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!

Lay down beside me and draw the covers close. Let me feel you breathe. Share your warmth with me, let me know your love. Show me what paradise can truly be. From the first star piercing through the curtain of night, until the rays of dawns first light. Lay beside me.

Does anyone know who God is. Do they know where he lives. One person says he is here and another says he is there. If he truly is God then isn't he everywhere. Why does he have to be in a temple or a certain holy place. Can't he be among us everyday. Can't God be an act of kindness or a kind word to a friend who is hurting. Isn't he more love than vengeance? Isn't he a friend to those in need? So if God is anything, he is with in us. A part of each person to be reverenced and to love us. If this is who God is, then why don't we act more like him?

In a desolate place that appears devoid of hope, I start to pick up pieces of paper and broken glass. With each bag I fill and send away, the ground becomes uncluttered. I move on to fixing fences and replacing pavement stones, then I paint a building. Through all of my toil, I have not noticed that things have changed, until I stop to wipe my brow and realize I am not alone. With each task I completed, someone saw me and copied what I did, until the word got around. One by one others came to join me, though they were not asked, they came anyway. A silent call went up and they saw my progress and wanted to be of help. With each act of kindness and each selfless deed, we moved towards the restoration of a once forgotten place. As I finally put my paint brush down and picked up my last piece of paper, I could swear that I heard children laughing at play. In the back ground I heard music and saw people dancing and then someone came up to me. I awoke from the dream and realized what I had seen. It only takes me to begin to rebuild hell and then God will send others to join in.

A vast gulf stands between our souls. We each want something different and we cannot even agree to disagree. While we offer the Olive branch, the others rattle sabers and cry for war. It is their way or no way, even though we won the day. There is no surrender, only venom and vitriolic hate. They would rather scorch the earth than surrender one inch of ground. Now the roar is getting louder and there is no right way. We must gird ourselves and prepare the battle as no words of kindness will soothe the wounds that have been opened without a single blow. Now is the time of endurance, now is the time to be strong. The rift will not be healed by intolerance but there is little in the way of hope. So we must simply wait, until cooler heads prevail and we can sit quietly at a table again as brothers despite our differences. Until then we bear our shields and defend ourselves as best we can, until once again we can safely cross the great divide.

When the wind turns against me and the water begins to rage. When the night comes on quickly and the light of the heavens is canceled out. I will stand firm on my foundation, I will not fear or wavier. I shall hold fast to the rock that holds me up. I will look to the day star and hold on until morning breaks. In the lord I will trust as I weather the storm.

Judgmental and impatient to a fault. Doubtful and impulsive are parts of me I am working on. At best a work in progress, at worst a flawed person. Wanting to be complete, but unsure how I might get there. Often confused about what a better version of myself will look like. Sometimes scared that I will not like it when it is done. So on I go, in faith alone I must sometimes trust. Not all of my plans are good ones and more often than not they fail. So forgive me if I am impertinent, but I'm not finished yet.

A shroud of darkness lays across tomorrow. Many are unsure what a new day will bring. Fear grips the hearts of many and cause them to doubt. Hope seems to fade and indifference begins to take hold. A curtain surrounds us and clouds our vision. It is only by wisdom that we can remove the veil of uncertainty. We must learn from our past in order to give hope to our future. Hold on to lessons of past failures and apply them to the present problems that we must go through. Only when our resolve is firm and we do not yield to doubt and fear, will we see a brighter day come.

Riding on the tide of water deep and blue with white crest arching towards the sun. I listen to the sound of the water against the hull and wait for a faint echo. Then a whistling comes from the depths as whales break the surface to find fresh air. They chirp and whistle to each other as they rise to greet the sun. They fill their lungs and dance in the water before they dive deep again. As they fall into the depths, my heart fills with sadness as all that is left is a faint echo. For to know such beauty and grace even for a moment, can change the heart forever.

There was a raggedy man who wore tattered clothes. He walked down the main street and could wiggle his nose. He did simple magic tricks, the children he did amuse, but he was at his best, when he tapped danced and sang the blues. No one knows where he came from, no one can really say. He simply showed up and began to entertain passers by one day. He never asked for any money, no he would not take a dime. He just smiled and enjoyed the laughter of the people he entertained as they walked by. For years I watched him perform and then one day he was gone. No one knows where he went, but we all missed dancing and his songs and even the odd magic trick, that would sometimes go a little wrong. So where go in your travels, if you happen to pass by a dancing blues singing raggedy man, please tell him I said hi.

