Dust thrown up from footsteps that pound the ground like iron. The sounds of thunder coming from an unruly herd that is completely out of control. The roar from their yells is deafening. You try to hold the gate, but it is busting at the seams. All attempts to calm them down are to no avail. They are riled up and hell bent for leather. As the gates open, they surge forward, in organized chaos, they come. A stampede of hormone enraged teenagers, pushing and shoving to see the next hot band.

Through crowds of people, in a sea of noise. It is hard to distinguish yourself. Some form groups and shout and scream. While others do violent things. To get attention and send a message that will last, I have to rise above these things. In a message that warms the heart, I will write or sing. I will give words of hope and show many beautiful things. Casting words and melodies that paint a picture for others to see, I will join the discourse and make my point by finding my voice and letting the beauty inside of me speak.

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.

In a quiet room in total darkness, I seek to understand myself. Listening to my inner voices, I come to terms with who I am. Taking a journey of self discovery, I look to places beyond where my body lies. In visions of color and through soundless voids, I wander. Looking for a door that will take me to understanding. Trying to open up my inner self. I travel to lands of light and to places of no light, only color. Then into a place of sounds without form. In my mind, I fail to comprehend what I am experiencing. I only know that I am traveling but not moving. From the physical world into the nether regions I go. Not knowing where the journey will take me, only knowing that it is to a different plain than the one I am on.

Sergent Pepper has gone quiet, and John sings no more. Margaritas are not so sweet and the sand has left the shore. Rhythm and blues die in Moe Town, Las Vegas shines no more. The king has long been off of the throne and we are no longer in a New York state of mind. Lawyers have replaced musicians and computers make the latest sound. The devil in no longer he is California bound. The twang of the steel guitar died when the ran old Dixie down. Sounds that once made us dance have been taken away. Perhaps they will come back one fine day. All I know is that change is not always good, because sad songs can say so much. So as the true artist cry for a Renaissance, I can only wonder where did the music go?

Courage in the face of adversity. Self sacrifice in the face of want. A willingness to risk it all for fortunes favor. Rise to the occasion and answering the call. Only the stalwart will ever know what lies over the horizon. It is this hearty breed that takes on the challenge and risk life and limb to claim the prize of fortunes favor.

God has a golden chariot that glows with his divine light. It comes down to reclaim the forsaken and the abused. When little children are lost because of the wickedness done by others, he sends his chariot to carry their souls home. The wonder of the divine light cannot be seen with human eyes, but it has come more than once. It took away Elijah and was seen by Ezekiel, so it is spoken of and it must be true. Because God so loves little children, what else would he do.

Drip, Drip, Drip goes the ink from my quill. Splotching the paper as I sit frustrated with myself. Scribble and scratch as the writers block stifles me. I push to find the words but they will not come. I squeeze the pen in frustration only to stain my face with the blood of my trade. I then come to understand how easily the ink can flow and that for their work a poet must sometimes bleed.

The sun cracks the horizon and my alarm clock chimes at me. I can hear the screeching of the brakes on the interstate in my head. No day is ever good before my first cup, so no one should talk to me until then. In a Zombie like stupor, I struggle to the kitchen waiting for the *** to awaken. In the form of black liquid, I receive the first of many injections of what will fuel my day. With in moments the rush hits my system and I begin to come awake. I am finally self aware as if I were a computer coming online for the first time. All of my neurons fire and all of my gears whizz and whirr. If not for Caffeine, it would take a week for me to reach normality. So off I go charged for the day, holding the old cup of Joe. Through out the day, I will consume many of it's cousins, but the first one is the most important. I Jump start my system with the magic substance, making me a slave to the Caffeine effect.

Let the water wash over my body, let the drops drench my hair. Let the cold torrents refresh my soul, for today I do not care. The early morning is turned dark and the cold water numbs my pain. So I say to the heavens wash over me and let it rain, let it rain.

When you are away, I cannot eat and have trouble breathing. When you are near me I feel elated and lose all interest in other things. When you smile, my heart beats faster and faster until I think it will explode. I have ask many people what is wrong with me, even my doctors agree. I am suffering from an addiction this is true, but it is a healthy one because I am addicted to you.

