You pass by me each day, you don't notice me. I walk among the crowded streets, but I am invisible. I want to be noticed sometimes, but others I want to be left alone. When the wrong person pays attention, they don't understand me. I just want to fit in. I am different they say, I just think I am normal for me. I am the homeless, the hopeless, the mentally ill. I just want a place to fit in. I just want to stop being unseen.

Tick tock tick tock goes the clock. With each movement, it marks the passing of time. We are born under it's shadow, we live by it's call. Rare are the few who can ignore it and even rarer are those who master their time. In all things we are measured by the ticking sound. It is a rhythm by which life is formed. All things must face the passage of time. Some clocks move slower than others. Some are numbered in years and some only in days, but all succumb to the relentless ticking away of the moments. Tick tock Tick tock all things move forward, so measures the clock.

Life is a tree that has many branches. On each branch fruit grows. The tree of life grows many different kinds of fruit. Each piece is different from the other, yet all are connected to the tree. We are born on the tree of life and we all are connected. We grow together and mature in due season. For each of us to under stand each other, we must accept that this is how life is. Only when we accept that we are connected, will there be harmony on the tree.

I see a new day before me. I see an opportunity for good things. I can choose good or bad  the decision is mine. So my choices now will affect my tomorrow. Let me do right and not wrong. Let me be a hope for today.

Massive monuments arise from the landscape. Arches and grand structures are cut from stone. A mortal presence conceives a plan to live forever and in an instance, their memory is gone from remembrance. Treasure is amassed and wealth beyond measure is laid out before princes and kings, only to be looted by another when they expire. Folly is the way of man, seeking grandeur and self importance. Try as we might as mortals are toils are in vain. From generation to generation we learn nothing and the lessons still remain. Looking back into history the here and now lends itself to instruction but never hearing or seeing we learn nothing. History is a broken record of repeated attempts at immortality that fail miserably. Books are written and names are carved in stone only to be eaten by moths and eroded by the winds of change. Despite all of our achievements, it is still amazing what we fail to learn.

My clock will not stop bleeping and I can't get out of my bed. My hair is a knotted mess and there is a throbbing in my head. I stumble and stub my toes on a toy or two as I make my way to the kitchen for my first cup of brew. The coffee *** is on but its not what I think, instead of steaming hot coffee, I get an orange energy drink. It seems that one of the children decided to help me out. Now my  mouth tastes awful, I need to rinse it out. I have a two year old tugging at my leg. All I keep hearing is eggs, eggs ,eggs. My wife is still lost in la la land. I am not sure how much more of this I can stand. I try to turn on the morning news only to get kids t.v. . Now I am watching pointless cartoons, for the remote has a parental lock you see. So I run to fix breakfast and get burned seven times. Then it's off to get a shower, and hope I can come alive. I turn on the water and here is where I think I will stay. It seems to be the only place I can find a moments peace from my morning in disarray.

All of the world is your stage and you are in the grandest of scenes. The life you live is your performance. Shyness, sadness, and anger are just some of the parts you will play. Intrigue and deception will play a part as well. All of the attributes of a great Sonnet, your life will dazzle others with its color. You will not have a script, that you must write as you go. For to truly act your part, ad-libbing will be woven into the daily necessity of living out your story.

On a barren hill surrounded by on lookers and soldiers, a rough tree was raised on a dark and gloomy day. Between two thieves, a man with out guilt was hanged for all to see. With weeping and the shedding of blood, he forgave those who persecuted him. On the old tree cut of rough lumber, he crossed me out. No more would I be written in the book of sin, but I was added to the book of life. In a moment when the most precious blood stained the wood, he crossed me out from damnation and added me to the his saints and gave me forgiveness, when he crossed me out from sin on Calvary.

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.

Hair thin lines are engraved into my skin. Paper thin slivers travel over me again and again. Emotional tears break open and wounds bleed my sentiment. The Ravens gather as they wait for me to fall into my grave. Your words slice me only on the surface, my inner soul is buried already beneath a heart of stone. Try as you might you only slightly wound me, but with enough attacks I may be undone. Instead of grievously striking me with an open attack, you slice and cut me from all directions. You leave small wounds that culminate in my weakening. Finally I see the shadows gathering around me as the light begins to dim, the Ravens caw as they await my demise. Slowly I feel my emotional life slipping further away as I am dying from a thousand cuts your words have made in me.

