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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Weave now a basket and fill it with the bounty of our love. Sound the call to help your fellow man. Come together and join one another to bring forth hope to the earth. Sound the horn of plenty that all will know that we still care.

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.

Laughter and innocence are qualities that children posses. Imagination and wonder are seen through fresh eyes. A hundred questions they in an hour and 50 more before lunch. What a blessing it is to watch a child, what a wonder to have the gift of influence a young life.

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.

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.

In a dress of silver with shoes of blue, her hair filled with golden flowers. Bridesmaids in bright golden gowns arrayed with pearls and lace. All things fall into place. Trees are filled with bursting colors that set the stage, all rise and hold their breath. Down an aisle filled with flowers and leaves. Now comes the Autumn bride adorned in regal splendor. A vision to warm the heart and melt the ice of a winter to come. A gift of grace, poise and love.

I started out the night with a few cocktails you see. I meant no harm, to no one, not even me. I saw a pretty girl and began to talk her up. I thought with my four leaf clover I might have a little luck. Well with my Irish charm and boyish face, it wasn't long until I was invited back to her place. From there it gets kind of blurry, but there is one thing for sure, I won't be celebrating like that anymore. The rest of the night disappeared and turned into mid-day. I rolled over to see where I was at, and the lass that had decided to stay. I stumbled out of bed and pulled the curtains open wide. I found a desert oasis was on the other side. I washed my face in the sink, and tried to get awake. I wondered how much liquor I really had to drink? I made it back to try and find my clothes, when the pretty lass woke up and ask where I was  going to go? I said I am not sure what the situation is, but I had a really good time and perhaps we can do it again some night. She just smiled at me and said we can do this all the time, for now I am not a stranger, but we are husband and wife. She showed me the shiny new ring and the wedding license signed by both of us I think. So now I am a sorry sod, working my fingers to the bone. To support a wife and soon to be child, in this apartment I call a home. So the next time you want to party and take a pretty lass home. Remember not to drink too much or to kiss the blarney stone.

Curled up on a front porch swing with a special someone under a blanket watching the rain fall. Playing patty cake with a two year old who is just mastering the ability to walk. Listening to an old friend as they pour our their heart to you. Holding the hand of an elderly parent as you guide the one who used to carry you. These are stolen moments that occur in life. Special times that you cannot get back and that are held as treasures in the heart and our memories.

From the gold wings of an aircrew man to the silver wings of the green beret, to the aviators wings of the fearless pilots who touch heavens heights. To the seals and submariners who fight with stealth and precision. Freedom rest on wings earned through sacrifice and discipline. It flies in the face of danger and adversity, with a shield and sword, it is borne by our sons and daughters who rush in to harms way. Wings of freedom still fly because of the sacrifice they make.

Rainbows in the night sky, pathways to some mystic plain of existence. Northern lights dance and dip through the vast open darkness. Like a divine ribbon being played by a child, it tosses itself too and froe. A spectacle to be observed in the waste of cold and unforgiving lands. It reminds the heart of what wonder can be. Opening the imagination to tales of the divinity of our origins. Mattering not what you may believe those to be. It sings with a voice beyond the ability of human ears to hear. Serenading the universe as it billows round the northern sphere. What a wonder the northern lights are to see.

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.

She walked by me on the beach and my eyes were transfixed on her. She wore dark sunglasses and that is all she had on. I was awe struck at the simplicity of her beauty and at the lack of care she gave to my stare. She just turned and looked into me and motioned to me with her finger. I was hypnotized by a tan goddess with perfect tight skin. I just submitted to her enticement and got lost in her sin. The rest is a lustful blur but she wore dark sunglasses and that I remember well.

Japanese cusine takes precison and care to prepare, life also takes great care. For some, eating sushi is adventurous and for others it is mundane because it's what they do every day. The same goes for life, living outside of the comfort zone is exciting to some, while taking risk is of no consequence to others it's just what they do. If you find sushi palatable and eat it often, then you must keep it well or it will spoil in begin to stink. Life must also be kept well, if you don't take care about how you live, some of the things that we choose to do can also have a stench about them. This is why if you look carefully you'll find that life and sushi have a lot in common.