Unholy and vile tongue, what ill conceived words do you speak. Rebuking the gift of peace and choking out the words of love. Rejection of truth and humility, in favor of pomp and fanfare. Desirous of accolades instead of sacrifice. Wishing to be exalted instead of giving praise. Unholy a thing you are filled with poison. Oh how you do wound, giving credence to the darkest speech. Oh tongue, speak not your blasphemy's .

Tumble weeds roll along the dry arid land. The breeze picks up dust and carries it along an endless open range. There seem to be nothing for miles but the flat expanse. In a place where it looks like nothing could live, the wind bears witness to life and death. The dried bones of a Buffalo lie bleached out by the sun. Partly covered in dirt and grass that has become hung up in the ribs. The empty dry wind howls through them as it sings a sad song. As the sun begins to set, ghost of people long past can be seen dancing at the edge of the horizon. Are they really there, or are those just illusions cast through a crack in time. The wind carries their songs across the open expanse, where only the Prairie Dog and the lone Wolf will hear them. The wind blows on, dry and empty until rain comes and washes out the dust. Then it goes onward filled with clouds and moisture, keeping watch on the flat great plains like some invisible sentinel of time.

Dandelions grow close to the ground, then sprout up with a golden bloom. They are not all to complicated, here today and gone tomorrow. They are somewhat abused, but still find a way to grow. In the end they turn white and puffy and just blow away. Life and a Dandelion are alike in so many ways.

Bravery is not a natural state. It is nature to preserve yourself. To stand up for something that is right, even though you know you can lose. To give up something of yourself for no reason other than you care. To keep going when all others have abandon you. To be willing to save another without thought of reward or self gain. These are the true faces of courage.

Banjos clang out a rhythm and someone hoots on a whiskey jug. A washboard rattles and feet stomp on old boards. A fiddle winds up and echos down the hollow, corn simmers in a *** and biscuits are hot out of the stove. A harmonica whines like a train down empty tracks and a juice harp twangs. People dance and laugh as children run around. The sound of the Ozarks or the Blue Ridge cannot be mistaken for anything else. People of good spirits and a hard working nature come together you see. They celebrate life and caring for each other at a Bluegrass Jamboree.

Put one bullet in and spin the chamber around, listen to the clicking and whirring sound. Flick your wrist and close it with a snap. Hold the cold steel in your hand. Look down the barrel and take the chance. One out of six, lets pull the trigger and dance. Eyes wide open and you hear the hammer fall. Your hand is shaking and your sweating and the firing pin goes click. Release the cylinder and do it again. Listen to the clicking and whirring sound, flick your wrist and close it with a snap. Place your finger on the trigger and lets dance.

Water runs down my cheek as the rain falls down around me. I fall to my knees weeping because you are gone. My tears are mixed with the water falling from the sky. Both fall to the ground as I am dying inside. No one can tell that I am broken, no one can see my pain. I simply sit on the ground missing you as my tears fall with the rain.

Carpet of Green as far as the eye can see. Trees blended creating a blanket that hides the ground from the sky. Beneath a shade I find comfort and a coolness as the sun beats down. Oh why must you go so soon, summer why can you not last. Too soon the Green fades into rainbow then brown and bland. That the trees would stay Green and that the sun would stay warm but not to warm, just enough to make life wonderful beneath a shaded patch of earth under the carpeted trees.

Sharpen your quill and take aim at me, write what you really feel. Reveal to me your truest emotions and show me what you really keep inside. Do not hold back on what you desire, let fly the words I have longed to hear. Show me the truth of your passions, let the poison come from your pen and let your emotions ignite inside of you. So long have you withheld from me that which you truly feel. Give me all of yourself and pierce my heart right through. Free yourself of the things of the past and let your love come through.

If I gave you my heart, would you keep it safe? If I commit my heart to you, will you promise not to break it? If I let my heart belong to you, will you promise not to share it with anyone else? If I open my heart to you, will you share your heart with me? If I let my heart be vulnerable, will you be gentle with it? If I let my heart love you, will you let yours love me?

Commit to an action, answer what passion excites you. Offer your help in any way you can! To feed a homeless person and help them recover from their plight, to save one of Gods creatures if you feel that is just and right. Let no one stand before you and tell you that you cannot achieve. In the smallest measure, the simplest kindness can become a great and powerful deed. So what ever is your interest, move forward where you see a need. For each mighty forest must begin with just a few seeds.

