Tides shift and ideals change, as the world goes through transition. Tensions rise between the old and new paradigm as philosophies change between the old and the new. Turmoil ensues as the causalities rise and both sides let blood flow. New rulers rise that are mired down in the old ideologies while new ways are created by those who wish to mover forward, but are held back by the shackles of fear that keeps others from embracing change. So a storm rises and chaos erupts as old generations pass and new ones come into being. The lightning flashes and the thunder claps as the world goes through the pains of the climate of change.

I am weary and tired of the battle. Everything that I try to save seems lost to me. The emptiness sometimes makes me feel like an echo of myself. My soul is shattered into pieces. Doubt becomes my constant companion and I simply lose the strength to go on. In times of utter darkness, comfort is not often easy to find. So I must look for purpose in order to renew my strength. Looking with in myself, I see what I was born for. I see the path that I have walked and the battle scars that cut deeply into my heart. In these moments I examine my own soul and put the pieces back together. I then look or another who feels as I do and try to help them mend as well, thus restoring my own sense of purpose and helping my own soul to heal.

If I had a nickel for every promise that I was made. I would be able to buy enough bubble gum to supply all of Americas 3rd grade. All of the political promises that never come true. All of the nonsense promises that we are told. All are worth wooden nickels that we can never spend. So if I had a nickel for every promise made, I just might be a rich man.

People see the great achievements and the glory that others bask in. They see the moments of magnificence and perfection. What they fail to see, is the sacrifice and the labor that goes into accomplishing great things. When a dream is envisioned, it is often fraught with obstacles. Giving up many things is often required. Being focused with intent and willful purpose in order to find that singular moment in the sun. Hours, days and weeks may be lost in the struggle to realize the goal, but only when you are willing to push beyond the boundaries that have been placed on you, can you begin making a dream come true.

If we could open up and show what we keep inside, would others like what we would show them? Beyond our false pretenses and fake smiles, what would the world really see? Would all of our frailties be exposed and make us look weak, or would we become more human? Would the ugly and hateful self we hide in the shadows of our heart appear and repulse those who call us friend? Would the world embrace what we truly are or would it shun each of us as it saw a reflection of itself? No one can predict what would happen if our true selves came out. All that we can say for sure is that the world would be a different place than the one we create for others to see.

Don't yell at me I scream at the t.v. as a parade of talking heads passes across my screen. I bang the remote to turn it off and head outside only to digital billboards and signs flashing at me. I put on my ear phones and turn on my radio only to hear the same blaring noise that was on the t.v. . Continually over every airwave I hear screaming as if yelling will make me hear. My ears burn at the background noise that drowns out any ideas that someone might want to say. In expensive on pricey couches they talk, talk and talk some more until it all runs together. Please be silent for 5 minuets, give me a paper or book to read. Let me sit in a quiet corner with my digital book and just look through the pages, but please don't yell at me.

When I am persecuted I will speak his name. When the world forsakes me, I will speak his name. When all turn against me, I will speak his name. When they threaten me, I will speak his name. Faithful until death, I will speak his name, so that in the eternity Jesus will speak my name.

Wheels and gears turn  beneath a jeweled face. Springs run tight to precision. Clicks and whirring can be heard. As a man looks through a glass into the workings of the watch he is holding in his hand. The craftsman fashions a masterpiece that will outlast the owner. With a steady hand and keen eye perfected over years of toil and love, the artisan crafts a work of art to adorn a chain of gold or to wear on a wrist. In all his work, the tinkerer is making time.

Hooves that shine like blackened steel, a main that shimmers in the sun light. A snort that elicits fear from any rival. Standing proud in armor as you rush into battle. Your bridle pulled taught as you leap forward into danger. Urged on by your bloodline, generations of champions before you. A charger bread for the field of honor. A heart like a millstone, strong and sure. Onward you thunder, forgetting fear and remembering only the sound of the trumpet! Charge forward to victory horse and rider or to an honorable but noble death.

Hear the silver bells ring out. Hear their echo from building and mountainside. Hear the sound of children singing filled with joy and mirth. Listen to the whispering wind as it blows up newly fallen snow. Hear the sound of young couples hearts as they skate on a frozen pond and draw close together just to keep warm. Hear the sound of ice cracking on evergreen trees as they sway too and froe. Listen to jingle bells on a horse pulling a sleigh. Hear the crackling of a fire in a chimney not so far away. All wrapped up in coats and scarves, let are hearts immerse themselves in the winter song that has gone unheard too long.