I walk through the house and I hear voices and laughter. I turn down the covers and your pillow is wrinkled. I look in the mirror and I see a glimpse of you. I cry into my hands and wonder how I could have been such a fool. I hear footsteps coming up behind me. I catch your scent on a gentle breeze. I spend long nights missing your embrace, I wonder why I didn't see. Now my bedroom is haunted with your memory. Your ghost haunts me and reminds me of my mistakes. The memory will forever haunt, it is perhaps more than I can take.

On a barren hill some Romans planted a barren tree. Rugged and stripped of it's dignity, the tree bore fruit you see. The seed was with in it, though it had no branches or boughs. The blossoming of eternal life is what grew. Between two other trees precious blood was spilled, oh what a harvest it did yield. When they cut it down, it began to spread, the roots of the tree went beyond the barren hill into eternity. It brought forth salvation you see and produced the Rose of Sharon that bled for you and me.

An empty hole has formed in my heart. I am torn to pieces with desire and anguish. To want something so bad and to know it doesn't want you, this is the epitome of irony. How long can I go on? What will ease the sense of loss? Perhaps a long journey, to a foreign land where I do not understand their tongue. Then I cannot be reminded of the loss I feel or hear the sound of her name. Alas, I must resolve to go on, knowing that I cannot attain the thing I most desire. I only pray that I do not see her in the arms of another, this would again wound my heart beyond repair. Though there are no physicals scars to show my injury. I feel the pain down to my core. I ask heaven the question that I cannot answer, why does love hurt so much?

On padded feet through the thick Fir trees and White Pines. Hot breath meets cold air as white wisp of the Grey wolf's snorts fill the long winter. Softly through snow coverd ground it presses on. With its brothers and sisters they hunt. It's thick coat acting as a shield against the cold and natural camouflage. A lonesome howl comes from a distance as the pack runs forward into the forbidding wilderness and stifling cold. Greeted by a scout, the keen sense of smell tells the pack that their next meal is near. Silently, they patrol the edges of a thicket and lay in wait. As an unsuspecting deer passes too close to the treeline, out come white fangs and tearing jaws. In a momentary fury of fur and crimson, the prey falls to the ground. The restless hunters drag their prey into the safety of the trees, where by a pail moon light, they feast and howl. For the night is short lived, they hurry back to their den, to silently slumber until hunger or restlessness drives the Timber Wolf out to hunt again.

Dressed in soft colors with eyes painted like jewels. Lips like ripened fruit and soft to the touch. Hands as smooth as satin with the perfume of lavender and Cinnamon, walking subtly towards me. Looking but not looking at me, She passes by tossing her flowing raven locks with a glint in her eye. Her every movement choreographed to exude her forbidden nature. In complete loss of reason, I let my senses take it all in. Her beauty is undeniable and her affect forbidding and overpowering. Forgetting all of my obligations and my relationships, I submit to the breaking of my will, as this temptress seduces me without even a word spoken.

Water is added to a ***, just as ideologies are added to a society. Heat is applied and numerous ingridents are added to the ***. In a similar way people are mixed together and sometimes have heated disagreements. The content of the *** will boil, just like opinions and tempers among diverse people in the same society, but the boiling of the water and ingridents blends the essences of each individual thing. Then it cools off a bit, and it creates a soup with a rather unique flavor. Wouldn't it be wonderful if people could be more like soup?

If I held the power and could build an army, I would not create soldiers with guns. I would take the young children and begin to educate them. I would teach them to speak a language other than their own. I would raise them to be helpful and to understand kindness. I would develop their talents each and every one. When they were grown, I would send them forth to do the work that needed to be done. My army would be teachers, engineers and healers. They would bring mercy and light into the world. They would speak to others in there own tongue and show them how to care for themselves. They would mend the sick and build new and amazing things. This is the army that I would build.

