail. Now I contemplate how much I can drink before I pass out or become sober. Then if I sober up, what will I really do? I suppose I will just have to keep drinking until my soul is full of something that can take up the space of the emptiness I feel inside.

Oh to watch a tree grow to it's fullest height. To see the branches teeming with life. To climb the giant and look for miles at it's near kin as they grow. To see the forest that comes with the union of the trees as they tower above all else. To see that a tree gives food and shade and how it can provide shelter. To know it's value is to know that a tree is truly a treasure.

Filled with salt and not fit to drink, akin to the sand of the great vast deserts. Yet life still abounds in abundance, despite the harsh reality of the elements. Though the surface appears to be devoid of much but churning water, as the sands of an arid waste that is churned by the wind. Life finds a way to exist in both places. Under the surface of the water, vast forest of colorful plants grow with schools of fish and vast intricate tapestries of life. As in the desert that holds a delicate eco system, so the ocean lives even though it appears that nothing is there at all.

Stepping off of a mountain top and letting the glider sail. Feeling the nothingness of the wind as it lifts you up. Into the blue sky and beyond the clouds, through the haze and veil of the atmosphere you go. Taking a moment to contemplate all that you are and coming to realize that you are only a small part of something much greater. As you sail onwards looking at the earth down below, you come to realize that time has come to a stand still. As the clouds pass by, all things slow down, and for just a moment, you see what true peace can be.

Though you may think that you are small, you can do great things. Though others have told you that you cannot, I say that you can. Though you don't think you are pretty, you have beauty that no one knows of. Though you may think you can't win a race, there are many races that you must run. So despite what others think of you, you can go all the way. Just remember that you are special, God made you that way.

God sent you a letter, it has no return address. It simply has your name on it. He wants you to know that he is listening. He wants you to know that he is waiting. You don't need a stamp to respond, you need only call on his name. He waits patiently for his children to call back, but many never do. So if you missed his letter, there is still time. The invitation to talk to him is still open. Just find a quiet place and invite him to stop by. He will be glad to hear you call.

Put a flower on your pillow and write a small love note. Do the dishes without you asking, and give you the t.v. remote. Set aside an hour just to listen to what you have to say. Invite your mother to dinner and cook while the two of you chat the night away. Though they may not seem like much, they are what makes love worth while. Taking time to do the little things is what makes a relationship worth while.

I woke up this morning with a cold nose. My hair was impossible to tame. I spent most of the day chasing my own tail. Loud noises broke my concentration and made me go insane. I had to chase down the mail person. Then I saw it was sunny outside and I just wanted to lay down and take a nap. At last the work day was over and I felt like I could get a drink anywhere. I wanted to go home and get into my bed, but my friends took me out and made me howl at the moon. Now I am exhausted and my breathe is awful. I just want to curl up on the carpet and be left alone. Perhaps if I get really lucky tomorrow, someone will throw me a bone.

The cold wind howls outside. The window Payne is covered with the first ice crystals that herald in the coming fall.  I roll over and look up at the frost on my window. I see the exquisite designs of each silver flake that covers the chilled glass. I watch each one carefully, then I watch the morning sun come and takes them away. Each one a hand painted master piece of natural beauty, that will not be repeated again.

I try to think through the haze of the things I have taken in. My mind seems to be a lot more clouded than usual. I can only see in tunnel vision. The things that are around me are a blur, I am not sure why that is. I try to focus on a simple thought, but I get distracted. I try to make sense of it all and retrace my steps to see where I started to lose my mind. I am not sure if this is self induced or something more sinister? I try to clear my head by long walks and not eating for a few days. I only end up lost and sick from not eating. I simply stumble back to my bed and try to quiet my mind. I think I need another fix to make the day go by. I am not sure what it will take for all of this drama to come to an end. I am not happy here anymore, I want to be me again.

Arm and arm we writhe getting lost in the moment. The heat of the bodies around us draws us into the insanity. We sweat and meld body to body, meshing passions and drowning in desire. The moment is captures and taken for all its worth. The music pounds the earth shakes and we push on to each other as those around us simply fade into the darkness and sound.

