I was looking through old things one day, when I found a faded envelope. I was plain and non-descript. I looked at the address and it just said to a friend, so I opened it to see what it said. While the envelope was worn and faded, the letter was crisp and new. The paper was colored gold and it had a royal emblem on the page. The words of the letter were beautifully written in the most unusual hue, the ink was the color of Scarlet. It said dear friend, I am glad you have found this note. I was wondering when you would open it, I have been waiting for so long. I want to tell you how glad I am you are reading it now. I know that you have been lost, but I want you to know that you are now found. All of your confusion will be forgotten and all of the answers you seek will become clear. All you have to do is ask and I will draw near. I was stunned by what I read and I began to shed a tear, then I read the final line and my heart broke apart. It said just know that I died for you and I loved you from the start. Your friend Jesus. I knew then that I was not alone and that I would never be the same. The day I read the letter written in Scarlet blood, that was shed by the king of kings.

Jingle bells, Jingle bells, Jingle all the way. A hybrid will be in the driveway on Christmas day. No more dashing through the snow in a one horse open sleigh. Global warming has melted it all away. Deck the halls with bows of Holly, not when there is a protected bird that lives in the plant, the EPA is not that jolly. No coal in a stocking because they don't  mine it anymore. No Yuletide greetings or songs of mirth that tell of a ****** woman giving birth. That is thought of as offensive you know, she didn't have planned parenthood or other places to go. Forget about the Christmas lights unless they are LED and powered by wind or solar oh what a sight that would be. They won't look great at night but they will shine during the day, though you can't see them if the wind doesn't blow or clouds get in the way. An at last their is the Mistletoe and the Christmas tree, you must get the proper permits to harvest them you see. So fill out the proper forms and send them by January for the government to see and perhaps next year you will be approved but not this year you I'm afraid. So have a fun time going green for Christmas this year.

I sit wrapped in an old shawl, I hold my favorite cup tightly as the coffee steams in the cool evening air. I look our over fading green grass and the golden glimmer of the days last light. I rock back and forth in my swing as it creaks with its weathered wood from ages gone by. I see long shadows as a cool breeze flows through my hair, cascading dark strands with streaks of silver gotten from hard won experience and mistakes made. I smile at all of the things I see and feel all of my sorrows slip away, as I watch the last rays of day fall into a cool starry night, I cast off the remains of the day.

I could not believe my eyes, when I saw the horror of it all. How could one man endure so much pain. I felt his anguish and my heart was ****** through. I agonize to just think of it. Such a young life taken, for no apparent reason at all. Then to be ****** through with such cruelty. I saw the tears of his mother and saw the water flow from the wound. I was broken and fell to my knees. At his last moment, he looked at me with piercing eyes and as his side had been pierced, so was my own soul. I surrendered to the wounding of my spirit and repented then and there. Now I strive to heal the wound and mend the scar, that I found at Calvary.

I will stand up for what is right, I will be a beacon in the heart of the night. I will Stand up when I hear the call. I will help my brother or sister when they take a fall. I will stand up when it seems to do no good. I will enter the battle, I will stand up and be counted. I will make my voice heard above the torrents of hate and rage. I will stand up for what I believe though others may disagree. I will seek out every injustice and try to make it right. I will never tire or give up the fight. I will stand up until I draw my last breath. I will take a final stand even in my own death. When they right of me, they may not find many things to say, but that I stood up, when it is your time what about you will they say?

With my voice I scream at what I call injustice. I pound my keyboard and cast words into cyberspace. I look at images of people I do not know and places I cannot be, but I feel a connection to others I have never met. In a chorus of voices I join a protest that makes no noise. With the force of a tidal wave our anger and resolve races across blogs and webpages. In a silent riot, we demand change and push for our place to be recognized and for our voices to be heard.

Direct your efforts that what makes a positive change. Open up your mind to new ideas and possibilities. Step into another persons shoes and walk with them to help carry their burden. Stay fixed on the goal at hand. When you endeavor to make a difference through determination and resilience, things can be made better when we truly focus on change.

Stomp, stomp, stomp goes the elephant as it rampages through the countryside. Trumpet goes it's cry as it runs over it adversaries. It's Ivory tusk glisten as it lunges towards the top of the hill from which it will survey the land. Leaving a path of destruction in it's wake, it thunders to supremacy over the width and breadth of it's habitat. Looking at all who are under it's shadow, it vows to never forget.