Specters fly through old cemeteries, and tree limbs creak and moan. Old houses become haunting places for the forgotten and the dammed. Ancient tales are told that send shivers down children's spines. The aged caretaker walks with his lamp near the witching hour. A full yellow moon cast a spooky haze, over the forest and lay shadows through window panes. Ghost haunt halls and closets in the night as old specters rise again.

Playing with fire in a literal sense. Taunting a magnificent creature with wings wide spread. Scales that glisten in the light a hue of red like Rubies or embers of a coal pit. Yellow eyes fixed on your gaze, as you wave about your steely blade. Hiding behind a mortal forged shield, praying that your quarry will yield. With a bellowing roar, and a swish of it's mighty tail, the would be knight is torn from his mail. Left lying on the ground with a shattered sword and wounded pride. The cleaver beast steps forward and bears it's teeth. It then growls and takes flight leaving the warrior in his briefs. Let this be a lesson learned for those who would quest to make a name. Never tempt a dragon unless your sure you can win the game.

Many teach a path to live and obtain life beyond what we know. Yet there is only one testimony that is of truth. No one else can profess death and life again. To have been killed and three days hence resurrected from the grave. The Christ is sometimes called a myth or a fantasy, but in the hearts of men, the truth is known. Though many may deny it, there is only one way, and that is through Jesus Alone.

Two souls bound as one. Two bodies as one flesh. Two lives woven to each other, separated only by death. Strings that bind with passion and commonality. All things joined and apart. Love, life and laughter intricate parts of the same puzzle. Lovers, friends and individuals each part of the other. A relationship complex and yet simple. Two people intertwined.

Buildings set still like barren mountains in a dry wasteland. Impoverished people wander through the ***** streets like a nomad in a foreign desert. The skyline in the distance is filled with bright lights, similar to the stars that fill a clear desert sky. The decay and death of a neighborhood has a similar feel to a dying forest. The tall light poles look like barren petrified trees and the drainage ditches resemble dried up rivers. Empty beer cans resemble long forgotten fossils. The picture of blight is the same, the desert just goes by a different name. It is surrounded by a prosperous city instead of mountains and rivers that would flow around a desert place.

I took a moment to look around and see what was wrong in the world. I took out a shovel and began to dig through the confusion and the lies. I broke ground on a new path that no one had dared take. I cleared away the debris and smoothed out the rough patches. Along the way, I fell into a few potholes and got blocked at some critical turns. Despite the set backs and obstacles, I walked forward anyway. After years of struggling to clear a path, I looked back and saw that I had only gone a few yards. The ground beneath my feet was hard and the way ahead was filled with a lot of clutter. What I hadn't noticed, was that I was no longer alone. Behind me were more people who saw what I had done. One by one they came up and joined me. Finally I was bent over with age and weary from the fight, but many more were willing to continue on. I handed my shovel to someone I thought I could trust and found a place to sit down for a while. It was then that I realized what I had accomplished. I saw the path I had made, both wide and smooth. Though the ground was still hard ,the way had been made clear. Now that others could see the direction that needed to be taken, many were willing to help me build a road.

Left or right, liberal or conservative, ideologies do not put food in a hungry child's belly. Foreign aid, domestic spending, in the end, where does the money really go. Trillions are spent by both sides but the poor still seem to be poor. Perhaps we should get rid of  the ideological leaders and give the average person a chance. How would a waitress make the law work, would a carpenter do better at rebuilding our inner cities. Perhaps if we move beyond the politics and let real people have a chance, then the world beca better place.

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

From the cup of redemption I shall partake. Through the true vine I shall be pressed in the vat. The wine of mercy shall flow from the grapes of the cluster that comes from the vine of salvation. Grafted into the vineyard as a wild cutting, I was made part of the true vine. By the hand of the husbandman who keeps the vineyard, shall the new wine be pressed. From the cup of this I shall partake in remembrance of he that died and was resurrected. I shall drink of the vine at his table, when he returns to bring salvation to me.

My nose is cold, my heart is warm. My fur gets matted and I like to chew. My favorite play thing is your best pair of shoes. I will wait for you endlessly until you get home. I am always happy to see you, no matter what the hour of the day. I love tummy rubs and long walks where you talk endlessly about nothing. I suffer being dressed up as a party guest or riding to save the day, when bandits steal the princess and it is time to play. In all things I am a loyal  trooper to the end. I am your beloved doggie, truly your best friend.