Once young and full of desire, chasing after the things that please the eye. Drawn to pleasure and living for today, not thinking about tomorrow at all. Many dreams are formed and many plans are made, then life takes over and time flies by. In the twinkle of an eye, you are not the youth anymore. A new generations sprouts up to replace you and to trod down what you have desired and to lay waste to what you have dreamed. You cannot go back, you can only go forward and perhaps recapture some of the lost passions you once had.

Once I was shattered and the pieces were scattered on the ground. I was empty and nothing but a shell. Then a potter found me and picked up the pieces. One by one he put them back together. He handled each piece with love and care until I was whole again. Then he put me in the fire and I was purified of my imperfections. When I came out of the trial, I was made a work of art. Though a simple clay jar, I was perfect and empty, ready to be filled with the perfect spirit of God.

There was a raggedy man who wore tattered clothes. He walked down the main street and could wiggle his nose. He did simple magic tricks, the children he did amuse, but he was at his best, when he tapped danced and sang the blues. No one knows where he came from, no one can really say. He simply showed up and began to entertain passers by one day. He never asked for any money, no he would not take a dime. He just smiled and enjoyed the laughter of the people he entertained as they walked by. For years I watched him perform and then one day he was gone. No one knows where he went, but we all missed dancing and his songs and even the odd magic trick, that would sometimes go a little wrong. So where go in your travels, if you happen to pass by a dancing blues singing raggedy man, please tell him I said hi.

The door is always open, the climate is always warm. We are always happy to have you and what ever you desire, you will find it. What ever you want to do we don't mind it. So relax and indulge your wildest pleasure and let your cares wash away. Take no thought for tomorrow, just enjoy yourself today. There are no rules to follow, not like in that other place. So relax and you will be fine, we don't judge you here.

A straw man hanging on a stick, blowing ragged in the wind. A straw hat and torn jeans with a shirt full of dried grass. A smile painted on your face with buttons for eyes, not much to look at it would seem. You sit idly and watch the corn grow, hopefully scaring away a few old crows. As much as many might scorn you, you are good at one thing. When I want to talk you always listen and never ever complain. So I think of you often as the winter comes and you hang around in the cold and the snow. When I feel really lonely and need someone to listen, I know just where to go.

Tumble weeds roll along the dry arid land. The breeze picks up dust and carries it along an endless open range. There seem to be nothing for miles but the flat expanse. In a place where it looks like nothing could live, the wind bears witness to life and death. The dried bones of a Buffalo lie bleached out by the sun. Partly covered in dirt and grass that has become hung up in the ribs. The empty dry wind howls through them as it sings a sad song. As the sun begins to set, ghost of people long past can be seen dancing at the edge of the horizon. Are they really there, or are those just illusions cast through a crack in time. The wind carries their songs across the open expanse, where only the Prairie Dog and the lone Wolf will hear them. The wind blows on, dry and empty until rain comes and washes out the dust. Then it goes onward filled with clouds and moisture, keeping watch on the flat great plains like some invisible sentinel of time.

What would you do if suddenly, you had to give up your perfect life? What would you do if you had to throw it all away? If God called on you to follow him and leave it all behind, would you really say. Would you make excuses as those invited to the bridegrooms dinner? Would you say to my family I must go and say goodbye? Would you be able to tell God the truth, or would you hang your head and lie? If he said follow me, and leave it all behind. What would you really say?

A tired beggar clings to life in ragged clothes. Beaten down by life and suffering from lack of care. We look on in disgust at the sight of a person who has seen better days. We want to walk on, but something quietly tells us to stop. We hold an internal conflict, this person is hopeless, I don't really have the time. In this moment of decision, let us remember one who gave up all, so that we might live an eternal life. So when you next come upon some who you think has no hope, remember that Jesus said you were worth his time.

Tis the season for joy and reflection, as summer fades into fall. Warm days will be replaced by long shadows and shorter days. Leaves will turn and become the hues of the rainbow. Firewood will be stacked and place for pets to lay lazily and warm themselves. Hay fields will be cut one last time and the bails will be stored tightly in barns in preparation for hay rides and a cold winter. Some will be a little older and some will come to see new wonder as the young come of age and truly experience the seasons change for the first time. In the midst of turmoil and change, let us not forget that it tis the season and not ourselves that should be different. Let us embrace things with the same kindness and love for others that we show in the glad days of summer, even though the season has changed.