Concrete sidewalks are lined with shops. Neon lights flash in windows. Shop merchants sell what every you can afford. Music blares out from back alley clubs and people drift in and out looking for a good time. Girls stand on the boulevard and wave at passing cars, they offer a remedy for their loneliness for a price. The soul of the city beats slowly, and people blend into the background. Images are lost as night becomes day. The shadows cast in neon are replaced by the sun shining off of towers of glass and steel. The mirrored surfaces shield the people who sit high above the concrete sidewalks from the truth of life below. Like a thousand dots people rush about trying to make a living, hustling for the coin of the realm. Then the sun arch back towards the west and shadows fall again. The landscape transforms back into it's previous form. Renewing the urban life of those who call the city home.

See the noble hawk as he flies to the sun. Hear his cry of freedom. Watch a feather fall from his tail, see it sail to the ground on the still air. See the native who finds it and gives reverence to the great spirit. He has received a gift from his brother. A great hunter who walks the wind, seeking where he can go. A red feather from the noble hawk is given away, as the bird climbs to touch the heaven and make friends with the sun.

I cut and claw to get outside myself. I wash until I am red and raw. Noting seems to clean away the feeling that I am trapped in the wrong place. I scream inside my own head until I can't even think. Why am I caught inside of myself, why can't I get out. I look in the mirror and my image is mocking me. I want out of this place, but I can't shed my own skin. So I cut and scratch some more, until the blood drips from my wrist and neck or until I find a way out of this prison I am in.

I love shoes all shapes and sizes. Flats and pumps, sandals and wedges. A closet the size of a Cathedral might be just enough room. Bogos are my favorite things, even on the high end. I could spend a day buying a hundred pair, then spend the next year finding ways to wear them. Such is my curse, I love shoes.

Long, tall and dark made of glass or plastic. Bravery in a liquid form, 100 proof or more. Like a shot of fire going down, after two or three you don't even feel it burn. Whiskey, *****, Gin, or Tequila, all loosen inhibitions. The lines between wisdom and ignorance are blurred. What in one instance could be courageous, has now become fool hearty. It is amazing how many hero's there are when a bottle of courage is around.

Whizz, whir and buzz the computer came alive. The internet was born and the doors were opened. Pathways were now available that were not there before and knowledge's door was open wide for all to walk through. For good or ill, the genie is out of the bottle and what we do with it is up to us. For some it is a weapon or a thing for malicious intent, but for many it is hope and the breathe of life. The chains of oppression are broken when free and unfettered knowledge is allowed to be exchanged. A brave new world was shaped the day the internet was born and life as we knew it will never be the same.

Filled with wretched things and overflowing with poison, a black heart is deadly. Lacking compassion and mercy, it is not a thing to be toyed with. Like a constricted serpent, it waits to bite it's next victim. If you fall into it, you may never be seen again.

I sit in the judgement seat awaiting my fate. I thought I could get away with it, but I was wrong. I didn't mean for it to happen, it seemed funny at the time. I didn't think the cat would really mind. Just a few pieces of tape on the little cats paws. I didn't think it would be that bad, now I wish I had used the dog. When the little cat was let loose he had a panic attack. He rolled and flopped trying to get it off and then I heard it go crash. Into the china cabinet, as he was headed for the door. I tried to catch it before it hit the floor. My mothers favorite china, a giant serving plate. Now I sit here waiting for my fate. I begged for here to punish me, but she said oh that will never do. I want this to be a family affair, I want your father here too.

Up before the sun filling a chest with ice. Drinks and sandwiches all neatly packed. Out to the lake, wait I forget my bait, turn around and find an open store. Back to the lake and put the boat in the water, head out onto the elusive monster fish. Settling into a quiet cove and begin to drown a worm, only to have the sun rise and blind you. Turn your boat around and reset to fish again. Then a power boat roars by from the lake party of the night before. The birds squawk as they are driven from their morning repose the waves rock your bass boat and churn up the water. You bite your tongue as not to curse, as you wait for the fish to decide to bite. Hours pass and still nothing, perhaps you are in the wrong place. You pull up anchor and move down the way only to find a pontoon boat in your usual spot. Two gorgeous women are laying out in the morning rays, then an old hairy fat man lumbers around the deck. On you go to another quiet cove and settle in again. Then you realize that the fishing time has passed and the sun is high and hot. So you set up an umbrella and settle down to eat and take a small nap. Time passes and the sun moves and you awake to a sun burn. So you amble around and pull your gear together as you begin decide where to throw out a line. As the sun moves toward the west, you finally get a bite as you set the hook and real your first fish in. Behind you the sound of another boat and you turn to begin to curse. You see the fish and game warden smiling as he takes his ruler out, he grins that its too small and you have to throw it back. After a thorough inspection and a look at your license, he bids you a good day. Meanwhile another hour has passed and you are tired but resolve to fish anyway. So as twilight falls, you have three or four good sized catches as the mosquitos begin to swarm. So you decide to call it a day as you head back in, but your motor dies because your out of gas. So with your wooden paddle in hand you head back towards your boat slip that seems miles away and you begin to contemplate the lies you will tell about how your day went and the one that got away.