I bow down and give up my burdens. I turn from the fight. I lay down before the cross of Calvary and seek to know your will. I sit in silence and wait on heavenly guidance. I accept the will of the one who made all things and seek to be taught his ways. In all things I surrender to the supernal power of the most divine. In humility I seek only to serve as a vessel for his will. I wait empty for his holy spirit to fill me. I shall be steadfast in the masters hands, until I  become what he wants me to be.

After all other ways have fail. When violence and anger accomplish nothing. When the drugs can no longer **** the pain. What is left out there? In a state of hopelessness, a wear soul contemplates the unthinkable. What is one less person they think. In that moment of desperation, a glimmer of hope sparks to life. A kind word or a gesture is remembered. The seed of hope has been sewn, perhaps in an inadvertent way. By someone who speak of Jesus, or did his command. Kindness has opened the door where hope was lost and shown that perhaps there is another path.

To all things there is a pattern. Life as nature has a certain rhythm. Old things pass away and new things take their place. As one flower blooms, another goes out of season. To each thing there is a time. In all things this rhythm exist. In some instances it can be seen, and others it is more subtle. No one can truly say why some things exist longer than other, only that the rhythm continues beyond mortal time constraints, constantly rebalancing itself. So that it can maintain the flux of the journey that everything is set on.

I close my eyes and clear my mind. I let my spirit rise and venture beyond the mortal shell that holds me. I look into the darkness and see the shadows of the world beyond where my soul dwells. I watch them dance and flow along life lines. I look into the heavens and see the celestial bodies as they move in synchronous alignment. I listen to the songs of the ethos as sounds mingle with voices from other worldly places. I allow my mind to be opened to the impossible, as I move forward peering beyond the veil.

Straddling the floor in a perfect split, arching my back and bending over backwards. Standing on one foot upon my tip toes. Flexing my arms and legs in many an ****** pose. Wearing form fitting clothing to show off every curve. Hand standing upside down is among the things I love. Putting up my hair in a bun nice and neat. Approaching the mat with smooth legs and bear feet. Taking a turn then flipping backwards and landing with a thundering bounce. Twirling a ribbon as I prance about. Showing how agile I am as I strut my stuff! Flying like a eagle into the air and hoping I was good enough. Doing all of the things I love, finishing with a contortion pose in clothing that fits like a glove. Being an acrobat is really too much fun.

Long ago in foreign lands, I stood quietly with a gun in my hands. In the midnight hour I walked the line. I watched the horizon for trouble from the sea. I was far away from my loved ones, as far as one could be. In places where I did not belong, I went to answer duties call. I was part of a greater good, one among many. I did not complain, for I had raised my hand. I was willing to pay freedoms debt, no matter what the cost. Where others now walk I once stood. I stood the watch and answered freedoms call.

From the depths of dark oceans to the emptiness of clear blue skies. From unknown empty deserts to desolate high mountains. The fight for freedom knows no place and the struggle cannot be measured in time. As warriors and comrades we keep the watch. Focusing on the mission at hand, whether on a submarine a hundred phantoms down where no one can hear you scream or in a occupied village where cowards hide behind women and children as special operators deal out lethal justice as the tip of a righteous spear. We must carry on the fight, no matter what the battle field. Away or at home we are the strong and the brave. We few sacrifice for the many and must hold strong to each other. Never wavering always ready to answer the call. Never leaving a comrade behind, whether on the battle field of  a foreign land or on the battle field of recovery hear at home. As one unit a band of brothers and sisters, together we must carry on.

Standing on the corner of hopelessness and despair, there is a house with shattered glass windows and a cracked stone walk way. It is often dark with little light making it in. Inside you will find the floor littered with the tattered remains of aspirations and hopes. Once vibrant goal now left abandoned in a dark and desolate house. An empty shell of a building, where you can find anything and nothing at the same time. A place where lives go to die a little at  a time, inside the house of broken dreams.

