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.

Held in your arms until the dead of night turns into mornings first light. My soul is at rest , just to feel your warmth and to hear you breathe. When dawn's first light has come, I will lie still in your arms. Your strength embraces me in love that cannot be defined. I will rise to my labors secure in the joy and tranquility that the comfort of your love gives to me.

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?

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.

To become as fine silver or as purest gold, first we must be refined. Not in the way the world would see refinement, but through test of our character and faith. To be a useful vessel for the spirit, we must be made empty. Heated over and over in trials that test us. Becoming something pure in our faithfulness. Always holding fast to that which we cannot see. When we have been cleansed, then we are worthy to be called to the service of God.

A rhythmic tapping begins on the snare drum, then the trumpet chimes in. A beating and the sound of the horn vibrates the room as base string begin to strum. A low thundering beat blending to make the room move. The sound of the house band bleeds into the street as the saxophone swaps out with the trumpet then in a duet they sing in harmony as a dazzling woman begins to belt out a harmony as she shimmers in the colored stage lights. All of the scene is in time, as the set jams on into the morning hours bleeding through the floors and ceiling, a jazz serenade.

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?

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 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.

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.

A shattered mirror lies in pieces on the bathroom floor. The image you saw terrified you. Filled with self loathing, not able to take the sight of your own reflection. Sickened by the blackness of the person that lies with in. Tormented by memories of what you have done. Drugs no longer **** the demons from your past. When you try to sleep, they come to haunt you, the screaming horrors of your mistakes. Tossing in fits of rage and sweat, ripping the sheets in panic as you awake. Faces and places thought long forgotten, buried in the deepest recesses of your soul. They now call to you for a day of reckoning. They demand that you pay the price for your past deeds, they are here to collect part of your soul. Nothing you do can satisfy their lust for you. They tear and rip at your soul. A conscience once thought seared black with a branding iron, now dredges up all of the things you want to forget, you haven't even begun to start fighting your demons yet.

Soft and gentle as the morning dew. A gift of light in a darkened world. The bringer of kindness and mercy. A person of strength and gentle courage. Able to walk among the thorns of despair. Wise beyond formative years. A beautiful soul is  like a rare flower, blooming out of season and in a remote place. It is given to blossom into a gift that will touch many, but first it must be nurtured and allowed to grow, less darkness blot it out and take away harmony from the scheme of life.

Worry not for me for I am fine. The earth is welcoming to me and my soul is gone. On a new journey I am setting out. I am not sure where I will land but the trip is amazing. Out into the darkness beyond the starry light, onward I sail into places unknown. The last glimpse of the weeping mourners behind me, I finally had the courage to break the mortal bands of pain and enter into the eternity what ever that may be.

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.

The shadows are following me, I am sure it is them. I see the trees moving to surround me, I should stay away from them. I lock myself in my room, because I think it is safe. I keep looking under the bed to make sure, that no one is laying in wait for me. Most days I can only have a conversation with myself. I am not sure why that is, perhaps I am the only one who understands me. I change my clothes at least 3 times a day, my shoes almost never match what I want to wear. Perhaps I have gone over the edge already, or perhaps I am almost there. I am not sure which way I will lean tomorrow, it will depend on which way the sun chooses to rise. Beyond that, I think me and the voices will be just fine.

Just a few cents is all they say it takes. Then you can save a life in a far away land. Combined with the efforts of others you can feed a child. What does it really mean and why has it taken so long. For decades we have been feeding the poor, yet they continue to come, more and more. Where does the money really go, has anyone ever truly ask? Is it some kind joke or a Ponzi scheme that never ends. Why can't we just give the money directly to those we would like to help, then we could truly see what a dollar a day means to someone else.

Shedding all of your clothes and removing your inhibitions, stand in front of the mirror and admit the truth to yourself. You are what you were made to be, you are beautiful indeed. Could you lose some weight, yet but only for your health not for vanities sake. So accept your existence and breathe in the free air. Be at one with what you are and just go from there.

I walk in lace of purest white, I come to the day I have dreamed of all of my life. With Roses and babies breath adoring my hair. I have become a treasure most precious, an object of pure desire. In a breathless moment I take my place in a grand precession on this special day. As all eyes turn to me and through a lacy white veil, I look forward as I take my first steps into a moment of a dream. Though I am in quiet reverence of this moment, I am bursting with joy inside, for I walk in lace at last to become my soul mates loving bride.

A woman lies on the sidewalk wrapped in ragged clothes. I see her and feel embarrassed. I walk by as she looks at me, then I stop and go back, ashamed I offer a few dollars. She takes the money, with sadness in her eyes. I feel so lost wishing I could do more. I smile warmly and cry in shame as I walk away. Driving I see a mother holding a young child close. She looks like she hasn't slept in days. The child has sunken eyes and whines as it's mother clings on the a post waiting for a bus. She sees me and I try to look away, hoping for the light to change. Should I offer her a ride, but I have somewhere to be. I drive on leaving her behind in my rear view mirror, I look back and think why did she have to be there. As I go through my day, I ask God why this has to be. I want to know how do you choose. With all of the need, what can one soul do? I ponder this as I head to my home and I put it out of my mind. As I go to sleep, I hear my child coughing and I rush to see what is wrong. It is nothing more than a little water will fix, then it comes to me so clear. It is not what one can do, but what God can do with one. Each single bit of hope weaves a tapestry that satisfies a need. In each persons kindness, someone is helped. Just as a little water soothes a cough. so a little mercy can change the world.