An emotional spear was ****** into me the day you walked away from us. Now I sit looking for strands of sanity to bind up the wound you inflicted upon me. Still going crazy all hours of the day and night, I cannot fill the void you left in me. Try as I might I cannot put back the thing you took with you as I try to mend the hole you left in my soul.

Years of early mornings before the sun would rise. Aching muscles that screamed for a rest. Long nights of study to make up for lessons missed. Pain and self sacrifice beyond human limits with focus on a single goal. From the day of graduation to the halls of higher learning, breathless anticipation awaits. Walking down a walk way where thousands have walked before, headed to the gladiatorial arena. In one instance you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders, should I be here, am I good enough. In the moment in a locker room whether it is for football, soccer, or basketball. This is the hour you have waited for, this is the dream for which you have sacrificed. As you make the hollowed journey onto the field, your blood sweat and tears finally pay dividend. This is the hour of your triumph. When the voices scream and  blend into silence as you take the field for victory or defeat. It is you that has worked to get here and this is the hour to shine.

Running so fast that my heart feels as if it will burst from my chest. I sweep into your arms holding on to you as if I have been seperated from you for a thousand years. I wrap myself in your essence and close my eyes as I feel every movement of your body. I listen to your breathing as you caress me and whisper to me of your love. In a single momemt I am taken from my worldly cares as I am lost in the pasionate embraceo your love.

You crave my flesh and want a taste of my blood! Not to end me, but only to draw out a small bit of my life. I hear you calling me, you watch me until I am numb. Only when I am at the point of despair do I speak back to you! I balance you in my hand and debate with you once again. As the emptiness crawls up through the pit of my stomach, you win the argument. I let you sample me and take a small portion of myself. In return you give me ecstasy and a feeling of life. Though the ecstasy is pain, feeling this is better than the numbness. So I set you aside until next we speak and I argue with you to see if you will win again.

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.

Once there was a stony garden, where nothing grew at all. The dirt and rocks lay dusty and forgotten. Then one night a man came there to pray, his tears fell like rain. In great distress, he unburdened his soul until they came and took him away. At the place where he had knelt, his tears had soaked the ground, it all seemed in vain some would say. They took the man away and the let him die, then they placed him in the cold, cold earth. For 3 days he was mourned, then on the morning of the next day, they found his grave was empty. On that very same morning, at the dawning of first light, a passer by happened on a remarkable thing. From the ground where the tears had fallen, a vine had sprung up over night. The vine clung to the rock upon which the man leaned and it used it to climb up to the sun. The as by a miracle the plant exploded in magnificent blooms and Roses bloomed in the barren garden. Now there garden is still there and the mans memory has gone from that place, but every year the roses bloom. It's vines run far and wide in this once barren place, because the Rose of Sharon once bloomed in this garden place.

Sitting on bails of hay, listening to the rain on the tin roof. I close my eyes and hear echos of the past. I take in the smell of damp wood and the tapping of the rain on the metal. I hear chickens clucking and scratching in the dirt. I drift back into years past, as I hear the creak of the barn doors and the sound of horses in the stalls. I can feel the presence of an old time grand father and hear child hood laughter as he tells stories and piles up hay. I can once again feel the cool dirt beneath my feet and smell the corn drying in the rafters. Here I sit and rest is still quiet, thinking of times gone past. In an old barn with a rusty tin room and a few missing boards. A place where my childhood was simple, and for a brief moment, time stood still and happiness could be found.

A woman lamenting the death of her child is a tragedy, a bride dancing at her wedding is joy. A mother giving birth is both at the same time. Life does not imitate art, life is art. Each picture is a moment of humanity. Each story needs to be told. To write another persons story is to speak volumes of the world outside of your own sphere of control. Without poetry, philosophy or stories written, we would lose our history and not know where we came from, who we are or what we can become.

The wealth of the earth has been plundered by only a few. The many have suffered while others profit from their misery. In all things there are ways to accomplish life without the destruction and scarring of our world. Waste that is produced can be turned into fuel, and used to replenish the ground. Food can be grown in abundance so that no one need starve. If we stand together and demand a change, then we can turn the tide of destruction that has been wrought on us. The many will cease to suffer and the few will have enough, but will live in harmony with the planet that has made them rich. So let us roll up or sleeves and begin to renew our efforts to bring harmony and equilibrium to all life and in doing so, we can begin reclaiming our world.

Alone in the garden, he sorely wept. Alone in the garden ,a watch he kept. Alone in the garden, he waited for it to end. Alone in the garden, he was betrayed by a friend. Alone in the garden, he shed his last tears. Alone in the garden, he let go of his fears. Alone in the garden, he became the one, when he prayed father thy will not mine be done.

