At a quiet street market in a dust party of town, I saw an old vender selling odds and ends. I stopped to look at his wares and I saw that he had shoes, I picked up a pair of sandals and he asked do you like those my friend? I consider them for a moment then asked if I could try them on, he smiled and said I could. I pulled off my shoes and slipped my feet into the sandals, they fit just right for my size. All of a sudden, I was not on the street with the vendor, but I was walking far away, behind me were 12 men. I looked at a seashore and then I saw a crowd before me and I felt the ocean spray hit my face. I saw myself in a temple holding an ancient paper and reading out loud to men who hated me. In one moment I was taken for a journey and I never left the street where I stood. As I came to my senses, I looked at the vendor, and he asked me do you want the shoes my friend? I left my shoes where the sandals had been and I said I would take them. I started to pay him and he said there was no need. He said that the shoes were quiet worn, but they would work for what I needed and I quietly went on my way. As I walked along I noticed that people began to stare at me and I stopped and began to speak. As I talked people listened and stood there completely amazed, and wondered who I was and where I was from. It was then I realized where the sandals had been and to whom they belonged and what I had become.

The work always starts early and there are not too many easy days. The smell of wheat is always in her hair. Her hands are strong and yet tender as she goes about her choirs. Her children are hearty, but full of life. She is in touch with the earth and finds happiness with dark dirt between her toes. Her husband doesn't say much for hard work is what he knows. Common sense rules his decisions, and his love is strong and deep, like a well spring from the earth. She enjoys a caring that most will never know. All of the things she holds dear, she helped plant and grow. To many it may seem a hard way to live, but there is value in such a life. It takes a special kind of woman, to be a farmers wife.

In a canoe I set out on still deep water, heading between tall pines and sand bars. I hear the tapping of a distant Wood Pecker looking for insects in a aged tree. I follow the flow of the water around a twisting bend. I look up from the river and  see turtles sunning on a log as I slowly float by. I look at green fields and I can see where perhaps a tribe of Cherokee once sat around their fires, with their Tee ***'s of deer and bear skin as their children played near the river bank. I hear the wind blowing through tall green Pines making them creak and wave as I sail by. Onward I paddle into swifter water as the river narrows, I sail past an old train bridge, where I see two barefoot children casting lines off of the faded wooden rails. On I go into the past, on dark water that flows over ancient river beds,  until at last I come to a boat ramp where I must return to the present and after spending time riding on the river.

Eyes like mysterious pools that show your reflection yet hide a secret. A vision sits behind a flower who's petals cannot compare to her beauty. The Rose does not do justice to her complexion as she cause the flower to blush. What treasure lies with in the soul of this mystery of a person. Why is she hiding behind a Rose?

Snipping at each other,  arguing over little things. One moment there is passion, then the tears begin. Fighting over nothing, lost to being in love. Not talking then rolling in the sheets, these are just parts of a lovers quarrel that new lovers must endure.

Stiletto heels and a short tight skirt. Full colored lips just to go to work. Highlights in my hair, and just the right top, cut just low enough to make the right man stop. Lady like poise and the subtle hint of perfume, with a swish in my walk when I enter the room. A presentation that is a feast for the eyes. The object of desire, a note worthy prize. From high school to college its a work in progress, learning how to be seen, it becomes an art. Knowing just what magazines to read, seeing the latest styles is a necessity. Not being to easy but giving up just enough, to make your way to your next goal. That is what we are taught. Though you might wear sweats to bed at night, even going to work out has to be done just right. Showing off the curves in all of the right places, it is the art of selling myself.

Oh to watch a tree grow to it's fullest height. To see the branches teeming with life. To climb the giant and look for miles at it's near kin as they grow. To see the forest that comes with the union of the trees as they tower above all else. To see that a tree gives food and shade and how it can provide shelter. To know it's value is to know that a tree is truly a treasure.

Crying because their stomach is empty. A child sits in the dirt hoping for relief. In another place a mother struggles to find money to buy her next meal. Outside of a non-descript building people wait in line to get a bowl of soup as they are drenched by a cold down pouring of rain. From block to block and down rural roads hunger cries out to be fed. Not in a 3rd world country that no one has ever heard of but in the cities and streets of America there is want. In a land so rich and full so many go without a morsel of bread or their next meal. The problem is not someone else's problem and it is not an idle pass time. Hunger is not a game, it is a reality that only we can stop.

Cut once, now cut twice, open a vein and let it flow. Out goes the life from within me, onto the ground. The steam rises in the cold air as I grow ashen and pail. Wrap the wound and shiver for the loss. Not so much is let out that it will end me, but enough is gone to let me know how precious life. A dangerous game of cat and mouse with my own life. How long can it really last before I catch up with myself?