When the last shot has been fired and the dead have been lain to rest, the warriors now must sit in silence and wait for the battle to be over. Though the leaders have come to terms, the wounds of battle might never heal. All that is left is to wait and see what comes next. The sound of cannon fire  and the bugle call sounded the battle to rage on. Now in the silence, the soundlessness is deafening. Louder than any shell explosion. It returns the solider to terror in the night. Knowing peace is harder still because the sense of purpose is lost and guidance has stopped. There is a new enemy and it is from with in. A battle that every warrior must fight after the guns have stopped.

I narrowly escape my own destruction as temptation looms ever present. I wrestle with a demon that torments me relentlessly. Each day is a struggle and each night I lay in a cold sweat as it whispers to me to succumb. I feel the aching in my bones as the demon rages to be set free. Barley did I escape the addiction that ruined my life, and each day tries to reclaim me.

Oh how the fish jump about, oh how they dive high into the air, upon a lake so pristine and clear. To the delight of any fisherman what seems to be an abundance of game, fit to be taken on any given day, but alas this is not the case for a fish is smarter than they look. The aerial display of agility does not translate to a fish on a hook. For while I admired the splendor of a potential catch of the day. The fish had other plans and simply danced away. As I placed my boat into the water I noticed that their dancing stopped, they swam away from my part of the lake to another spot. In what was almost with a mocking choreography that the fish escaped my grasp. Choosing to go to where my baited hook was not to continue their little fishy dance.

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.

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.

Sabers cross and steel rattles into the heat of battle we go. Back and forth we ****** and withdraw. Dodging sideways and ducking thusly as cannon fire erupts around us. From side to side we see our ally and foe. Causing havoc and destruction we gouge each other with poison and place all that is dear in peril. Slashing at each other, we draw indefensible lines, back and forth we go. While the war is an illusion, the causalities are real as we duel with tongue and pen. Our war of words inflicts damage and creates division. How can such a war end, when our hearts and inkwells supply our ammunition and what we can contrive is unlimited, from the heart of the human soul.

I listen to the rain falling and hear the wind howl. I see birds falling from the sky and look at the rivers running red. The waters change colors like a fading rainbow and I feel the sadness as the Earth bleeds. I feel the ground shake and watch the waves rise. I see the animals dying and watch the blackening of the skies. The leaves on the trees fall early and the winters are not so long. One place becomes dry and arid and another becomes cold and unforgiving. In a moment of time we live as Earth ages pass. Yet in our fleeting moment, our actions can outlast us. What will be our legacy, what future will we leave. What will our children say as they hear the Earth cry and bleed.

Give mercy that I can help another. Show me kindness so I can show my brother. Grant me peace that I can share. Please oh Lord show me how you care.

I once lived as if there were no tomorrow. I didn't care what I did. I thought this moment was all that there was. I was lost and foolish, I could not see the truth. I was without hope as so many are. I struggled to find the answers to a burning question I had inside. Nothing I tried would could give me peace. It wasn't until I one day found Jesus, that I finally was given rest. I came to know the truth. I was broken and couldn't fix myself, I had to empty out my soul. In a moment of utter shame, my sins were lifted away. That was the day he pardoned me.

In a v formation the geese ascend. They honk as heralds of the coming spring. The snow is melting and the lakes will thaw. As geese from southern haven return North in majestic beauty. Returning spring again.

In rage and frustration mindless thugs light torches. They pound the pavement with their boots and become a resemblance of marauding hoards from years long past. With no regard for justice or another s right to life. The unwashed masses of villains set the town alight. The city burns with anger, the city burns with hate. The city burns with want for revenge, which masked robbers gladly take. From a peaceful calm to torrents of flames, with false calls for justice, the city burns.

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.

When you find something that gives you contentment, no matter what it may be, then serenity is the gift you have been given, cherish it and don't let it slip away.

Pixies dance in rays of moonlight sprinkling magic dust across the veil. Mist rises the morning after and mushrooms tell the tale. Groupings of circles where pixy dust was thrown down last. Waiting to be harvested by industries gnomes, and carried away to their lairs. Each full moon the cycle begins anew. Fairies spreading their magic, in fairy land that is what they love to do.

Dressed in the finest clothes, with the best looks, money and prestige in abundance. Only when the serpent has beguiled you into submission, do you see it's fangs too late. Taking up a banner in the name of righteousness, only to commit atrocities that would make God turn his head. Singing for joy of holiness, when the actions are anything but that. Hiding in a crowd, appearing plain and normal, while underneath the façade, a raving wolf waits to pounce. Whether with a serpents beguiling tongue or the appearance of self righteousness, evil has many faces of which one must be aware.