Reach out to others and give them a helping hand. Stand tall in the face of adversity. Hold fast to your convictions no matter what the day may bring. Help make a better world than the one you found. Leave a mark of positive change and offer help where you can. Let your presence always give hope and caring. Show others that there is a better way. Let wisdom be your guide. Learn from your mistakes and pass on that knowledge to any who willingly receive it. At the end of the journey look back and see the shadow you have cast over many lives.

Crayon scrawled on a wall, rainbow colors interwoven. Simplistic, but to the trained eye, each line intersects and a picture is formed. Streaks of oil on canvas, color droplets fall like the tears of a bereaved mother. Spatters and splashes dot the landscape of the canvas, forming what to some is confusion but to others abstract. Metal welded and twisted, intersecting with mortar and stone. Hewn out of raw earth, the stone is cut to let the metal lie in a certain way, while mortar is shaped into the sculpture that to some may appear as the results of a natural disaster. Art is perception as seen through the eyes of the creator of the piece. Some elicits deep emotions, while other creations are not meant to be understood. It is what you think it is, your perception, that is your art.

Wrapped in a furry coat and a set of winter boots. She hopped across the snow to the warm lodge. Decked out in diamonds that glistened like the ice hanging from the hotel roof. She sparkles and can be just as cold. Not looking forward to a mountain trek, but enjoying fireside chats and a hot toddy. She looks to find who has the fanciest watch and flaunts her voluptuous body. Though she will not be hunted by a Fox, she will wear one if it is in style. She has the cunning of a snow Leopard and the grin of a Cheshire Cat. She never lets her hair get mussed, even under he warm furry hat. Hippy tee hop she goes back across the snow, into and exotic sports car with heated leather seats. So her fluffy little tail will be nice and warm until she needs to hippy tee hop again.

Let me build you a dream of all the things that you desire. Let me comfort you and wipe your tears. Let me warm your heart in the years to come and grow with you. Let me be your strength and protect you. Let me help you raise our children and teach them wisdom. Let me be part of your life and in these things I will show you my love.

Four padded paws and a cold wet nose. An anxious bark and shedding fur. A desire to run and chase a ball. A tail that wags and an apatite for chewing on old shoes. Loyal to a fault and devoted to the end. A neglected dog is mans best friend. So when you see one in a shelter cold and alone, think twice about not taking a dog home. Some just need a little love and attention to become the best friend you will ever see. So when you hear one bark, its likely the dog is saying rescue me.

Furry feet and floppy ears, so adorable it can bring you to tears. Whimpering and yipping all hours of the night. Chewing on your favorite shoes to your sheer terror and delight. No matter what the breed no one can resist. A sad eye puppy with a cold wet nose. Warming and loving no matter what your day was like. It is willing to lick your feet even when nothing else might. Such playful scamps that take up space on a rug. With all of our emotions we want one, it must be puppy love.

Covered with thorns but radiant in Crimson Red, a flower that grows rare and with a scent that can confound the senses. A rose that comes from the rarest of lines, from Sharon it was taken and planted in a garden, then it found a tree upon which to hang. Planted in the earth then bursting forth in 3 days, though it blossoms Crimson, it can make anyone white as snow.

I saw a fair maiden come to bring me another round, she was delicate as a fair flower. The hours past and her beauty overtook me, until I gave her a kiss. Then through the haze of many rounds, I followed her to her chamber and laid my sorrows down. Upon waking in the morning, to my surprise the maiden fair had left me and been replaced by her mother who obviously with a smile had rather enjoyed my company. So let this be a lesson to all who dare to dabble in the spirits you see. What you though was one thing may yet become another indeed.

Sent into the furnace of despair, poured out into the flame of proving. Placed under a burden that seems impossible to bear. Wrought by the hammer of tribulation, and tested by faith alone. Made pure as silver or fine gold, a vessel worthy of the masters hand. Polished until you are radiant and ready to be filled with the holy spirit. Only those tried by fire will be worthy of service to the lord.

Behold the unwashed masses huddling together around a central street. With tweets and post they communicate. No longer waiting for a meeting in dark dank basements, they come together in a blog or on a home page. In what seems to be a spontaneous motion they move together. With picket signs and chants they raise their voices while simultaneously posting updates and videos of the scene. Their wave is invisible yet visible at the same moment. They live in a dual existence where a physical presence and an electronic foot print can be one in the same. Not bound by normal social conventions, they rage against the machine while taking the machine apart from the inside out. Disconnecting and reconnecting from mobile hubs and wireless connection points. One person can be the focus of a groups electronic protest as well as many finding one point. No longer can they be quantified by numerical measurements of a census or restrained by lines on a map. From the most distant parts of the world they join in one voice. Being seen and heard though some of them may not be in a single place. The unwashed masses are a new breed. Not silent, but appearing and disappearing as an aberration letting their voices be heard and they push for a better world and make felt their discontent and need for change.

