The lights flash and the music plays as the Carousel turns and moves. In  mirrors we see our reflections as the horses dance and we laugh. If only our reflections could capture this moment and let it last. A small bit of childhood that we could relive once in a while. Something to remind us of what its like to be free from responsibility and the complications of emotions other than laughter and joy as we play grown up gains wanting to capture a moment of child like wonder again.

Fine Strokes go on a blank page. The narrow brush Lay's in bits of color. The delicate hand responds to the artist eye. The Canvas absorbs the colors, as one by one they are removed from the pallet. With each stroke and fine line you can hear the whisper out of the brush as it laughs. Across the canvas it glides, bringing out fine points and inserting curvatures and lines. The canvas burst with laughter as a portrait comes to life. What was a blank page, is now a wash with vibrant color. The image speaks of laughter and Mirth as it leaps off the canvas with the final brush Strokes The Artist makes laughter and joy for all the world to see.

Adorned in jewels and silk, walking to stand by my side. Silent but strong in your beauty, I take you by the hand. I endow you with all of my riches and give you all of my strength. I pledge to you my undying love, she who will be the mother of my children, she who will be my refuge. In silent strength she will support me, in gentle wisdom she will advise me. In all things she will love me. The one who will make me her own and give me hope and a home. My beloved, my queen.

I am a friend I am a sibling , I am a mentor I am someone's lover. I am kind but I can be difficult. I have moody days and I am imperfect. Accept me for who I am and I will accept you in return. I am willing to love and love need not be returned. I am unconditional with my gifts for they are given with an open heart. I am willing to learn and willing to teach. I am willing to listen and willing to give advice, only if it is ask for. I am many things to many people but in all things I am human. I am ever changing and hoping to do better tomorrow. I am myself, this is who I am.

When you give a cup of water to someone and then a bite to eat, you do more than meet their material needs. You show them a simple kindness and give them something in which to believe, you build a link in a chain of hope that helps all humans live. For a chain of hope is stronger than the problems of life, it helps people to be renewed in spirit, it helps them to come alive. If each person believes that kindness still exist, then a chain of hope can be built with bonds of family through out the world of man. It makes each person say that I can do something and makes them want to stand. So the next time you see a need, do what you can. Continue being a link in the chain of hope that can bind us all together as a human family and bring want and need to an end.

First and foremost I must shield what I love. All that is with in my power I must do. I must be a voice of heralding giving warning of any danger. I must stand on the front line and defend what I believe in. From my native soil, to my dearest family, I must be brave and relentless. No one will stand for me but myself. In the breach I must be present, offering kindness and hope to those who are in need. I must take counsel among my brothers and sisters to know what they feel. To this end, I will offer my life and my fortune to preserve the way I choose to live. With respect for my neighbors and a willingness to ward off those of ill intent. My home must come first, before all other things. Though I may offer kindness to strangers and send help to those in distress in foreign lands, protecting my own is my first and greatest duty.

On a roughly hewn cross, not necessarily like the one we often see today, a man was put to death for what he believed. He stood against the power structure of the day and spoke a simple truth. He said that there was a better way and a better place not of this world. In such agony, the leaders of the day took great offense and had to silence this man. A crowd gathered to chose a murderer over a man who only spoke of peace and helping your fellow man. So who did we crucify that day anyway?

We are born and we begin to grow. The first thing we do is **** on our fingers and toes. We learn to stand and then to walk. We begin to journey and explore our world. We become conscience of ourselves and we develop an image. The toes we once played with we now hide with shoes because we might think they are ugly. Our own sense of self becomes evident in our dress and in our friends. We lose the free spirit that we were born with and are pushed into conformity. If we resist to much, we are pushed outside of the normal boundaries of society. We strive to be individuals but with in a box of ideals. We want acceptance but crave our freedom to be ourselves. We go through many changes and yet we must adapt to a structure the we did not create. Only in the end to find that through all of our life changes that none of it really mattered anyway.

People see misery and ask why oh God. People see suffering and ask why won't God answer. When in truth God has been speaking to us all along. In every act of suffering, in every instance of misery, he cries out where are you. If we all took up his banner and all listened to his call. We would stop our hate and violence to give help and comfort to all. God does not want to judge us, we pass judgement on ourselves. When we deny our brother a piece of bread or fail to see his problems. We tune out God who is yelling at us, but we just refuse to hear, for God is not silent, we just will not listen.