The answer to all of my problems. The thing that makes my pain go away. The genie in the bottle of colored pills, that I use everyday. Just one in the morning and my day becomes fine, just another one before dinner to keep me in line. A last one before I go to sleep to make the bad dreams stay away. Automatic therapy is what I take everyday. No doctors needed to talk at me, just give me what I crave. The genie in the bottle of colored pills is all that I need. With just a few doses a day, I can be normal just like you. Do not ever let me miss one dose or I will go on a trip or two. Under the care of these potions, life is wonderful everyday. If they were to go away, then I would have to face reality. That is something I couldn't abide, the pain would be to great, so I will just find life's solutions in a bottle, just one pill is all it takes.

Feel the rush of fear, hear the plea for help. See the blood spurt as you twist the knife!. Listen to the gasp for breath as the body goes lifeless. Look through the sight and see the face of your prey, just before the trigger is pulled. Watch in anticipation of the POP as the gun goes off! The prey is unaware of their fate. Going about their life then POP, the gun goes off and a splatter of Crimson ejects from the exit wound, as you see the shock of their face. Down they go, the image of the **** burned in your mind. Listen to the begging and watch the victim squirm, tightht are the ropes and black is the hood over their face. Struggling and pleading, crying for mercy where none exist in the cold heart of a predator. To a private place you go, where you can take your time and savor the taste of their fear. Each delicate morsel to be extracted as if though it was some rare treat. The victim holds out hope until the bitter end, enduring torment after torment, hoping for death but fearing the end. Not knowing when the blade or bullet will come, ending their suffering and putting the finishing touch on a masterpiece. Thus is ******, an act, a way of living, the essence of a killer.

I saw a luscious looking berry just hanging from a vine. I thought I would pick it quick and just be on my way. Little did I expect what was laying in wait, behind gorgeous Green leaves, where the berry waited to be pricked, were rows of unsightly thorns, wanting to give me a stick. So in my hurried anticipation, I reached into to claim my prize, then I winced as tears filled my eyes. So just remember this lesson, when you curse at the fruit you would have enjoyed, check behind the foliage first because Briars do have thorns.

The rock that was cast aside has been laid as the corner of the foundation. Rock of ages that changes not, let me build upon thee. Be the strength upon which I stand when the storm does violent rage, give me refuge oh eternal rock, let me set my building sure on thee.

Looking out over Emerald waters, standing on the edge of a jagged cliff. I try to muster my courage for this is the moment, this is it. Months of training and preparation for this one point in my life. I am about to plunge into the ocean, I am about to take a dive. High as a sky scraper into the crashing waves below. Into the Emerald green water one step and then I go. The air whips by me and my heart skips a beat. For a few seconds I am trapped in silence then I awaken to the thunder roar of the crashing surf. I settle into a green universe that lies beneath the waves and then I begin to ascend. Thought I make jump a hundred more times, I cannot repeat the first dive again.

I adorned my house with Pink seashells because they let me hear the waves roar. I planted my yard full of wild flowers so I could have bouquets all around me. I made my windows out of the bottoms of colored bottles because I wanted to be bathed in rainbows when the sun rises in the morning. I made my front steps out of tea cups and marbles because they glisten when the light hits them. I built a walk way of sand, so I could feel the beach between my toes when I walk outside. I built my home to suit my personality, because I want it to be unique like me.

Why did there have to be a rugged tree? Why did he have to die that way you see? Why did innocent blood have to pay the cost? Why did they have to nail him to an Old Rugged Cross? God our creator loves everyone, but because of sin something had to be done. The covenants he made, We're Never Enough. Man would always find a way to become corrupt. In our  weakness, in our Foolish Pride, God needed a way to bridge The Divide. So he went and ask Heavens Holy One, the captain of the Heavenly Host to be the one begotten. Giving up his title and His glory, he obeyed the father's will. To become the perfect sacrifice, and die on a lonely Hill. Between two thieves, he paid the final cost. The perfect lamb was slain and victory was won but at terrible loss . So great was our Father's Love, that there had to be a cross.

Each day I try to be perfect, but each time I fail. Each day I hope to do better, but each time I fall short. In desperation, I read the books and try to find the answers. Looking through the text and seeking to unravel the complicated reason for what is. Then in utter frustration I through up my hands and fall to my knees. With a guttural cry I ask why, can anyone ever do enough. Then in stark silence, love washes over me and I realize that all human effort is in vain. That only by living with God can I achieve what he wants me to accomplish and become what he wants me to be.

Locked in a cold Grey room. Walls of cement and steel. I look through the bars as I hear time creep past. I hate my life and wish to end the loneliness. I made mistakes and now I am paying the price. I sit here while others are out having life. I have broken and shattered the peach of others. Now I sit here in my own version of a personal hell. I sparsely have any freedom, trapped in my prison cell.