In a sea of sound, I look to be heard. Over the crowds of people I seek to be known. With each struggle, I do what I can to further my cause. I help everyone I can and speak for what I believe. Though my actions may seem inconsequential, and I may seem to be alone. I have a voice with which I speak. I push forward each day knowing that my struggle will not be an easy one, but if I am faithful to myself and I keep true to my cause, my deeds of kindness will resonate and with a chorus of lives that I have touched, the voice that I have will be heard.

Take me to a land where I can start over. Take me to a place where I can begin again. Wipe my slate clean and refresh my soul. End all things that I was and give me a new name. Show me a place where the morning sun shines in a different way, let me walk into a brand new day. Wash away all of my pain, lift me out of my sorrow. Take me to where I can start over. Show me a place where I can live again.

I saw love today when the sun first rose. I watched my dog lick my two year old's nose. I saw love today as an old couple  walked down the street. I saw the way they held each other so frail and gentle as they went. I saw love today in the hands of  strangers, as they ran to a car accident to pull someone out of danger. I saw love today in a kind and gentle act, as I stopped to help someone with their grocery sack. In some many places I saw love, yet I wonder why so many people do not. I wonder why they ignore the simplest of things, extraordinary love in so many common places. If only others could see what is evident to me, how much richer our lives could be, if only you could see love today.

Tell me what you are in need of and I will pen down the words. Ask for something and I will find the feeling to give it life. If you are sad, I can make the parchment cry. If you are happy, I can make the word declare joy to you. If you are frustrated, I will craft a work to reflect your mood. What ever it is you desire, just tell me now and I will write the poem for you.

A lie is whispered enough until it  becomes the truth. Division starts and rips relationships apart. The devil does his dance and prances around calling the tune. We see strife and hatred as we fight for the same piece of ground. Our ideologies get in the way of love and turn us all to hate. We want to help but our own prejudices get in the way. So around and around we go, running a circle until we are all dizzy and the devil laughs as he collects his due. We are all confused and that is just where he wants us.

Get into the dirt of life and break up the rocky ground. Give something of yourself and lend a hand to another person without a thought of personal gain. Plant the seed of kindness and water it with hard work. Offer comfort and reassurance and at the right time, add a few words of encouragement, then watch as the fruits of your effort grow and blossom into hope.

God loves his children, yes he loves them all. God loves his children, he loves the big ans small. He loves his children, each and everyday. God loves his children in many different ways. He loves them with the sunshine and he loves them with the rain. He loves them with the cool breezes. He loves them with quiet nights. He loves them with his mercy, when they do which is right. He is a loving father, that is an absolute fact. The problem that we often have,is that we refuse to love him back.

My ship has been beaten and battered, the hull has had enough. I am tired and weary, the seas have finally found their calm. Long has the voyage been but now I need to rest. Through many storms I have sailed longing for safe harbor. Now on the horizon I see the lights of a new city and my final port of call. So with what little strength I can muster and with the last drop of faith that is in me. I unfurl my sails as I feel a soft gentle breeze blowing at my back. Onward I go as the hull cuts through the calm water, I see the lights getting ever brighter as a new dawn seems to be breaking from an unknown place. With quiet resolve I set my rudder amid ship and head forward, as I get ever closer to the bright new shores, I can see images of people I know, my eyes now grow heavy as if I am entering a dream. The troubled waters of life fade away as I finally make land fall to the lights that have been calling me home for so long.

Cutting wood and sanding  it smooth. Cutting the holes and fitting it together. Each piece must be precise and give just a little. Staining the outside and inside of the box and putting on a glossy coat of varnish. Fitting the padding into the box and making sure the lid closes just right. All of the steps necessary to build a coffin for my friend who used drugs too much.

At last everything is quiet. All of the people have gone. I am finally getting some rest. No more remembering how much I hurt. My pain is over and now I simply lie here. I do not know how long I will be here, but I know I am where you are not. I have only vague memories of you . I know that many people cried about the way you treated me, but their sympathy means nothing to me now. After years of abuse and cruelty, I am now at rest in the cold earth, because no one would care to listen to me, but at least you can't hurt me anymore.