Oh sullen veil that falls in many stages. Oh brooding curtain that covers all things. It is sorrow that we will not fully embrace you. Giver of rest and friend that we pierce with cruel light. For primal fear we do not embrace the night. We children of day fear what we can't see. Subtle things hidden in the shadows, cool desires we fear to brace. So transition from evenings veil into the heart of your darkest self. Then withdraw at dawn's breaking until we again meet dear friend at the days last rays fading behind darkening horizons to let us embrace the shades of night once again.

Looking inside myself to find a melody. Pulling out a part of me and putting it on paper. Weaving the part of my soul into harmony. Giving of myself to bring life to the song. My blood and sweat go into the music. A part of me is taken when the tune is played. I hear my own voices speak through the melody. I have let others see the most intimate parts of me.

Walk carefully and mind yourself, for you are in a place where winged creatures fly and breathe fire. Mighty roars echo off of mountains and through out canyons. Rivers run deep and scaled creatures swim in them leaving havoc in their wake. Empty caves are filled with colorful scales where a dragon spent time shedding it's skin. All things seem to be an illusion, until something with a spiked tail, rips the trees in front of you apart. Truly you go flush and see terror, only to hear a playful laugh, at the dragon toys with you for fun, then flies away to find other amusement. You are more of a curiosity than a meal, as you would equate a bite of a snack. You shudder and come to know this is real, you are the land of dragons.

You plunged a dagger into my heart and cut the cords of devotion. You pulled out the essence of our love and sliced it to pieces before me. What you did not expect is to have the tables turned on you so quickly. I have cried my tears and sewn up the wound you left inside of me. Now that I have moved on and found someone else to help me heal, the blade cuts into you, though you will not let me see it. I know the truth you try to hide as you cry alone at night. The knife that you used on my heart has now cut you to the emotional core. You found out too late that heart ache cuts both ways.

The dust falls off of the flag as the soliders quietly salute. The stars and stripes ripple beneath a pair of well worn boots. An honor guard walks ahead of the covered coffin, another fallen son. Children weep silently, dad's work is done. On a TV people scream, but they do not understand the sacrifice that our sons and daughters have made for this land. In quiet repose a coffin sits awaiting 21 guns, before being laid in hollowed ground where others have gone before. At last a solider has come home from another foreign war.

If one soul is saved and spared from the eternity of pain, oh how the angels will sing. For each child of God that is returned to the fold, with divine joy the heavens ring. Oh wonderful it is when just one soul is saved.

We have listened to our leaders who have become corrupt. We have been told they will take care of us and now we have no love. Homes are ripped to pieces, because we have given in to lies. There is only a hand out and not a hand up. We have lost a firm and guiding hand. Fathers have been taken out and replaced by a bureaucrat. The family has been turned into a number on a page. Boys do not learn respect or discipline and families are only half what they were. Where is the family today? We have no answer and we wonder why our society is this way.

Many battles must be fought and many must fall. Ideas are pushed and can mature into violence. At the end of the terrible rampage, there is always a victor, though the cost of the victory might be too high to count.Time takes away the memory of the carnage, and those who failed before will always bring forth their failed ideas in a new philosophy. Human mortality is but a flicker of light in the vast span of infinite time. What we call written history is but a shadow of past things. People die off and memories fade as the veil of time glosses over the past troubles with a mist of forgetfulness. Only truth survives the white washing of facts. Despite the best efforts of those who failed before, their actions will again bear out the fruit of their lies and the truth will once again prevail,but at what cost that we will forget in a generation or two?

Stately but weathered stone, high arches and sunken walkways filled with worn cobble stone. A wrought iron gate that creaks as it moves heavily on it's hinges. Two majestic lions adorning the bars paws reaching for each other in some critical attempt at an embrace. High hedges that protect the view into bay glass windows. Where sunlight shines in at an angle, reflecting off of the polished stone floor dancing to the ceiling and back down again to fill the whole room with light. Such is the life of a stone manor from an era of more refined living and mannerisms.

A lone Yellow Orchid in a sea of red ones. A white rose among a bush full of yellow buds. A Lilly growing alone in the valley of heat and arid land. What may seem like mere idle flowers can be so much more. The Lilly in the valley can be come the image in a painting that gives inspiration and hope. The one Orchid that seems so out of place, says that not all things are the same and can yet hold beauty still. The rose of White among yellow buds perhaps suggest inclusion as they all come from the same bush. So the next time you see an unusual flower, just imagine what it can do!

When the clouds bunch up over my yard and the sun takes time off, the thunder echoes in the distance and the wind whips up dead leaves. I sit on the front porch and watch the way that things get all jumbled up and how the rain just falls and hits the ground. Wrapped up in an old blanket, I let the chilly air pass by me. I am cozy in my favorite rocker and content with where I am. It is a time of reflection and coming to terms with who I am. This is how I find comfort on a rainy day.