The sun beats down on the asphalt and the heat rises like an oven. Scalding the air until it burns your lungs just to breathe. A red cone sits on the corner, holding back the blood of the streets. Then from no where, the tap is pulled open and the flood of water rises into the air. Running slowly so as not to fall flat on the sizzling street, you dash into the spray and feel the semi-cool water wash over you as you run back out into the blazing heat. As quickly as you become wet and get a minor bit of relief from the urban hell, the water evaporates and steam makes the air even more unbearable, so you dash back into the downpour and try to stay in the wild stream as others dash around trying to escape the umbrella of fire that covers the whole neighborhood. In a few stolen moments, a fountain of life spews forth and makes you feel a bit more alive as the street crackles and cracks from the water as it releases the heat demons that were trapped in the asphalt and cement of the city sidewalks and streets.

I walk down the street and see an old person struggling up a flight of stairs. I stop a moment to get the door for her. At lunch I overhear a woman talking to her daughter about how tight finances are, so I ask the waitress to give me their ticket and I buy their meal. Though I am not rich and famous, though I may never be widely known. I look for ways to leave my mark as I go. With each act of kindness and each gift of mercy, I hope to impress upon my fellow human that they can do the same. While kings may build monuments and the famous may champion their own cause, the simplest acts of humanity are what leave a true mark behind as we go.

In a garden we call life, seeds are planted and nurtured to grow. The seeds of relationships and family are sewn. We give each one care and watch it sprout. Like a flower it blossoms and with time and lots of work, it will become beautiful with a fragrance that will fill our lives with love.

You hold me up, but I would rather fall. I put on a brave face, but the real me doesn't show. Each time I come to you, it gets harder to leave. You are an addiction I can't seem to shake, but you are bad for me. I am unsettled that I can't seem to function on my on for long. I have tried to forget you, but it all goes wrong. Every vice that I use will not erase the addiction I have to you. Even drugs won't work, so what am I to do. I know your bad for me, but I can shake it off. You are poison in my veins, you stay under my skin. I guess I will just have to accept that I am dependent on your love and just finally give in.

I started hustling when I was only 9. I had to make a way because my dad was doing time. I learned to listen and not speak. I learned not to cry because that meant that you were week. Drug dealers became like big brothers. They showed me how hustle a buck undercover. I had to keep running to hide from the police. I learned to sleep where I could, never really had any peace. Learned how to keep my mouth shut and break bread. Anything to keep the peace and not end up dead. I buried a few friends before I was 15. The streets aren't forgiving they are just plain mean. I was there when 5.0 dropped the hammer. I got away but some of my peeps went to the slammer. I sit back in the shadows listening to their girlfriends and mothers crying. That's just the way it is when you have a hustlers life. I finally graduated to the big time, making all of the money I will need. I sometimes wonder how much I have lost being raised by the streets.

In the halls of a frosty mountain, under the chill of a winters wind. A queen sits on her silver throne. Icicles hang from the vaulted ceiling of her stone castle. A waterfall of frigid water runs down the side wall adjacent to her throne. She is adorned in jewels as cold and sparkling as her steel Grey eyes. Her gaze pierces the warmest heart with the stare that can freeze a summers day. No love resides in her, she has hidden it all away. So beware when you enter her kingdom and peer upon her snow white skin and look into her steely gaze, lest you become a prisoner, frozen by the ice queen.

The ground is brown and dusty as a dark skinned maiden dances in her bare foot wrapped in her colorful robes. Her song reverberates through the air joined in chorus of harmony with others who celebrate her happiness. A child with a small nose and Sea Blue eyes attempts to stand for the first time then falls down and giggles out loud. The music of the laughter causes an eruption of joy from all who see it. A Willow tree blows in the breeze, it's branches whip and snap as two young lovers chase each other around it. Their exuberance for one another fills the air, as the dark haired girl with a crown of white flowers in her hair is chased by her blonde haired lover who's Green eyes shine like two jewels at the thought of holding her hand. Such are the images that words can paint, a picture of what I have seen.

Below the deep blue water lies a world of wonder. Built upon rocks and clefts of the earth rising to meet the dim rays of light, Coral reefs hold wonder beyond belief. Plants fan in the current's flow and small colorful fish dart among sharp bards for protection from a lurking foe. Starfish creep around looking for a place to rest or perhaps their next meal. Life thrives in abundance in the salty brine of the sea. Beneath what appears to be a lifeless waste, Coral gardens flourish waiting for their beauty to be seen.