Path ways of cobble stone, walls of uncut rock. Dark rich flower beds full of exotic herbs and blossoms. An old fountain beneath a wooden and wrought iron balcony. Fired red clay tiles adorning the roof, with vines ascending the trellis along the side entrance. A cool air hangs about the court yard as an old shade tree sways in the wind. Gentle silence washes over me as faint noises come from the kitchen. Inside a roughly cut table sits next to the stove. The smell and flavor of Olives, Garlic and Cheeses are fragrant in the air. The wood shows cuts and signs of being well used. The dim light from natural windows illuminates the space. A feeling of belonging with family and friends fills the whole house. To be here for a short time gives me comfort and lets me absorb the spirit of something new but familiar that I can take with me when I go.

When did kindness become unpopular? When did mercy get replaced? Why does a straight path not work, when you can see all the way to the end. When walking to honor God, and abiding by his steadfast word, your feet are set sure and you heart is filled with the truth. Giving reverence to others and seeking justice is not a sin. So let us forget some of our modern values and start walking in the old path again.

My garments are tattered and my shoes have become worn, from many a wear mile that I have walked. I have climbed many mountains and weathered many storms and my sight sometime grows a little dim. Despite the burdens that weigh me down, I still look towards home and the day I receive a robe and crown. When my last labor is over and my work on earth is done, I will lay down my mortal coil. In a moment of celebration and heavenly elation, I will finally receive a robe and crown. A new garment forged of the righteous work I have done, not for earthly glory was it wrought. The helping hand I offered and the witness I gave, was all for the father who waits to greet me. When at last I see Heaven, I will receive my prize, when the master gives me a robe and crown.

Find a pretty face with a gentle voice. Put her in spandex and sprinkle her with glitter. Giver her a catchy tune and some shiny lip gloss. Throw in a risque tattoo in a place that can be exposed. Let her prance around and jump about while she sings a rhythmic jingle and bends down  real low. When she gets so hot she is about to pop, then you have a pop ****.

One nation under God is no longer the plan. We will fix it ourselves, we no longer need a divine hand. Our government will give us everything, but will leave us with nothing. Just like sheep to the shearing we quietly go along. The heathen have infected the halls of power, now America is divided, there is no room for compromise. They say we have a mountain to climb, but in truth we are lost in a desert. Our moral compass is broken and it cannot get a reset. The seeds of dissension are being planted at every turn. It is no longer about helping, but it is about what is in it for me. United we might still stand but divided from God and each other, we will surely fall.

Accusation and rage, a woman shows her scorn towards her lover. Her partner retorts with venomous chides. Both rage at each other over something that may be trivial to those looking in on their passion. Pacing like Leopards squaring off to fight. Each has disdain for the other and yet longs to embrace. In tense moments of anger, their quarrel is forgotten and replaced with a desire that burns from with in each others souls. Finally they lunge at each other, but not for violence sake, but to embrace as lovers. Joining in hot writhing passion that tears away the sheets of the lovers bed and drenches two bodies in sweat. After each takes pleasure from the other and leaves the apex of mortal passion, they settle into bliss and contentment. Having forgotten their lovers quarrel, they sleep in bliss until next they engage in discord, only to end up in passions throws again.

Drip , plop, splash go our efforts. Into the giant pool of humanity go our efforts. Into a giant bucket with a hole that leaks out what we put into it, our human efforts meet with futility as we try to resolve the problems of our world. Until the minds and hearts of others can join together and accept that we are all human, the best intentions will just be drops in a leaky bucket that will never get filled.

Is my dress too white, or should I even be wearing white at all? Will the guest approve of me or will they scoff at the way I look. I am not really sure if I should be doing this, is he the right one for me? Can I get him drunk enough that he will be sedate on our wedding night, do I even want to be married at all? If this the future I want for myself, should I be planning to work for my own money? As the music plays, and you head down the aisle, you are thankful that the dress hides your running shoes.

Sitting in buildings of marble and glass peering at a farmer trying to plant a seed. From ivory towers and the seats of power, they strain and twist their brows. Looking over the farmers shoulder should he put too many seed in a row. With law degrees from prestigious universities, they bark orders and spit out edicts as though we were peasants. With no one to check their power, they lock up honest citizens and throw away the key, for daring to pick up a lost Eagles feather. In their world they pose as God raining down edicts and fiery sermons on how the average person should live, all the while demanding blind obedience under pain of over bearing regulation that can bankrupt even the richest of men. While all the time they are yet human and when one of the elites should stumble and make a mistake, there is no accountability no matter the damage that is done or the lives that are ruined, while rivers run yellow with waste. They toast themselves as being concerned and all knowing. They are the EPA.