Sitting on a sand bar watching the muddy water flow by, I look at the fishing cane growing on the opposite shore. I dig in the sand and find an arrow head, shiny as the day it was made. I look at the muddy bank and see smoke from a distant field. I close my eyes and I can hear the chants of the Cherokee. I look up the river and see a canoe coming down, the Creek in a hunting party are floating by. I sit on hallowed ground and hold the arrow head in my hand. I imagine where it has been and who made it. I can see the images clearly in my mind, just as if I were standing there in the hunting camp. A cold wind blows over me and I hear the water crash on some rocks. I return to the sand bar and feel a solemn peace as I watch the river flow by.

As the heat of the summer fades away, I long for the north wind to find me. The days are long but fading, and the stars are beginning to seep through the twilight. Leaves begin to lose their tinges of green and turn to colors of the rainbow. Flip flops are to be replaced with fur lined boots and ice tea with warm coco. The nights will become longer and rest much sweeter. The days labors will not be so long. I will once again get to sit quietly by a fire wrapped in a blanket and the arms of someone I love. Through a large window, I will peer into the heavens and count the stars as they dance quietly as I fall into warm dreams. All things will quietly settle down and the world will take on the appearance of rest when winter comes.

I sit in a cold sweat, I am shaking like a leaf in the wind. My mind is racing and my heart feels as if it will explode. I can't go there again, I can't let it win. I can smell the scent of my what approaches and it excites me to no end! I can't allow the demons to fill my head, I must resist the voices. I hear a soft voice as she approaches. I am suddenly still, as though I have become a stone. My eyes focus and my ears are keen to the slightest sound! The intensity of the urges are overwhelming! I try to scream out, but my voice is muted from deep with in me! My sanity has been lost and my rational man has given in! The dark thing that lives with in me is  now in control and all I can do is watch helplessly as it satisfies it's appetites!

Pumpkins are carved with frightful shapes. Old curtains are hung up like ghostly phantoms. Candles burn in window sills. The pail light of the moon shines down on bails of hay, in barren fields. The wind takes on a certain chill. A cat screeches in the darkness, children put on mask and prepare for trick or treat. Cauldrons boil and monster howl, parties are filled with frightful sounds. All things that you will see, if you dare to venture out on all hallows eve.

Stay back, don't cross the imaginary line. Obey the rules and you will be just fine. Conform, become whatever you are told to be. That is how you are kept in check, that is how they control you and me. What if you step over, what if you go to the other side? They will discourage you; they will push you back behind the line. So, what is the point of living if you have to become what others want you to be? Isn't freedom an illusion that they try to sell to you and me. What if one day, we all just say fine! We all have decided that we will not conform, that we will not stay behind the line?

The land is full of grain and riches abound, and yet the souls of the people are starving. There is a hunger that the knowledge of man cannot feed nor can a full belly abate the desire. The word has been driven from the eye and the ear, the tongue that speaks the truth has been placed in silence. The proclamation of the good news is far from the minds of the people, having been set aside for other desires. The next new thing or shiny object has replaced love and kindness. The streets run red with blood while people wander in confusion seeking the truth but finding it not, as they hunger in a famine for the bread of life.

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.

If by one act of kindness, you could save a life, would you do another with it. If by one gesture you could turn despair into hope, would you live each day as hopeful as you could? To save one life does not take great courage, it only takes the will to help. When you see a person who is almost at there end, an act of kindness or a show of support can give new found strength and hope. This simple thing can save one life that can touch many more.

The water is crystal clear and the air is like the first day. The sun shines brightly and war and disease has gone away. Hunger is a distant memory and we all age with grace. We live to see our children's, children's children come to the fullness of age. Sharing is common place and no one lacks anything. We have gone beyond the confines of our world and discovered new things. Tomorrow seem so very far away, but in truth a new tomorrow can start right now today.

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.

On the scale off of the scale. Up and down my weight goes! I can see my toes I can't see my toes. Up and down my weight goes! No red meat all vegetables, cook them no eat them raw. Cleanse now don't cleanse. Up one size now down two. Work out all cardio no go back to weights. I lost 4 inches but gained 10 pounds. Up and down the struggle goes. So many diets, so many plans. It is enough to make you depressed and binge eat. On and On I go, doing a two step with my weight and self esteem. Twirling around in a dizzying diet dance. I'm so frustrated I just want some chocolate cake!