The cold riveted me with a stark chill, as I rose from my bed. The floor was frigid on my bare feet as I stumbled for my slippers. The window is covered in a white glaze as I find my way to the kitchen and turn the coffee *** on. I open the back door and look out from the porch, wrapped in my worn but comfortable robe, I admire the bejeweled colored leaves on the trees as they glisten with the ice crystals of the first solid frost. As I hear the coffee finish, I shuffle back inside to pour myself a cup of life. I then sit at the kitchen table and take time to reflect upon things and accept the realizations of life that I have put off for far to long, as I become at peace with my life one frosty morning.

Though many criticize me, I will endure the scorn. When my attempts to help are mocked, I will carry on. When the world refuses to help and my burdens are more than I can bear, I will find the strength to stand up again. As the Willow tree stand in defiance of the storm, so will stand in defiance of adversity. To mend fences and usher in freedom, even at great personal cost. I will bend and not break, no matter what is put upon me.

I swear the light was Green not Tomato Red. I promise I wasn't speeding at least that's what my speedometer said. I don't know where that hydrant came from it wasn't there before. I don't know how that ding came to be in the car door. Thus are the endless excuses we give when we eventually get caught. Trying to shirk our responsibility, because I promise it wasn't my fault

The curtains of my bed are on fire from the heat that is between us! We embrace each other so tightly that no air can pass between our bodies. Our hearts beat in unison and often skip a beat. The passion is thick in the air, it scorches my skin and yours. We climb into the abyss of love, joining each other in bliss. At a loss for words, the sheets are a tangled mess and the fire burns even deeper, each time we put our blistering passion on display.

As I lay in the chair my arm  begins to go numb. My vision is fading as each drip hits the floor. Spatter, spatter goes each drop as it plops and pools onto the floor. Each sound is amplified as life runs from my veins. The warmth slips away as I begin to lose conciseness. With each passing second I slip further away, as my last thoughts race as to how much longer it will take, all goes black.

The stage is set as prying eyes look on. All things leading up to the act are in motion. The romance between two young lovers culminates in the wedding scene. Then the stage changes, the fair maiden goes to her betroth. As the two come together and the ****** nears, the lights go down on cue and curtain call. What happened, alas the censors are prudes, end scene.

For no reason other than kindness, find a weary soul. Extend a helping  hand with no want for repayment of any kind. Lift up that life to a better place and set them on stable ground. Then watch them flourish and become a source of enrichment to others, through the fruit that will be born of what they have become because you took time to care.

I write and the words are empty. I try to fill the page but the meaning is not there. It is as if I am repeating myself and redoing what has been done. The well of ideas has gone empty and the water of creativity will not flow from my soul to my pen. I can only mimic what I see and not truly put my emotions into the work. What can be done when the passion has faded and the words have become hollow?

All things come from the earth and all things go back to the soil from which it came. We are not that much different from all of the other things. We have life and we live. We reproduce our own kind. We need water and air to live as well as sunshine. To think that we are disconnected from our environment is to hold a foolish ideal. Nature has many parts and we are just one piece in the living puzzle that the environment of our planet.

When your journey is too much, just hold on to my hand. When you have grown weary, let me help you stand. When life tempest blow you off course, let me be your guide. When you have a mountain to climb, I will be by your side. In all things I will give you friendship and find you when you are lost. I will ever keep you in my prayers no matter what the cost. Through adversity and joy, through the thick and the thin. I will support you and be there until the end. So until we part ways and move to the next life. Remember you can ever call me friend, until death does our friendship divide.

When the cold wind blows and the Whipper Whippoorwill stops its nightly song. I walk among the tall Cedars that are evergreen. I see the hues of Blue and Silver on the needles of the tall sentinels that stand along the road and line the banks of rivers and streams. They fill the valley with their scent and give haven to birds from the coming winter chill. Though their bark is rough, their heart is soft and fragrant. Sometimes I cry when one is cut down, but I do not mourn long, for I know it will be transformed. The tree will become a hope chest or the frame of a bed filled with childhood memories. So I walk on among old friends and feel a sense of peace. As I stand among the cedars of the valley where I live.

We are all born naked and cold and hungry. We all die alone inside ourselves. In between we may move up or down, but our ending and beginning our the same. All that we can do is strive to make the world a better or worse place in a hope that when we leave that we have touched lives and left a legacy that will help others do better than we have done ourselves, so at the end when we are all again equal, that we will not leave with regret for what might have been.