People lie dying in the street and we look the other way. The innocent are murdered in their mothers womb and we have noting to say. Children and women are abused and we turn a deaf ear. When we come to our end, what will we say? When we are called into question, will their blood be upon our hands?

Sitting on an old creaky porch wrapped in a shawl. I open a faded photo album and begin to look at the pictures with in. I see images of youth where I had great beauty. I see toothless smiles of children. I look at birthdays and weddings and pick out who was not there. I remember the laughter, joy and sorrows as if it were yesterday. I turn each page with care looking at each one as if  were a priceless gem. I relish my book of memories as a treasure to be kept and passed on so others may relive the days gone by and keep a part of their life with them when they to have grown with the passing of time.

When all eyes can see beyond our own prejudices. When all hearts openly embrace another's ideals. When tolerance is not a watch word, but a way of life. When agreeing to disagree is not in our vocabulary, then the human equation will finally add up to all people being equal.

He came in great humility, not having a name of prominence. His family was of a simple kind, or to the the world it seemed. Yet his father had a kingdom waiting for him to return. He gave up all he had to walk on dusty roads, from Bethlehem to Egypt, then again in Nazareth. All he did with in sacrifice, and for the fathers will. What it cost for him to sacrifice, no one can ever tell. The stories about his great deeds have been written and retold, but to many the truth remains unknown. For what he did wasn't for fame or fortune you see. He was beloved from the beginning, he was the first you see. He came to offer redemption, he came to set the captive free. He came and died a sinners death, because he so loved me.

In a dream, I see the white snow covering the landscape. All is pristine and white, like a blank slate. The flakes can each be seen, an individual master piece carved to it's own design. I feel no chill from the cold, only peace and harmony. I walk barefoot into the white and realize that I left no mark. The snow felt soft beneath my feet, but I walked as light as air upon it. Then looking back, I saw no imprint. I looked around and saw that my clothing had become radiant white. I wondered for a moment what this meant, then a inner voice said that this is your story. The snowfall of heaven has wiped your slate clean and you may write your own verses. What you imagine will be so and what you do not wish will not be. I awoke from the dream and looked around and saw snow begin to fall. I realized that I had been to another world where all things are possible, but for now I must walk through this life in hopes of reaching my dream.

Twirling around in your embrace beneath a glistening sky. Lights from a thousand galaxies shine down with ancient light as we bask in the glow of love. Wrapped up in each others arms, we forget our cares as we move to the music that is in our hearts. Enjoined as one soul, we are knit together. Our fate joined until eternities end. I look into your eyes and see the reflection of a single star that twinkles just for our love and I simply melt into your gaze as we are dancing under the stars in a celebration of our love.

While walking on a path that I had chose, I came to a split in the way. To choose or not to choose was the question that perplexed me to this day. I could not go back the way I had came, for the doors had closed behind me. I could only go forward, but which path to choose. I sat for a while and pondered the decision, weighing each option carefully. Finally I walked down the way that seemed to fit my life's plan only to have a some regret. Then at the next juncture of my life, I looked back over both paths and found they both lead me to the same place.

Pens have been silenced and quills no longer spew forth words. Chirps, tweets and post have taken the place of polite communication. Letters are now seen in a museum and one blurb can be around the world in a moment. Oh how it grieves the soul to see the art of relating diminished to nothingness. Were Shakespeare to see the folly, he would shake his head in disbelief. Samuel Clemens might lay down his pen and return to a river boat captains ways. Lord Byron would lament and Mr. Poe would brood in a dark and morbid way. What shall become of the future generations, who have lost their way. To even be able to form two coherent sentences may be too much to ask of them. Oh how do you mourn the death of the written word?

The canopy comes alive with sound, as the sun begins to rise and the forest begins to rouse. Parakeets and Macaws spread their wings and welcome the warmth of the golden sun. Flamingos rise from their hiding places, a new day has come. The tree top canopy is alive with song and chirping, a delicate balance has struck natures cord as life begins a symphony. All things resonate in harmony moving at the simplest ripple. The steam rises from the forest floor giving cover to magnificent butterflies that spread their wings to fly. The dawn in the rain forest brings a wondrous world to life.