Floppy ears, cotton tail and whiskers. Eating Carrots out of the garden and lettuce heads out of the patched rows. Oh brown bunny hiding among the leaves, how you annoy me in the summer heat. I labor and sweat over the broken earth only to lose my toil to you as you wait for my seeds to be given birth. What a sight you must see from your lowly position, hunched in the thick briars waiting for buds to shoot forth. A feast for a vegetarian king, succulent morsels to be sampled. A head of lettuce here a few carrots there, leaving a patch work of ruined vegetables and the loss of my sweat and toil. I clean my gun with ill intent for you, my disdained foe. Oh how I long for your demise. Then at the moment I intend to bring you down, I am thwarted to my surprise. No longer do you nibble at my carrots or dig through my rows, I see a truth that brings me low. For you oh brown woodland hare you are not my enemy, but tis only a part you play. For my granddaughter has adopted you and brings you to feast in her play. So I must let you live in a fashion, for while you may sample my succulent delights in passing, the truth be told your freedom has been taken from you. Now you are a child's plaything and thus in a form you have experienced death, as you will no longer gallivant freely through my garden, but are at the pleasure of my granddaughter as her pet.

I will pray for you in the midnight hour. I will pray for each and everyday. I will pray for when its not convenient, I will pray you in every possible way. I will pray for when I am very tired, I will pray for you in a quiet place. I will pray for you until things are made right. I will pray for you until the end of my days. In all things you shall be remembered each time I talk to heaven above. I will pray for you until you are made whole and mended by Gods eternal love, I will pray for you.

If I offer you bread instead of a bullet, will we begin to talk? If I accept that your beliefs are different from my own, can we begin to understand one another? If I come to your aid without seeking to change who you are, will we then have peace? Standing across from another person half a world away, it is often difficult to see eye to eye. While one set of values governs our thoughts, another path has influenced a different way of life. In order for us to get along, we must first find common ground. Only then can we plant the seeds of hope and peace.

Colors don't seem just right and words are not in the right place. Beauty is not what it should be. What others call ugly, the distorted views of the angry mind call normal. Looking through skewed ideals, the distortions make sense only to the person from whom they originate. The ways of the people who live in the shadows and on the fringes of society are often shunned and feared. Many of these person who hold problems inside, just want to be understood. Not all are monsters, some are just different and think in different ways. Only when we stop and look through the prism of their ideas, can we begin to understand the twisted mind of anothers soul.

Oh Christmas flea oh Christmas flea, why did you bite upon me. Oh Christmas flea oh Christmas flea, where did you come from? Did you sneak in upon my tree, perhaps you hid on me? Oh Christmas flea oh Christmas flea, please stop biting upon me. Oh you are a painful bug, perhaps you hid in my designer rug? Oh Christmas flea Oh Christmas flea, please don't bite upon me. Now because of you I think that I have the flu, I hope that you get it to. Oh Christmas flea oh Christmas flea, I think I will have to fumigate thee.

Do not mind my presence, I will not be here for long. My footprint will not impose on your world. Just as quickly as dust blows away in the wind, so will my life be in the end. I was born a poor mans son and I have been forced to work all of my life. I have not attained fame and fortune, but I have gained enough. Soon I will fade from existence, my part in the greater play will be at an end. For the most part I will be forgotten from the minds of men. For good or ill, I will have lived my life, then exit stage left I am gone. So if you happen to take notice of me, it will be a fleeting one. I will be on to bigger and better things as I leave this mortal journey and my real voyage into eternity begins.

I have no bags to pack and my departure will not take that long. Some will miss me and some will be glad I am gone. I have completed many journeys, now I have one more trip to take. I have grown weary and I am glad to make this trip. So I will say one last goodbye to anyone who is of worth. I will take my place and quietly wait until I hear my name called. All that could be done, has been given to me. There is no more wondering or waiting, this is how it must be. So I say don't cry for me anymore. Just think happy thoughts and celebrate the life I have lived. This is my final wish, makes this your final gift. So I say goodbye once more and I release all my pain and sorrow. I go to sleep and never wake, for I am leaving tomorrow.