When at last I shed my burdens and the new day's light shines upon me. I will rise to meet the new tomorrow and what ever might be waiting upon me. Through the long night I have been wearied, but now the day has come. I will bathe in the bright pure light as I at long last see the son. So I bid welcome to the everlasting morning and walk through the gates of Pearl. I will be greeted by my lord, as he welcomes his child home. No more will I cry for as my tears have turned to joy.

I am obscene, I am force and I am cowardice. I prey on the weak and the strong. I hide behind an illusion until I reveal my true face. I take what I desire and leave emptiness behind. I am empty unless I force others to sacrifice to satiate my lust. I am not always ******, but I can always be found hiding in plain sight. I take many forms and I am not always alone. My true face can be that of one person or that of many, depending on what the need is that must be filled. I know few limits and I will project my lust and pain onto what ever or whom ever I desire in order to feed my hunger. There is no rhyme or reason to what I am, I simply exist, to prey on others in order to hide my own weakness and lack of self control. I am ****.

When the night is long and day seems far away, I shall praise him. In times of sorrow when my heart is breaking, I shall praise him. When the heavens are silent in response to my prayers, I shall praise him. In all things, I shall ever praise God.

The bulls rumble through the capitol stamping on everyone who dares oppose them. The fat cats toss around money to gain favor and access. The air is tepid and the mood is questionable at best. The political weather can change with a new pundit poll. Despite rain or snow, inside the capitol there is a temperate climate that has come in because of a change in the way the political winds blow.

I sit in silence as I watch my t.v.. Day in and day out I try to block out the sorrow and misery. I watch idly as I see inhumanity. I try not to think about it, and I do little to change anything. Though I have not pulled the trigger on a gun, nor have I planted a bomb. I am just as guilty for doing nothing as the ones who have committed horrible crimes. The streets run red with innocent blood and in silence I stand. Afraid to try to do anything, the blood is on my hands.

You see my outer self, look through my veil. You see the inner shadows that I protect. My pseudo self is an illusion that I take on to keep others at bay. I wear it like a piece of armor. What lies beneath is confused and in a state of flux. Yet you see me for what I truly am. The false pretenses are lost on you and a grain of truth is made evident. You know the true meaning of my being. As you see your own self, so do you see me. I am a crystal lens through which you peer. I have lost all of my protections, I am laid bare before you. You look through me to the core of what I really am.

A shadow of beauty, walking by without a word. A golden haired beauty who disappears into the night then reappears into my dreams. With curves like a winding road and a subtle smile that tempts the spirit and troubles the mind. Mysterious woman, why did you steal my heart with a glance.

When the rain falls, some people might become depressed. Some might want to sleep and wake when it has passed. That is fine for some, but not for me. For on a rainy day, I see what others do not see. On a rainy day, I watch the earth become clean. I see the debris of life washed away. I see leaves falling off of trees to make way for new spring buds. I see cooling of the earth from a hot summers day. I see puddles where children splash and play. I see rebirth and hope being watered by the tears of the sky. So the next time you are feeling Blue and your skies are turning Grey. Just remember that its not so bad on a rainy day.

My last guy was a heel, but I guess that is how it had to end. Soon he will know what an app is when I use my smart phone to get revenge. Once we were joined at the hip and on our social network. Now I will intercept his every text and e-mail alert. I will upload all of his forgotten photos to Instagram and post to all of his Face Book friends. I will reply to all of his steamy text and give out his new girls phone numbers to all of his friends. With live streaming I will observe him, as he is in his natural state. Lounging around his back yard in his boxers with fuzzy house shoes on his feet. I will make him famous with his new Twitter account, the tweets that he will send, will be what everyone is talking about. I will post his photo to special dating sites and photo shop him into certain parades. Everyone will love his new Rainbow tattoo, it will make him all of the rage. When I am finished, he will be utterly alone. All of this will be accomplished, simply by using my smart phone.

I saw you with the other girl, don't try to deny it. I cried all night waiting for you to call. I thought about confronting you with her, but I decided I would wait. I knew you could explain yourself, but you filled my heart with hate. I splashed venomous ink across my social network page. I left deep scars of what you made me feel. Now that I am face to face with you I can't believe this is real. I know that I have created a total disaster and that my words of scorn were toxic. I feel so stupid that you are breaking up with me because I was jealous of your sister.

A time is appointed when all that is broken shall be mended. The stone that was rejected shall become the head of the corner of the building. The beams that were left out will stand upon the stone foundation and hold up the building of creation. In one day all will be made right, when the nail scarred hands of the master builder that is to come makes the repairs that we cannot.