The streets and paths of life are filled with shattered people. Broken shards of lives ruined by choices and circumstance. On each path way that I walk, I collect the shards and try to put them together. With acts of kindness and a showing of mercy, I attempt to give people hope. Though many see that which is broken, but give no care for restoring it. It is my hope that with each act of kindness, that somehow I might mend a life, and inspire that person to do the same for another until there are no more broken pieces cluttering life's by ways.

When life blows you over, get up again. When the waves of turmoil wash over you find yourself a towel and dry off for another swim. When angry clouds come overhead, simply look for a ray of sunlight. When all things are against you simply be still in the storm until you find your center, then press on.

Water rises from the earth and forms into clouds. Rising to the edge of the heavens the clouds cool and settle out. As the wind churns the moisture, little crystals form. Each unique in it's own beauty, they begin to fall down. Coming to the earth in small and wondrous designs, every individual snow flake is a singular work of art. All of the flakes join together and blanket the earth, bringing cold and cleansing. When we look at the snow flake, let each of be reminded of our own uniqueness and how while individually special, that we are all joined together in our own special way just as the snow flakes are in beauty and cleansing before renewal on cold winters day.

The unwashed masses huddle in the street. They stomp their feet and rage against the perceived injustices that they feel they must right. When one group is in power then the other side is livid with outcry. When they who protest too much have power, the others are too busy working to take notice. Until a moment of enlightenment when one side grew weary of being derided and pushed aside, then in an outrageous act, they spoke up and demanded their version of change. Now the nation is in mass hysteria, America is in a tail spin and where we will land is anyone's guess?

Dawn breaks the horizon and mist rises from off of a clear stream. The fields lie dormant until the rays of mornings first light begin to bring warmth to the earth. In a miraculous spectacle, buds that have lain dormant begin to pop open. Color burst forth after the long cold winter, and a tapestry of beauty welcomes the spring. Life returns in supernatural glory as nature renews it's promise. For everything there is a season, and the beauty of new jewels to adorn the earth for a time is the remembrance of creations majesty, where the wildflowers grow.

We have been bombed, we have been invaded. We have suffered great tragedies, but we have persevered. We fight among ourselves but do not mistake dissension for weakness. We bicker and quarrel, but when we are threatened we will unite. The rest of the world may go to hell but America will survive

Dark clouds are parted as rays of hope flood in. Neighbors help each other once again. Crops are planted and play grounds are built. Prisons disappear and libraries are being built. Violence is replaced by negotiation and friendly competition has is an everyday occurrence, where no one dies. When new ideas take hold and the old generational ignorance fades away, then a new dawn for humanity will arise and what a wonderful place this world will be.

A set of stairs made of uncut stone. Creaky boards on an old front porch. Cane polls hanging on the wall. Waiting for me to come along. The smell of biscuits cooking in the stove. Old fashioned music playing of a record player. An old man whittling on the back porch in a rocking chair. Hunting dogs barking at a rabbit in freshly plowed fields. Happy is how these things make me feel. Fondly remembering my grandparents farm. The simplicity of life and weather worn charm. Though the work could be hard, it had to be done. Chores before fishing and a lot of fun. All of these things take me back, my childhood memories of what my past was like.

Doctors have mapped the cancer genome, and fuel is made from air. *** has been cured and there is plenty of food everywhere. Nations have learned from past mistakes and we now live on the moon. All of this sounds like fantasy you say, but some of it will be here soon. If we as a people can learn to agree to disagree and accept that there is a brave new world waiting, what an amazing tomorrow it will be.

A flag flies over a play ground where children laugh and have fun. A church bell rings as people come to worship as they see fit. People go about their daily lives shopping and working with not a thought of how this could be. They live in the land of the brave and the home of the free. While in yet another place, a young widow and a mother grieve. A flag draped coffin is lowered into the ground, another debt paid. In silence the people mourn and shed a few solemn tears, while 21 guns ring out and echo back across the years. At a veterans cemetery flags are placed at each marker, where the fallen have at last come home. A new son of liberty has joined them, but he did not make the journey alone.  Decades and generations that came before lie quietly in their graves, having paid the same price so that we can live free everyday. In a field of honor the fallen rest having given their all, so that freedom will never fail and the flag shall never fall.

On an old path a wooden cross stands. Beside the road it marks the way along a journey. It is a junction between two ways each leading to a different end. All of us will come to this point in our mortal journey and it is there we will choose. To continue on our worldly path or to take another way. At the cross road where Christ was crucified, we must choose which way we want to go.