The flags fly in tribute, the grass is cut and the stones glisten white. A fallen hero lies quiet until the eternal call comes. When you look at the name and the place, you wonder who he was. A story that lays untold is a story like mine and yours. He was someone who loved his country and was not afraid to answer the call. When it came to defending freedom, he stood proud and tall. He didn't want to lay here, but he knew that is how it might one day end. This could be anyone of us whose love of country is so great, that we would be willing to die for the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Chatter, chirp and screech, thus goes the pundit on t.v. . Reminiscent of the mocking bird, sounding like other things but itself. Chatter, chirp and screech, that is all today's news commentary is to me.

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.

It has been 3 days since I needed it. My hands have become unsteady and I am shivering with cold chills, though it is warm outside. My eyes have cleared up but I have black circles under them from lack of sleep. It hurts to even breathe at times. I am sweating like there is no tomorrow and I am unsteady on my feet. I have to sit down too often, but I am determined to make it through this. There is not a pill I can take, I must suffer for my life. I want to just give in, which has been the problem in the past. To let go and feel the warmth shooting through my veins, is a quiet peace but then it is just temporary. I cannot hide from my problems in a syringe anymore. I must face the reality of what I am becoming before it is too late.

I wake up with a hang over and I haven't been drinking. I am sick at my stomach because I haven't eaten. The wounds are healing on my wrist, but I keep wanting to lay them open. I am not sure what is wrong with me, still I keep hoping. I look for answers but I find little to make me feel alive. No matter what I try, I am still sad inside. The day wears on, one into the next. Most are horrible make me want to give up. What I wouldn't give for just one lousy day.

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.

From the deepest blue of the ocean a mighty giant rises. Calling into the dark depths then rising to meet the sun, it lifts it's mass out of the darkness into the radiant light in a display of power that is seldom seen. It's haunting echoes call to your soul as you listen in the dead deep silence. Only the sound of the waves churning can be heard from the distance surface world. As you fall with the mighty ocean giant back into the nether region of the abyss from which it rose, the Blue Whales song calls in a unique harmony that only a few can appreciate.

Watching a homeless person beg for change, I just walk on by. Seeing a mother that was addicted to drugs, now clean and sober asking for help to get her children back. My heart feels no sympathy, I have lost compassion and love. I see the images until I am jaded and I just don't care anymore. The love of my humanity has waxed cold and I seem to only care about myself. Is this what we are to become, is there no mercy left with in us? The shadow of apathy has fallen upon many, I often prayed that it would not be me. Now I find myself caring nothing about the human suffering that I see. We are all becoming guilty and will one day have to answer for our in action. As we watch others suffer with depraved indifference and go about our daily lives.

Not seeking fame and fortune, but looking to heavenly things. Holding fast to the way of service, taking each day as it comes. While denied earthly rewards, with caring hands you give of yourself. Not giving a thought of your sacrifice, but looking towards the welfare of others. In all things being humble and seeking the well being of the less fortunate. All for the cause of heaven, to show that unconditional love truly exist, in a servants life.

A young man once spoke to an old man and he said why do you sit here idly by? The old man said what would you have me do, for I have lived my life. The young man said whatever it takes to get rid of the rags that you wear, the old man responded I could if I had silver and gold, but then would I be happy? The young man then said one day I shall have these things a crown and riches Untold. So the old man passed into memory and the young man worked very hard he learned the things that were expedient, and Achieve greatness. Then one day as he set upon his throne wearing his Golden Crown, he happened to look out the window and saw an empty piece of ground. There in his memory he remembered what an old man had said and then he hung his crown laden head for his heart was filled with Dread. He had achieved all the things that money could buy but yet he had no peace, so at lasts he understood what the old man meant and wished he could speak to him again.

The rain has stopped falling and there is a chill in the air. The trees have put out green buds for the first time. Clouds are fading as twilight falls and the suns rays are breaking through. The distant light holds a red hue as the evening comes. Walking out into my garden, I smell the freshness that spring rain brings. It reminds me that old things are washed away and new things are beginning to come in. I look at a rose bush where a spider has built it's first web. As a cool breeze washes over me I see the fragile yet elegant web shudder in the wind. Each drop of water shimmers in the fading light like a precious jewel. I wonder at how simple yet strong this web is and how things are becoming new for me as a dark winter of my life becomes a loving spring once again.

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.

String bikini's have replaced over coats, flip flops have replaced furry boots. The sun rises higher in the sky and stays longer. The warm trade winds come in from the ocean and the smell of barbecue fills the air. There is no question that winter is gone and summer time is here.

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.

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

I am up then I am down. I live on an emotional Merry go round. I never know who I will see in the mirror when I wake. I never know what kind of day it will make. My life is a mixed up cake full of pills. A discolored bottle is where I get my thrills. Pink, blue, white and green pills. Several times a day they make things very real. I live in a drug induced stupor, people call me brave, my mom says I am a real trooper. All I want is for the fog to go away, perhaps I can be the real me for just one day. How did life end up this way? This is not the existence I would have chosen, but I have personalities by the dozens. Being one of my many selves is not always appropriate, welcome to the world of my psychosis.