Your smile warms the day and makes flowers bloom. When I kiss you I can withstand the coldest night. When your heart was made, God filled it with sunshine. When I am with you I feel as I have stolen a small piece of it away.

Guiltless a lamb stood before his accusers brought to the judgment-seat. He made not a sound as he was mocked and scorned he simply stood Waiting for the End. Rejected by Those whom he had helped he went quietly to his end. Upon A rugged tree the Son of God died and bore all of my sins from me.

In a grey foggy mist with showers pouring down, I hold your hands and we dance without music. The thundering droplets soak us to the bone, but this is how we met many years ago. We were both caught in the nightmare of a cold winter rain. A storm so fierce that we thought the world was coming an end. Instead of finding death, we found each others arms. Our warmth pushed away the cold as we became entwined in each others embrace. Now so many years have passed since the cold rain day and when ever we steal a chance, we come out and dance in what brought us together, loving each other in the rain.

Reach out to those who are lost and confused. Give to the poor and forgotten. Give help where it is needed and wanted. Speak words of peace to any who will hear them. Stand up for what you believe and do not compromise your principals. Honor God in all things and seek him humbly every day. In these things you will give hope to others and prepare yourself for battle. For evil does not rest, and wants to steal the joy from life. When you are the light in the darkness, you are being a blessing to someone, even if you are not aware of it.

Lilies will be magnificent and Tulips will be grand. Posies by the dozens, those I can understand. So why so many Roses, they are too complicated. With sticky thorns and so many colors. I get confused just thinking about them. So bring me a Coronation or a bouquet of Violets if you must. Anything but Roses, I have seen them quiet enough.

Pour the ale and raise my glass! Crack the goblet and buy another round!My sorrow is a wretched thing that haunts me into misery, but just a few more toast and I shall have won! A victory purchased at the cost of my sanity, and tomorrow I will pay the bill, but for tonight I have won the battle as I finish drinking my sorrow into submission!

In a dark corner of Washington filled with ghostly Grey light, the remnants of could have and should have been lie in dusty heaps. The hollow and empty skeletons of forgotten political careers. Where all would be great leaders careers go to die. A place filled with forgotten slogans and scandal ridden files filled with half truths. Ghost haunt this place whaling and bemoaning their ends. Where never a thought is given to those who ran and lost. The political bone yard is a reminder to all would be giants, of just how far one can fall into obscurity and to what end a political career can come.

I see what I want and I take it. I do not care about the consequences of my actions. I would rather be feared than loved. I do as I please and revel in the satisfaction of making gains. I walk around politely and appear normal, but inside I am a menacing form with little in the way of remorse. I do not act with reason but in self interest alone. I prey on the weak and the unsuspecting. I leave broken and shattered lives and destruction where ever I go. I wear a mask of illusion for I need no reason at all.

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 look at a sea of Orange across a Pumpkin Patch. I watch stacks of corn stalks shaking in the wind. In bare feet I walk upon the cool dark earth and I shiver slightly as it passes between my toes. I look out in the distance and watch children at play around an old scarecrow. I feel a rush from the north wind and I see falling leaves blown in all directions as they carpet the ground in a canvas of color. I immerse myself in all that I see with fond memories of riding on a tractor with my grandfather. I feel the golden Autumn sun as it touches my face and I once again take comfort in lost innocence with memories of harvest time.

Running down the highway at 100 plus, leaving a trail of burnt asphalt and smoke is just not enough. Jumping off of a mountain top, plummeting towards the earth, popping the chute and feeling the ****. Racing a power boat down a river and out to sea. There is not much left for me. My drug of choice is something I need. It can't be bought, because I am addicted to speed.

Trees that have seen generations pass are cut down and the lakes are black with death. Rivers are muddied by runoff from what we call progress and the sky is Grey with pollution that makes the rain acidic. People walk in waste lands that used to be lush and Green and children play among trash that we have no where to put. People have too much while others have not even enough and that is taken away too. When one people hold some land and another finds a thing of worth, it is taken away and they are given nothing for their lost heritage. The ground quakes and the mountains echo with natures displeasure. One place is arid, then runs with an abundance of water. The mountains tremble and rocks fall down as if we are trying to be told something. Not until the rivers dry up and the sea turns red with poison do we see what happens when the earth cries.