Wrinkled with ten fingers and ten toes you came into the world with not even a cry. With new eyes that sparkle when you laugh, you are a  clean slate upon which a story will be written. A new mystery to be unraveled and a new chance at life. You have yet to experience the wonders and tragedies that await us all. For now, I will simply cherish a few stolen moments as I hold a new born treasure in my arms.

An old Gray headed man told me about his life. He spoke of sorrow and joy. He told me of good times and bad. He spoke of having nothing and having more than enough. A journey that was condensed into a few hours, covered eighty some odd years of memory. In the words of wisdom spoken from a weather worn traveler, there were sign post. Honesty was always his hallmark, keeping of your word was important. Hard work never killed anyone, it made you appreciative of the things you earned. Patients wasn't given it was learned, only the passing of time can teach you that. You don't have to be old and Gray to gain wisdom, just remember the lessons learned the hard way and you will be smart enough. Though he is long since gone on to his final reward, the path that he spoke of is still there before me. I just have to chose to heed his advice and walk it the way he did.

Let me adorn you with finery, and let me set you on a pedestal. Let me adore your beauty and your loving ways. Let me humbly be your servant and forever enthralled with you. Let me give you honors above all others, she who bore my children. Let your name be called blessed and let my hands be to your service. You are my lover, my friend, my children's mother, you are forever my queen.

Stop tempting me, leave me alone. I can live without you, I am fine on my own. I will work through the pain somehow, just let me be, at least for now. I don't need you anymore, I said I have had enough. Our relationship may seem like a good one, but you take too much. You are to demanding of me, some people say you will take my life. I have to stop wanting you, if for my own sanities sake. I am not sure if I really can live without you, but I guess I have to try. So please addiction let me go, I will find another way to get by.

Brooding and misunderstood, draped in dark clothing with a bright red scarf. A splash of color for what no one understands. Walking in fear of sharp objects and not embracing children, the frustrated writer mulls the life that has been chosen. Not a carpenter, or a painter, but a writer of prose. A tortured soul that literally hungers for understanding!. Not able to relate to the normal world without painting drastic pictures of reality through the blood letting of words from a bitter pen. The poet loathes the existence that has been chosen. Not able to find joy, the red scarf the only emblem of another life, but no one can understand the symbolism, is it for cheer or Crimson for blood and want to commit suicide. Only another tortured soul can understand the pain a brooding dark poet feels.

I resolve to learn from my mistakes. I resolve to forgive and to try not to hate. I resolve to seek Justice and not revenge. I resolve to try to be a better friend. I resolve to show more kindness and love. I resolve to try to be more like God above.

Arid dry unforgiving land, filled with terrible creatures and endless sand. You are clean and pure as your truth is bare for all to see. There are no groves of trees that dot your horizon, nor do creeping vines grow as places for  things to hide. The few simple plants that do grow in your burning climate are easily discerned. Thorns ***** and the Cactus fruit is enticing once you get past the prickly surface. Water is scarce and when you find it, you hold a treasure that is necessary for life. So while others may prefer a tropical paradise or the tall forest of the mountains, I will go to the desert, for the desert is the most honest place that I know.

I walked among the graves and saw many a religious and pious image, until I came to one lonely but grand grave. Upon the finely hewn stone was the image of a raven made from dark marble. It was weather worn, but still glistened in the sun. I thought how peculiar to see such a thing among all of the crosses and angels that people use. As I got closer to the monument, I noticed it's shiny eyes. They reflected the light from the dreary overcast sky. As I started to move away, I thought I saw the statue move. Then I dismissed it as a fanciful thought. It was then that I heard a cry of caw caw from behind me, I turned to see the head stone empty and a dark raven flying away.

Lift your spirits and lighten your load. Lay down your burdens in a glass of cheer. Celebrate your life for a little while, give your voice to a friendly ear. Let the foam tickle your nose and put your money down. Give an extra shilling and watch the bar maid smile. Tomorrow is not promised or so I have been told. So lets have one more for the road.