Slowly drifting down on deep still water, I hear a Loon call. I look towards a bank where Spanish Moss hangs from a tree and I see turtles laying in the sun. In front of me an Otter races through the water chasing a school of fish, as a Crane wades among the Cat Tails along the river marsh. Frogs croak in the shadows as they hide on Lilly Pads. Ducks splash in a creek feeding into the rivers deep cold waters. With no motors or electrical means of motion, I take in the beauty of the river, with just a simple paddle and the respect for the life that can be seen on a quiet journey down the river.

The emotions swirl inside of me, like dark jewels they roll around and glisten with a black light. The turmoil of my soul is a constant reminder of my indecision. Round and round  the pit of my stomach turns, I try to get it out, but I cannot speak or even write down what I am feeling. I feel like I cannot breath as I try to express myself. All I have is a sea of letters trapped in the treasuries of my creative nature. I am going under and I am not sure I will come back. My pen has failed me and I cannot speak coherently. I am drowning in words and do not know how much longer I can stay afloat.

In the garden sweat flowed as blood. In the garden the son of man was tried. In the garden the final prayers were said. In the garden where Jesus fate was decided. In the garden the fathers will was done. In the garden, mortal failings were conquered and salvations victory won.

Take me in the throws of passion, release my deepest desires. Hold me so tight that I cannot breathe. Find new ways to put me into rapture. Break down all of my inhibitions and show me what passion really means. Deliver me to the plains of unconsciousness, the revive me and take me there again. Force me to submit to you and to surrender to your will. Test my limits for pain and pleasure, deny me both until I am nearly insane with lust, then only release me when you make me scream your name.

Looking into the face of a new born babe as you listen to it breathe. Hearing the child gasp and cough, with a heart breaking for the worry of the parents, you must put on a brave face. Doing all with in the realm of human knowledge to make the child well, you must realize that you are still human. Holding a knife as you cut into flesh, doing that which seems unnatural. To open up another person with willful intent, but with the purpose of making well. Taking away a piece of the body that has failed and letting the whole person mend. All the while, wondering if this is the right thing, praying that your decision is the right one. The hands that heal are very human and are part of a whole being. With a heart of compassion and a mind filled with learned reason, the hands are only part of the instrument that makes a healer.

Oh Lord I look at the land but I yet long for the sea. Please let thy hand guide my journey and let thy favor be upon me. Give me clear eyesight and strong and steady hands. Be patient with me as I labor and seek to know your master plan. Let the wind take me upon my journey and return me safe again, that I may gently hold loved ones and embrace dear friends. If it should be thy judgement that my Earthly home I will see no more, let not thy servants body wash up on the shore. Take me gently into the arms and embrace me in the Deep. Let me there abide until you call me from my sleep. Know that I have done my best whatever be my fate. Unto thee I give all glory and on thee then I will patiently wait, amen

If all men were to write down the mercy of heaven, there would be no paper left to contain it. If all were to sing of his goodness, no one would speak again. If every one would give all their goods to help the poor, it would not even begin to equal his sacrifice. If every person prayed every minuet of each day, we could not obtain the mercy of his love. For no height, or depth nor length of time can measure to the depths of Gods love.

Let's plant a flower, lets sew a seed. Let's join together and fill a wanting need. Let's watch something filled with beauty come to term and grow. Let's nurture it into a blossom so beautiful, let's watch it form. When it has reached its fullness of beauty, its fragrance will be so sweet. It will fill our lives that have joined with love for an eternity.

On the ground lay a piece of wood, it was aged and stained with red. How peculiar I thought to see such a sight, near a barren and bleak hilltop. In a moment I pondered what it meant, then a stranger happened on my way. I ask if he knew what the wood had been and he said do you see the barren hill. I looked on and replied yes, he then said in a voice very still. Not so long ago, there a man died, upon this very piece of wood he did hang. Nails were driven through his hands and feet until his blood upon the rugged wood ran free. I felt horrified at such a thing, but he said do not be startled, for this had to be. I reached down and picked up the wood as I began to shake. I felt such love and sorrow as I touched the stained wood, then the stranger again began to speak. He said that I should not worry for the person who had been hanged you see, was a savior that died for a sinner like me. Then he asked if he could have the wood, and as I put it into his hands, I saw nail scars then he was gone, leaving me alone again. A peace settled over me, like nothing I had ever know, for a carpenter had come to reclaim his wood you see and to show me that I am not forgotten or alone by the one who died for me .

Madness, madness utter madness, a closet full of clothes and nothing to wear!All of last seasons are out style and no shoes match this seasons designs! Two closets later and nothing seems to fit right. Have I lost my mind or am I just to picky? What shall I wear? Will someone please tell me? I cannot decide on what colors go together and I am flustered! Only 8 hours until I must appear at a party to die for, I just need to get a new wardrobe and start all over again!