Through iron bars silhouetted against a steel grey sky the wall stares back at me. Taller than an apartment building and thicker than two vault doors, I look at my hopelessness with each passing day. Walking on the recreation yard, hearing the wind howl, I see the wall in all directions that I turn. It stands there mocking me saying I can go only so far. My physical freedom is restrained by a solid barrier that I built for myself. Some will tell me that society put the wall in my way, but to admit the truth is too much to bear. I am here because of choices that I made. No one lead me on my path, I went willingly. Though I am serving time in a prison of stone and steel, the wall is also a reminder of something that I must climb. From behind the wall of my incarceration, I must learn to climb over the walls that I have built to imprison myself. The walls of pride, selfishness and prejudice. These things lead me to where I am and now I must climb over each one, before I can climb the stone wall and out the prison gates as I am both mocked and challenged by the barriers to my freedom that I help to create.

In howling wind and sheets of rain, I blaze a trail. Fierce as the lightning that tears across the sky. Fighting nature at the core of it's force, I go where others will not in hopes of saving lives. Where ever there is trouble, I stand ready to answer the call. Riding torrents of water or through tornados as they roll across vast open plains. I subjugate my fear and want to preserve myself. As I chase the storm with all of it's destruction and magnificence in order to know how it works. Through this knowledge I work to keep others safe.

Let me give you a flower to put in your hair. Let me rub your feet and make you laugh until you forget your cares. Let me cook for you and tell you to relax. Let me rub your shoulders and massage your aching back. Let me listen to you when you just want  to cry. Let me give you hope, or at least let me try. Let me tell you that you are my sunshine and that your smile is prettier than the stars above. Let me hold you until you are better, please let me give you love.

I stumble from the bed and stub my toe on the door. I shed my night clothes and leave them laying about the floor. I turn on the shower and the water is deathly cold. I shiver as I try to wash a way the haze. I limp out a naked mess, trying to open my eyes, still dripping from my icy baptism. I find a semi-clean towel and dry off as best as I can. I look for my house slippers and stumble into the kitchen. I sit down and compose myself, because I hate rising before dawn. I look over at the coffee *** and pray that it is on. Much to my dismay, it hasn't started yet. I see through blurry eyes what the time truly is. I am in disgust with myself for not checking my alarm. The coffee *** says 4 am and that does me great harm. For you see I am now frustrated and barley alive, because my coffee *** is set for when I have to get up and that is just a quarter past 5.

They come when there is an emergency. They will pull you of a burning building or get a kitten out of a tree. They mend the broken and the injured everyday. They will jump out of their comfort zone and go into harms way. Some of them wear Red and some of them wear blue. Some carry a medics bag and some wear a gun. All are unsung hero's when there is dangerous work to be done. In the dark of night or the burning sun at mid day, when you call for help they are never far away. First responders never running away from trouble but to the scene of what ever incident there may be or to where someone is in need.

Let we the people of faith stand up in one accord. Let his holy children pray unto the lord. Let us come together in every public square and let us declare that we will meet to praise him there. Let us see who is right, let us ask with a unified call. Let us ask him for his justice and to see the wicked fall. Let us repent of our indignation and show we will not sit down, but we will gladly kneel before our God and make a joyous noise, until his holy name. Let us openly speak of the one true God again.

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

I look into a shattered mirror and see a distorted reflection. I watch my heart laying about in a thousand pieces glistening like a shattered jewel. I reach to gather the pieces, but each shard cuts me reminding of the wound you inflicted on me. I bleed my emotions until I am empty. I am at a loss for words. My tears have salted the earth and caused black flowers to grow in their wake. All is sorrow and mourning as I walk an empty shell. My love is broken and shall not be mended until I can draw the pieces of my heart back together and find the will to go on.

You left me broken hearted and in shock at the way you left, but for now we are parted and I will not let it get to me. Tonight I am going to drink and celebrate what I have left, perhaps a good red wine or something stronger if I feel daring. Until the morning light I will forget my sorrow for good cheer, I will not weep for the breaking of my heart because you have gone from here. So let the music play and let the drinks flow, I want mirth and not sorrow. I will not worry about what comes tonight, though I will cry tomorrow.

A sport as old as time itself. Many trophies have been placed on a shelf. Many stories have spawned grand tales. Some went looking for a minnow and found a whale. Others fish for the livelihood. A bad day of fishing can be better than a hard days work. To be in the elements and enjoy the open air. To just be on the water has something primal in it. To know that we are connecting with our own past. Fishing will go on for generations as long as there is a line or net to be cast.