With the fields of flowers swept by warm southern breezes, the pixies come to life. They twirl and jump from blossom to blossom spreading their magic as they draw nectar from each bloom. Jumping high into the sun in colors of every shade, they spread their wings and glisten like diamonds. For a few brief moments they dazzle nature, putting all other things to shame with their grace and colorful displays. From mid-day until the final rays of the sun, they prance and play. Then as the south wind fades and night falls, they fade as distant shadows and become one with the landscape again. Until once more they are enticed forth from their hiding places, by a brisk southern wind and the warmth of a golden sun.

Holding tight in each others embrace. Lost in lust in a private place. Heaving chest rise and fall, naked and entangled in night were lost. Found in rapture, in the heat of the night. Deep sleeping beyond the mornings light. Holding each other as if our lives are about to end. Taking pleasure from each other again and again.

I look at the news on my television and I see the ocean of people fleeing from fear and hate. I open up my morning paper and I see a story about a ****** and a ****. I feel so dejected and hopelessly alone. I ask myself what does it matter, how can I go on. Though I try to do that which is good and help out when I can. I see the never ending suffering and the tidal wave of despair. I want to climb to the highest building I can find and ask does anyone else really care? I know that each time I offer help, I am supposed to be giving hope, but I cannot see the outcome of what I do and I am not sure how to cope. I sometimes feel like I have thrown a pebble into a lake! I sometimes wonder if it is all a in vain ? Then when I am at my lowest, I see a miraculous thing. Another person will do something selfless and I loose my despair. I feel the presence of God and he says I do care. Then I ask God does it matter, and he says it surely does. He says that each little kindness is an expression of his divine love and though I do not see the outcome. He assures me that it does grow and become a wave of compassion that in this life I may not know. So the next time you feel that all hope has been shattered, just remember that to God kindness really matters

On the cross Christ bled for me. On the cross he set the captive free. On the cross he showed the manifestation of Gods love. On the cross, God became man. On the cross sin made it's final stand. On the cross, Christ broke Satan's bands. On the cross he died alone. On the cross he inherited a heavenly throne. On the cross was God's only son. On the cross the fathers will was done.

Howling winds push dark sail towards unsuspecting shores! A pail moon shines through dark foreboding clouds. The silence is broken only by the sound of the waves crashing against harden hulls filled with hardened men. Iron is sharpened and steel glistens in the faint light. Dogs howl and the mid-night watchman has weary eyes. Then in a torrent of violence, the barbarians rise up from the darkened rocky shores. Tearing past the watchman as he is cut down by an arrow quick and sure. Into the keep of the unsuspecting, by morning light widows and orphans abound. As quickly as a dark mist they cut through the hobbles of the unsuspecting and hauled away the gold, the silver and the fair maidens. Leaving old widows and young children weeping and in terror that they might return. The quick knife of sure death has plunged itself into the hope of many who did think themselves safe. Now they have withdrawn waiting on the dark seas beneath the howling wind until they strike again.

On balance the scales have been tilted. Truth has given way to spin doctrine. Equality is not what it should be and the lady has lost her blindfold. The court of man has failed as it has forsaken divine guidance. Now the bribe has blinded justice in a different way. The unfair balances tilt in the favor of the powerful and the well to do. Poverty which was once a problem is now a curse. In hallowed halls that once gave a voice to the oppressed, now the kings ply their trade as politicians speak with silver words. Justice is worth the price you can pay for it and the unwashed masses are left to fight over crumbs in hope of finding some favor and redress.

Hanging in a place where it can be clearly seen. Delicious to the eye and tempting to the soul. Beauty unequaled, it is what you know you cannot have. Forbidden fruit no matter what the form, is always an enticement.

Cold and wet I changed a tire in the rain. No thanks were needed as I sent the driver on her way. A young girl was crying at a street fair because her balloon had gotten away. I brought her another and said you will be ok. I gave a bottle of cold water to the person holding the road sign. They looked kind of puzzled but I didn't really mind. I just went on my way with a little more joy inside . Service with a joyful smile, it doesn't cost a lot to be kind.