Comforts surround us as we walk through an illusion. We believe that we need the things we have acquired, but in truth they mean little. Material things fade as dust and blow away. At the end of the day when twilight calls, what do they really matter. Photographs are but memories that will fade. Soft blankets and good food are all part of the illusion. When the mortal shell begins to wither as a flower at the end of a summers day, and we travel from our short piece of time. Our place in the sun goes to another and all that we have achieved will be put down in one blip of time. As things go, stars and mountains will be here long after we have faded into the dust from which we came. So why do we fight so hard against the inevitable, when it is time to leave this world?

There are lots of ugly weeds in the places of the world. They are born from seeds of hate and ignorance. I will come on a journey and plant seeds of hope and service. Giving to others to help lift them up. I will be a light and shine in the dark places. I will seek to make better the lives of as many as I can. I will hold fast to the hope that each life I can touch will be for the good and not the ill. Offering a future of prosperity and accomplishment instead of one of death and misery. Helping others to make life beautiful again.

Setting up the display took me all night. I had to get every single firework just right. Covering them with a tarp to keep them from getting wet, from the possible rain storm or an unruly pet. Nearing the zero hour, so close to midnight. That's when it all went bad from a single cigarette I think . We suppose Grand Maw was the culprit, but we can't be sure just yet. What a spectacular display it was though not how I had planned, but the trailer park will never forget the fireworks New Years night. When they started in the middle and blew things out of sight. First the Roman candles fired off out of sync, they hit howling **** dogs and cans of gasoline. Then bottle rockets chased away chickens and stray cats, in a patriotic salute, can you imagine that. Then the middle came but it was supposed to be last. The largest firework missile took off with a blast, but instead of launching into the sky, it turned left at the stop sign and hung in the power lines. The arcing and the sparking was quiet a sight. So many random sparks that it set the rest of the fireworks alight. So in no particular order they all fired off. What an uncoordinated mess some of you might scoff, but it made everybody come awake, and what wonderful coverage we all did get. We are now famous on YouTube and the views haven't stopped coming yet. So in a blaze of glory went my fireworks display. The volunteer fire department were still putting out the flames on New Years day. So when next year comes if I am out of jail, no more fire works will I attempt to display. I will just watch football and drink a few beers to celebrate New Years day.

I am only harming myself, no one else is affected. So say those who flaunt the morals of society. My body my choice, but no consideration is given when the act of procreation occurs to the life that might be created. I am getting high to forget my problems, so says the causal drug user until they become addicted to the poison that they put in their veins. In complete honesty, all actions have an effect. Some are direct and some are indirect, but there is an effect none the less. Only when we are honest with ourselves and accept that our actions have consequences can we be free of our obligations and accept that when we dig our own hole, that there might not be anyone to pull us out. Though it is likely there is a good Samaritan who will show us pity, but the help will only work if we are willing to change.

At what point is life worth while? When does life hold value? Must a tragedy occur for life to be considered sacred? Does an unborn soul have the right to be called worthwhile. What has to be done for a life to be held in high regard. How many must needlessly die before we come to our senses and realize that all lives matter.

Rusted cars in over grown fields, and abandoned cotton mills. Creeks that run cold and deep under old rustic bridges. Dirt roads and open fields that seem to run forever and go no where. Cottonwood trees and Magnolias, that fill the air with fragrance and dampness after the rain. Children chasing each other in a game of tag beneath a Willow tree. The smell of fried chicken and fresh bread at Sunday supper. Time moving slow as the sun sets over history. A land not in a hurry to change. This is the place of my birth, this is my Southern legacy.

Giving is not meant to be reciprocal, it is meant to be out of compassion and love. Love for a fellow human, or love for a true friend. Caring for a family member when they are down on their luck. Showing mercy is it's own reward. Caring is not a requirement, but a way of living. The greatest givers go unseen by others and the greatest expectation for charity and kindness is to get nothing in return.

The snow has lost it's luster and the winter has stayed too long. That which was beauty is now cold and uninviting. Oh how I miss the song birds and the soft gentle breezes, for now is the season that the grip of sleep must relent on the earth and the new life must come forth. So I will sit idly by my window and watch the sun cast an even longer shadow as the ice melts drip by drip from the trees. Until I can see the ground again, I will be waiting on the Clover to let me know it is spring.

On the open water, waves crashing around the hull. Pulling the wheel and turning tight to catch the wind. The single sail rises full and the canvas glistens against the sun. It is in these moments that I can clear my mind. No power to guide me, just the will of the wind to drive me. I am at the mercy of the air and the sea. Beneath the open sky feeling the salt spray and the warmth of the sun, here is where I relish my solitude.