High peaks covered in lone pine trees. Clefts of rock as old as time itself. Water running from deep with in cracks formed by dripping rain and wind. Deep rivers that run through valleys filled with wild flowers. Dark clouds form among the peaks and thunder echoes off of the mountain sides. Mountain rain falls cold and chilling cleaning up the earth and making me feel alive again.

A life may seem to be a singular thing, on a fixed path. The truth is that no life is singular and we are never on just one road. Whether we isolate ourselves or interact frequently with people, we are always affecting the world around us. We walk on a road of career and one of family. We walk in pursuit of knowledge and of personal gain. We walk on a road of indifference or a road of caring. We travel many of these unknowingly. In the end all things we do take us in many directions and on many roads. The road we travel is just one of many we shall walk upon in  our lives.

I speak for what I believe. I seek to right that which is wrong. Many will oppose me and seek to silence what I have to say. I will find those who think like me and I shall be empowered. Together we shall seek to make others aware. With one voice we shall speak and seek to make a change. Some of us may fall by the wayside and others may be persecuted. What ever the cost, I have a voice and I and others like me will be heard.

No matter what the tragedy, no matter how hard the road. I will forge ahead carrying a heavy load. The path I have chosen is not always easy, and I have many crosses to bear. I have carried the burdens of others and I have taken time to care. When the end comes for me and I have nothing more to give. I will take my place in the pages of history and though no monuments may be built to my life, I will not have been afraid to live.

I want to leave the pain behind. I want to find a new place. I feel so closed in by life. I just want out.

A written word displayed on a page with Integrity or profanity. A way to speak to one's fellow person, displaying thoughts and ideas for all to see. What poison can the quill deliver or what medicine to restore the soul with truth? The written word has its context, it brings Joy it elicits hatred it makes us have compassion. Words can start wars or they can make peace. Things written down can Inspire and create or tear down and Destroy overnight. Heroes are made and villains are created all by simple words. How they are penned by the quill will determine their intent. In forms of eloquent oration or simple alliteration, words can move people in One Direction or another. So we must never underestimate, nor should we negate the responsibility in the power that the quill has with the written word.

What is just below the surface, what lies under the skin. These are the things that define what and who we are. If you have a giving soul and a valiant spirit, you will show courage and compassion. If you are fearful and selfish, then you will exhibit cowardice and hate. Only those who would sacrifice for another without thought for their own well being will truly define themselves and posses true sense of self. In moments that test us, we truly show what lies beneath.

Plastic rings clog up the oceans and dark pools of oil stain the shores where white sand once lay. Smoke fills our lungs and the air is darkened by ash and soot. We pour poison into our food and water and wonder why our children get sick. We believe that all things are never ending, but in reality all things are finite. We fight over ideologies and people starve when there is more than enough to share. So as the bodies pile up and species become extinct, we must ask ourselves, can we recycle the earth?

Caught in the fading remains of the day, wrapped in your arms my cares fade away. In the cool of the open air we watch the sun fade from sight. I hold you closely in the days fading light. My worries are lost by the love I see in your eyes, as the last beams of daylight falls behind golden clouds. I twirl you around in the last rays of light, watching the shimmer of your hair as we become one with the night. I hold you as we kiss, wanting to savor our romance, as I get to hold you once again in our twilight dance.

Hush now and close your eyes. Lay your weary head down. Your eyes are heavy I know the night has fallen. The stars pierce the curtain of night and look down on you. Pull the covers tight over you and rest well. Dream gently and think of beautiful things. Tomorrow will come soon full of new promise, but for now gentle one, have sweet dreams.

Falleing between the cracks, forgotten and left behind. Taken from loving homes and placed in cruel and merciless surroundings. Victims of war and hatred, left homeless because of battles they don't understand. Generations of children are forced to just find a way to survive. Why is there such cruelty? Why is this allowed? Who can answer this question? They are the disadvantaged, the abused, the neglected and the unloved. Left defenseless and hopeless, they become easy prey for opportunist. If each of us would stop and care and try to do a small part. Then perhaps children would not be lost or keep falling through the cracks.

When I was lost and confused, he wiped away my tears. When I was angry and afraid, he came to comfort me. When I was rebellious and spiteful, he waited patiently for me to come around. When I was weary from the journey, he lifted my burdens. When I did not know the way, he gave me a path to follow. When I thought I had failed, he showed me the victory. Despite what I have done wrong, God has always given me his love. The half I could not tell of what God has done for me.