Lusting after the flesh, coveting the best of everything, these are mortal sins. Boasting that you can do it then doing it to prove the boast and delighting in the feeling of being right. Such is the way of being sinful, such is earthly delight. We are told to be pious and forgiving, but holding a grudge is so much fun. Getting even can be delightful, as you see others lives come undone. So let the saints suffer in silence, some of us may just give in. Perhaps we will repent tomorrow, but today we are about to sin.

To loose your mind and engage in folly is to know what love truly means. To forget that time exist and see beauty that others will never know is to know what love is. To feel warmth and a willingness to sacrifice to give another happiness no matter what the cost, this is to truly fall in love.

A poet of great passion, a savior who was passionate about his work. A song that lets it be, be still and know that he is God. A want for a revolution that is positively changing things, but no room for minds that hate, a new covenant to change the paradigm of salvation, and a savior who preaches peace and love. While each has a different take on life, amazing how much both seem to be in agreement.

I have left yesterday behind me and I have shed the burdens of the past. I have taken hold of my future and pressed on. I will break new ground and plant seeds of hope. I will look to reap prosperity for tomorrow. All of my mistakes are forgotten and I see the light of a new day. I cannot undo the past, I must simply forgive myself and move on. I will do my best to be a better person and to make life for others better as much as I can. I will not be bitter or worried, for whats done is done. I will not be trapped by my past, I will not look back.

We are all told that there is no God, but most don't believe that. We are told that we can live as we please, but many question that. The one thing that we are often told and many of us will buy, is that we will always have more time. Put it off until tomorrow, you can worship God then. You have too much to do today, pray later it will be all right. What we are doing when we put off God is playing with our lives, for no one is guaranteed tomorrow, so don't believe the greatest lie.

Sailing into the rising sun, I forget that time exist. I reach foreign shore where tales of wonder and woe exist. I see a people that seem to stand still filled with tradition and refinement. Each thing they do is done with the greatest care. To foreign eyes, it may seem insignificant, but to each soul it is a matter of pride. To show care in the smallest detail is to show the way of life that is lived. Duty to ones family and people has been lost in the ways of the west. From flowing silk made by hand to simple meals cooked on a stone fire pit, the simplest things take on a kind of dramatic elegance, as I make my journey through the eastern lands.

I open my soul and bear the scars to you that are evident, emotional damage that has been wrought by poor decisions and  bad mistakes. I open up in grief and sorrow, wanting only to be loved. Your words cut my heart like the sharpened blade of a cold knife. I reach out and plead with you not to go. My tears stain the ground as I grovel at your feet. I am lost and I do not think I can stand the emotional blow of your leaving. My heart melts into despair and this time I do not think I can recover. I am an emotional wreck without you. I will offer you anything to stay and comfort me. I beg of you please don't leave.

Open the pages and enter through the gateway. Walk into the imagination of another person and see the worlds beyond your own understanding. Find creation and new life in ways you have not thought of before. Get lost in the safety or the danger of the characters that you would like to be. Live out a journey and travel to places not yet discovered. Become more than you are and add to your knowledge of life, all by discovering a new book.

We look back but refuse to believe. We see but will not heed the warnings. The past is littered with the broken dreams of failed would be Gods. Many have gotten wealth, land and prominence, only to have it ripped away from them. Many have said my strength will save me, only to have it taken from them by age and sickness. To believe that you can change a thing is foolish. To think that you matter is unwise. When you draw your last breath, you will fade into irrelevance and become a foot note in time. All great deeds are forgotten, and all monuments fade. Fortunes are left to wise men or fools, no one can tell until time passes. Kindness and mercy are the only true gifts that we have to give. As expressions of love, they mark the lives of others. They are a testimony to our lives that will endure. Evil is ever present and cruelty is formed out of a desire to gain the illusion of control. Once we draw our last breath, then our lives and our deeds become history and will be remembered and then forgotten. This is what history reveals.