Words are spewed forth by mindless talking heads. All things are subjective and open to change. What I hear is not what they said, so it goes on in a spin cycle of misrepresentation. Wordsmiths have replaced, blacksmiths in the creation of things. Metal is now drawn out from the iron that is in ink and not from the heated forge. Though both can be hot, as rhetoric burns and ignites passions, just as oil ignites coals to forge metal. The truth is shaped and skewed from it's original form, until it is bent beyond recognition, into what ever the presenter wants it to be.

Childhood was supposed to be play, until they took mommy and daddy away. Strangers came in and life suddenly changed. There were no locked doors, everything is theirs not yours. Home was supposed to be a safe place, but mommy and daddy had to go away. You were supposed to be loved, you weren't supposed to be hurt. Bruises were not supposed to come from the hands that were supposed to care. Happy times are gone, and tears are all that remain. Now that you are in a strange place, since they took mommy and daddy away. I was told I shouldn't tell, but someone was going to see. The marks and scars couldn't be hidden forever you see. So now its just a waiting game, to see if someone wants me. Perhaps there is a loving family who wants someone like me. Then the nightmare will be over and I will again want to play, just like I did before they took mommy and daddy away.

Across Green valleys over snow capped peaks, and through scorching deserts I walk on a journey home. From distance lands I come, bringing back my weary soul. In the name of a country that has all but forgotten me, I return to my greatest treasure. As I walk down stone streets wet with rain, I hear laughter and see a familiar door. From inside the sounds  warm me. The cold of duty recedes from my weary soul. I open the door and I hear every creak and groan. As I step through I see the reason I kept my oath and fulfilled my duty. I see all that I hope and believe in as I realize a forgotten dream and let my soul rest in the love and safety of my home.

I scream at the mirror. I jump up and down in a cold sweat. I cook something I should not eat. I walk to the store in the rain. All the things I was told not to do, I have done and more. It is my way of weathering an emotional storm

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.

Lush carpet of color in hues of Purple, Pink and White running along the edges of a field ready to harvest. Oh how you glisten in the days first light, covered in new morning dew. Your petals are soft as silk and your scent is gentle like a summer breeze. You are truly a flower of wonder and the mornings glory.

I can hear your cries for pity, I can hear your pleas for mercy. I hear your voice and I cry for you. I can hear your sorrow and broken heart as it cracks into. I can hear your suffering from so far away. I can hear your hopelessness. I can hear your want for a better life. I can hear all of these things, and I will try to give you a voice. I can hear you.

Tying a silver cord from the lesser light, I cast the line towards a distant star but catch a comet by the tail. It pulls me up as I grab a mountain top to hold on to the earth. I am drawn into the celestial realm as the catch seeks to get away. I feel the line go taught behind me as the man in the moon pulls on the silver twine. Together we haul in the shooting star and decide it is not quiet big enough to keep, so we let it sail on it's way. Now as I sit with the man in the moon, I wonder just how I will get back home?

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.

To ask a question of oneself is to begin understanding. To ask a question of another is to seek wisdom. To offer help to another without thought of ones self is the rendering of mercy. To give freely without concern of your own person is to achieve selflessness. To resist oppression is to show strength. To seek justice is to find a truth. To know that we are imperfect, is the beginning of humility. To apply these things to ones life is learning how to live.

They say its noon, but with my curtains drawn the light doesn't hurt so much. I like the darkness, I can just lie here. I feel numb, but last night I was alive, at least I think I was. The clock ticks like thunder, I look at it on the wall mocking me. In and out of sleep I slip, in some kind of weird trippy dream. Is it night yet, can I get up and see the stars. No the suns still up, dam it! My head feels like it will explode if the sun doesn't go down, the darkness is stale, I want to open the window so I can get some cool night air, but the sun won't go down. Tick Tock goes the mocking clock. I slip back into a comatose state. The drugs don't really help, but I can't tell through the haze. The doctors say I am doing well, but I am just slipping into the abyss waiting for the sun to go down.

What if there were no god to whom would we pray? Where would you go when trouble comes to call? Would many people even miss god at all? Perhaps little by little this is happening anyway. Perhaps there is no God because we are driving him away.