Bearing a burden for another. Lifting life's load for a brother or sister. Carrying a cross in the service of righteousness, falling only to your knees. Kneeling in prayer under the weight of burdens, drawing strength from heavenly places. Enduring through the battle that the lord may receive glory. Such is the way of bearing a cross and sharing the burden of another.

To be honest with ones on self is the hardest thing to do. Looking at our own faults often makes uncomfortable. To admit that we are less than we think we are is the first step to our own humility. When we judge ourselves, we are more critical than anyone else will be. The problem lies in the fact that we want to dismiss our faults and project our imperfections on another. When in fact we should be listing our deficiencies in order to remind ourselves everyday that in truth we are no better or worse than another person. It is simply that we must acknowledge the truth about ourselves.

Instant coffee, instant video, on demand shows. Paper cups, paper plates, plastic this and cardboard that. Things that are just wasted and discarded. Throw away phones that end up in third world countries polluting their soil and water so that the children can eek out a meager living amongst the fumes and poisons. When did we loose the value of something. When did an heirloom become a bad thing. In our disposable world that we live in. Even life seems to have lost some of it's value as people have become a commodity and are easily thrown away.

Petals as dark as midnight, with black lace and red satin in her dress. Eyes like dark pools of water and lips like a red sunset. Skin like polished brass and as soft as a spring sea breeze, a Spanish maiden dances on the plaza to music that trumpets her beauty. Moving like a graceful reed in the wind, she bends and turns with twist and twirls. Her feet tap out a rhythm that sounds like a lovers heart beating at her coming. She carries a fragrance of a Olive grove or fine Spanish wine, subtle but filled with strength. She dazzles and mystifies as she dances to whats in her heart. A passion so deep that it rolls over you like the ocean waves. What a beauty this Spanish Rose, a flower of the Mediterranean.

When at last I am at rest, lay me quietly  in the ground. Hold no ceremony for me, let no one make a sound. Simply put in the dirt until the last few handfuls remain, then dig a simple hole and put a few rose bulbs in. Let the roots sink deep into the earth and find my remains. Let me become part of natures cycle of life again. Let my essence of blood and flesh mingle with the roots I suppose, of the bulbs that have been planted that will be come the bush of the white rose.

Last  night I had a dream of a man working wood. He was a simple soul, but his hands were steady in his work. Each piece of wood he cut and shaped with delicate care. As I approached him I saw that he had no shoes. I asked sir where are your shoes and he looked at me and smiled. He said that the last pair are over there. In the corner of his shop, I saw his sandals all worn and broken. He continued with his work and I ask why are you shoes so worn. He looked at me and smiled as he told me a of his journeys and of the burdens he bore. He said that he wore out many pairs of shoes, each one in a labor of love. He said I have carried many burdens and with each burden, my shoes have worn away. Now all burdens are lifted and that is the last pair. I was happy and sad as I walked away, then I awoke and stared into the night. As I though about the shoes and the carpenters words, I realized that his words rang true, as in my dream Jesus had lifted my burden from me.

Clank the glasses and crack the goblets, let the yule tide ring. Fill the decanter with ale and let the holidays begin. Cheer from the bottle, cheer by the glass. The cheer for the new year, but the tab comes due to fast. With the ringing of Christmas bells, oh how my head will ache. On new years day with football cheers, my celebration was a big mistake. Perhaps instead of bottled spirits to bring me good cheer. I will settle for some Ginger ale and a couple of aspirin this year.

I walk along a rushing stream that pours it's soul into the deep dark earth. I watch the Otter rush along the bank splashing as it goes. I listen and hear the call of the red tailed hawk as he sails under the sun. I see a bear in the distance scratching at an ancient tree. He shows his strength and marks his way as he moves on into the distant woods. I breathe in the spirit of  paths walked for a thousand years. I hold a shiny black stone in my hand that sat in the stream as the water rushed on and fish swam by. I look to the blue sky and consider the things that have been lost and hope that I can hold on to the way of my ancestors before all of my true treasures are taken away.

A homeless mother just wants to see her child again. She tries to get  back up on her feet. Though she cleans herself up, no one sees what she has done. They just see a ***** woman that once lay in the street. An alcoholic father finally says enough, and gets into rehab. He cries everyday over the family he almost destroyed and the lives he has brought harm to. All he wants is a second chance, but others judge him for what he has done. He caused many great pain, and simply wants redemption, but in the eyes of many there is none. The world is full of broken people who just want to try one more time. Their past haunt them and they are often reminded of their failings, but in some way aren't we all broken people as well?