If you see someone who has less than you, find out what they need and offer them an opportunity to achieve more for themselves. If you see someone who was born with something that you were not, don't be envious, be happy for them, for all of us have gifts, we must first discover then and make use of them. When someone disagrees with you, do not hate them, simply agree to disagree and try to part as friends. If we try to do our best to help another and to understand our neighbor, then we will go along way towards making things equal.

The crowds were worked into a frenzy and they gave out the call. We would rather have a murderer than the one that says nothing at all. So they set a killer free and took the one that was as a lamb. They nailed him to a tree between two sinful men. In a short space of time, his life's blood flowed to the ground. With only a few groans and one declaration, his life came to an end. That is when the real amazing things began. The earth shook mightily and the buildings were rocked to their core. At last there was redemption that had not been there before. In the temple there was panic, as the giant curtain came crashing down. The innermost holy place could now be seen from all around. At that moment a new covenant took hold, where God and man could abide. All was forgiven, the day the veil was set aside.

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

Finally the day is done. The road has been walked and the battles have been won. The bodies lay scattered around the fields as the dead try to find rest. The noise of conflict is over and the despots that have wrought evil are laid to waste. Human life has been reduced to the value of a piece of iron that can be hurled from the end of a gun. Now those who are left must pick up the pieces. There are no victors because there is no spoil in a battle ravaged land. What ever counted as treasure is worthless to the poor and the infirmed. The blind and the lame do not value gold or silver. The orphans do not care for diamonds or other precious stones. The only comfort is time, perhaps it will mend the broken and heal wounds. For now it is done and the ideals that were fought for have been forgotten. Perhaps it would have been far better if we had just ended it all and started over.

To look for evil is not always easy. It does not always come the way you might think. The horrors of war and terror are sometimes masked and obscured. To come face to face with the darkest side of a person is to know what true evil is, but the greatest skill of evil is deception. To live the lie so well that you do not recognize it until it is too late.

Oh how the world cares for it's own. How they amass fortunes but do not share. Oh how the things that money can buy will fade, and soon no one will care. My treasure is not kept in silver, it is not for others to behold. My wealth is held by my father, whose king holds wealth untold. A city made with out hands, whose foundations are of precious stones. With walls  of Jewels and streets of purest gold. So let the world forget me, and give me only meager fare, for in heaven I have laid up a fortune of riches beyond compare.

I heard something knocking then creaking and rocking. It would come all hours of the night. I went back to sleep but then it would come again. I knew that something wasn't right. For days this went on and it began to creep me out. I looked high and low but found nothing in my house. Perhaps the house is haunted, but I built it brand new. I looked for an answer but could not find a clue. Then one night about the witching hour of 12, I was getting some milk and then some cookies down off of a shelf. Then there was that noise again, the knocking then the creaking and the rocking. I listened intently and it was coming from outside. I put on my slippers and grabbed a large flash light. As I opened the back door and walked quietly down my back stairs, I shined the light left and right but saw nothing there. As I got closer to my fence that bordered the neighbors yard, I heard the knocking, then the creaking and the rocking coming from next door. As I stepped up to the fence and looked over the top, I saw the most awful sight, it nearly made my heart stop. Right next door in an old wooden swing, were my two elderly neighbors not wearing a thing. I cringed in fear and ran quickly back inside. I washed my face in the sink and violently rubbed my eyes. Sometimes I have found out it is best you see, if you don't know what the noise is and just let things be.

Huddled with anticipation of pain and loss, the brave and fearful alike band together awaiting the unwelcome moment. Courage is a scarce thing among the trenches as one by one men crouch to move forward. Across a barren landscape, that is more like the backyard of the grim reaper, they jump out of their holes like frightened rabbits dashing forward into the smoke and chaos. Shouting and wailing can be heard as bullets move by making no sound until they strike something. Valiant though their efforts are, the soldiers are little more than fodder for a cannon that is not pointed at those who started the unreasonable slaughter, but at the common man who was content to work at a trade until rousted from his warm abode and cast into the mud and blood next to his comrades. Now as the smoke settles, men who have long forgotten how to tie their own shoes heave their large masses on to  a table as the groan about the horrors of war, all the while indulging in worldly pleasure as the common fall spilling blood for nothing that affords them any good will. The ones who make the bullets prosper and the politicians speak of how great the sacrifice was, of the common man, while their dogged forms rest safely behind walls of stone and steel many miles away from the harm, an their offspring are not picked to wield the sword or take the harm as these men test out their new machines of war. So onward goes the common soldier, into the fray and the slaughter. Fighting for someone else's ideals, while they give little in the way of thought to his sacrifice, except when it suits their nefarious purposes or is expedient to keep those who remain content that the loss of their love ones were not in vain.