Hopping onto the back of a horse drawn wagon, as you watch the sun slowly set. Wrapped up in a blanket as an Autumn wind blows cold across your face. Snuggling up next to someone special as you watch the stars come out. A hoot owl calls out from down a distant hollow. The road is a little bumpy as the wagon moves along. Your nose gets itchy from straw and you sneeze. The harvest moon rises over empty fields where Pumpkins once lay. A hay ride welcomes the fall in a very special way.

You were a point of focus to inspire the soul, an anchor when I was adrift in the world. A reason to continue when there seems no point to writing. Oh how you encouraged me to reach inside and find the words. You gave me hope and showed me paths that I would not have traveled on my own. I drew courage from you as I saw the truth in your work. Despite your imperfections, you are a beacon to my frustration when I have lost my way. To lose you is to see a part of myself fade into nothingness, how I long to hear you speak or to see you write again.

Speaking gibberish and tongue twisters huzzah! Peter picked a something. Look there comes a pink dog, no wait it is a cat. Words have no meaning then they mean something else. Language is confusing, what was I saying. Never mind, I think I will move on to something else. Emotions get tangled with gum in my hair. I don't know whether to cry or scream. Nothing goes right, just look at Picasso's blue period. How depressing can you get. Just cut off an ear why don't you. In all things be vigilant and clean up your room. What is the point of life, I am not sure but I think it is ice cream.

Bullets fly off of the shelves, rockets are sold by the pallet load. ****** is the business of the moment. The next most advanced gadget is designed to protect you from an unknown threat. Billions are spent each year on death and mayhem. Generations are raised to hate and take up arms for causes that have long since been forgotten. The original dissenters in what ever argument that existed have long since faded into the nothingness. Now the endless war rages on, with blood merchants profiting from the misery of children and women. People are born into the horrors of conflict, not to know peace but to know suffering and oppression. Seeing no end to the endless war and conflict that profits few off of the blood of the many.

Scratches on the wall, each one a tiny indention of my life. The bars that I look through are not my prison. The thoughts inside my mind are what hold me. Remembering the tears of my children as I was lead away in chains. Hearing the screams of my mother as she disowned me in anger. Feeling the separation from the emotional ties that bound me closely with the ones that used to love me. Knowing that someone else is filling the void that I left in the wake of my incarceration. Each scratch in the wall, is a day off of my life. Each mark in the hard concrete reminds me of the things that I should have done. All I am doing is marking time, in a prison of my own making.

Between the pages of a leather bound novel, I keep pieces of my past. A flower from a first date, that has long since dried from being pressed between faded parchment . A picture of a first child, so small and frail, that has grown up to be a healthy and strong young adult. A bubblegum wrapper whose content was used to fix a broken heel on our wedding day. All special bits and pieces of a life well lived, between the pages of a quiet book, that I revisit from time to time as I look through my book of memories that is so much an intricate part of my life.

Chatting, tweeting, snap chatting, and photo bombing, where did we go wrong. Intimate moments have been lost to the electronic domain, we have forgotten how to relate to each other. Emojies tell others what we think and not our own words. We are analyzed by corporate number crunchers so they can market to us even in our sleep. We are photographed and video taped with in an inch of our lives. Our privacy is on display for all of the world to see. Electronic books and blogs have taken the place of a good novel and a quiet conversation over coffee with friends. All of it is tracked and digitally quantified. What if we all unplugged for just one day, would the world come to a screeching halt? Perhaps the brain trust that wants to monitor our every moment would come to realize that we do not want to be face booked to the world and just want our privacy back.

Elect me, no reelect me is the cry of the parasite. With fangs sharpened ready to pounce on a federal budget and drain the life out of the public, one dollar at a time. the political vampire vies for position to be the next in line to feed.

We look but we do not see, what is in front of us. We walk through life with narrow vision, and we do not see the worth in others that are not like us. We cannot view other people as more than they are, we are blind to new ideas and yet we have perfect sight. Our own ignorance gets in the way of our seeing many evident truths. Our intolerance causes us to walk as a blind man in broad daylight. Try as we might we cannot pluck the obstruction from our soul that causes to be judgmental of others.