Violets lain out across the field, Purple the color of royalty. I put on my cape and walk among the Golden Rods, barefoot across the Purple Violets. I feel the cool petals beneath my feet as I step delicately. I am royalty a princess born. Noble to a great house that has done great things. For a few moments the birds chirp and sing of my beauty. I dance before the royal court and dazzle them all. Then my dream passes and I fall into the a Scarlet carpet of flowers and take a little nap, still dreaming about the great things I will do.

Shadowy figure of beauty hidden behind layers of linen and silk. Only your eyes can be seen beyond the covering that hides beauty. Dark jewels that twinkle in the desert sun makesthe heart to have rampant desires. These are the only windows that one is allowed to see behind the curtain that hides your beauty. Only the inner beauty of the soul can be seen, as a harsh master keeps you hidden like a precious treasure. Yet even with all of his vein attempts, you speak if only with your eyes, of passion, and desire that burns beneath your covering like the scorching desert sun. Oh what a great price one would pay to know such beauty, even if for only a moment of mortal time.

I picked up a bunch of stones laying around and put them in a pile. I then dug up some uneven ground and began laying the stones down. I worked tirelessly for years building a path. Until I had run out of stones and my strength was spent. Then as I sat down, I happened to look back. I saw others gathering stone and walking on my path. Though they did not see me as they walked past. I watched them laying their own stones on my created path.

Written through the spirit, given to men and women. A guide book to show us the way. A letter of encouragement, a lesson in history and a showing of his grace. This is the word given of God, but so often we fail to listen.

Aged to perfection in a dank dark cellar. Made from dark purple grapes from Spain. Soaked up by Oaken barrels until it is of a fine Amber hue. Spirits given to warm the heart and lighten the spirit. Some bear a sweet flavor while others burn like fire. Bottles of cheer for the weary and poor of spirit. Something to be embraced with caution, but to be sought when good friends come near.

I will be silent no more, I will be heard. I will raise my voice against injustice and oppression. I will cry out over corruption and cruelty, I will stand and I will not fall. I will make noise and make myself known. I will push forward and not go back. I will not give one inch of ground. Though the tide of tyranny rises up over me, I will stand as a rock and it shall break upon me as the evening tide. I will be silent no more.

They cry about injustice but then want to persecute the rest of us. They say they don't have enough, then they destroy others property. They demand that the government give them equality , but then try to take away what makes us free. Civil rights are only for those who are woke, it might be funny but it isn't a joke. Our leaders aren't what they used to be, they are now friends of tyrany. If we don't say what they want to hear, then they surpress free speech everywhere. Without one nation under God we are divided. So the die is cast it has been decided. Through lies and subversion they have cut down the tree of liberty. You can only be right if you believe what they say. Free will has been taken away. Can it get worse, yeah you bet! Tell me are you WOKE yet?

To walk across the nations, to enter long forgotten paths. To stop life and just go  for a while. Taking in new experiences from one coast to next, finding out what America is all about. From a settled life of comfort and security, to take to wanderlust and walk unafraid. Into the highest mountains and across lonely plains, what an adventure that would be. Though you might not know any soul as you enter the great unknown, to be a sojourner is to come to know yourself. For you must leave your own comfort zone and open up to others. Giving the American experience a chance. When you have embraced new ideas, and grown a bit inside. Then a sojourner you will no longer be. For you will have new friends and experiences upon which to call. To become a more complete person and to discover what truly lives inside of yourself.

Deep beneath Spanish moss covered trees where snakes sun themselves and gators creep among the reeds. The water of the bayou lies still asleep. Murky and foreboding hiding secrets of the ancient past. It boast no light getting in, as the murky waters flow on with out an end. No one knows where the soulless waters well up from. Some say deep caves beneath the dark bayou. Others believe the water comes from Satan's well, just outside of the gates of Hell. While no one for sure knows where the water begins, many know where it ends. Flowing out through the tall marsh grass, where the blackness fades and it clears, running into the Mississippi then out to sea. Where it blends with other waters only to be replaced by more black water deep beneath the moss and live Oak trees.

Spring comes as a season with flowers and new blooms, but shopping begins before the Christmas lights are put away. July picnics are barely over and fall is in the air. There is no time for green grass and lazy summer days. The search for profit has replaced our love of freedom and joy. We now care more about how much we make or what is the next new toy. No thought is given to enjoying the moments of our lives. We just race beyond the day and let its beauty pass us by. We should take a moment and pull back the curtain of our lives. Look around at what is missing and see what we can find. Rediscover old paths and find new ones with care, return to simpler things and stop the rush to the end of what ever journey we are on. For what is life ,if we are not living it? It is just a trip on which we've lost our way.