Can I share your pain, can you lend me your sorrow, if only for a little while. Let me have some of your misery, let me cry with you. If you can give me part of your burden, then I will take some of your sadness too . Then you can find rest and perhaps some joy. I will hold your worry for you, don't be in a hurry to get it back. I will keep it safe until you need it again. It is often easy to share your laughter, and to share your love, but as a true friend, I will ask if I can share your pain. Because I cannot be happy, until I see you smile again.

Shattered pieces of ceramic falling off of a roof top, adorning the ground in a colored mosaic, they refract the light of the morning sun. Piece by piece I move them around and place them where they seem to fit. Bringing a tapestry into focus, they become part of the landscape and form an image of what they wanted to be. Tired of sitting on a hobble of a house, they broke away and found a new purpose sitting on the ground waiting to emerge as weather worn pieces of faded color in different shades waiting for someone to put them together into the image of beauty that was screaming to be seen.

The Sky becomes dark and gray and the wind howls and turns cold. The sun is covered in a dark Veil and it's warmth cannot be felt. Distant Thunder tells of a coming storm. The horizon turns to a misty silver as the fierce raindrops fall. Many people run for cover and hide in the shelter of their homes, but a Dusty and tired farmer Stands in his field alone. He picks up clumps of parched Earth and then falls down to his knees and he sits quietly as he listens to the Thunder and feels the coolness of the breeze. What to one person may be a disaster to another is a bounty. For many days he's waited for the clouds to roll in and for the rain to fall. In what seems to be a dark hour, this man's blessings have come to call.

The world screams about the insanity of violence, want and need. The world kicks and screams in a fervent rage against order and justice. That which is deemed right is not wrong. Persecution is everywhere and a different opinion is now a crime. All has become chaos and many scream for salvation. Many want a savior, but not on the saviors terms. They want salvation tailor made to their specific needs. In all of the tumultuous ravings the simple message is getting lost, the salvation that they long for is already here and God hasn't gone anywhere,we have simply stopped listening to what God has to say.

Circular white stones specifically placed to accentuate the lay out of the land. A masonry separating the patch of earth from the outside world. Delicate roses planted in a specific place. Dark earth exposed to the sun mixed with the right compost. The dank smell that permeates the air. Beautiful blossoms of all colors that glisten with dew in the morning sun. I place I like to sit and think while enjoying the fragrances that blend with the smell of earth. Flowers of elegance, that give me such joy in my rose garden.

In the world that is self absorbed and immersed in darkness, let each one of us that walk in faith be a light. Shine in the night and in the day time, cast out the shadows and bear the burden of your fellow person. Show kindness and patients and forebear cruelty. Stand firm on the principals of justice and faith. Embody all that is good and shun wickedness. Be watchful of the path that we walk and consider each other that if one shall fall, that we will pick that person up. In these things let our lights come together and form a beacon of hope that others might follow the example and walk the path of righteousness.

I was born in a quiet town in America, my sister came from a desert in Sudan. I have a brother in Mexico that likes to play soccer and another in China who likes to swim. We are all of one race, that call human. Though we come from different places, we are all the same. We were born under the same sun and crave the same things. Our hopes and our dreams are not so much apart. When I speak to one of my siblings, I talk of the same dreams. A longing for family and freedom. Distance cannot separate what we feel. Skin color can not change where we are from . We born of the human race, filled with the same fears and basic needs. To everyone with whom I connect, you are my family, brothers and sisters all of human kind.

Tides shift and ideals change, as the world goes through transition. Tensions rise between the old and new paradigm as philosophies change between the old and the new. Turmoil ensues as the causalities rise and both sides let blood flow. New rulers rise that are mired down in the old ideologies while new ways are created by those who wish to mover forward, but are held back by the shackles of fear that keeps others from embracing change. So a storm rises and chaos erupts as old generations pass and new ones come into being. The lightning flashes and the thunder claps as the world goes through the pains of the climate of change.

What if there was no third cross on that faithful day? What if Jesus said this to hard, I will find another way. What if the blood was not shed by Gods perfect lamb? What if ten legions of angles had been called to break his bands? Where would the world be right now and how would we live here below, knowing that we were found not worth his time? What if he had said no?

Born into poverty, I was told I could not. I was told I should not. I rose from the depth of my situation and set myself on a path of achievement and discovery. I did not let what I was given stop me from achieving my dreams. I came to understand that I alone define myself. I cannot let another define me. I discovered with in my own self that I do matter.

I can't believe I did it. They say not do it, but I did it anyway. I hope it will not hurt me, but how can you really tell. This morning my head is pounding and I have gut wrenching pain. I can barley walk to the bathroom. I will never do this again. The last time I did this, I said the same thing. Oh it hurts to breathe, I wonder if it is in my gut or my head. I can't imagine it can really hurt me, I mean it was supposed to be dead. How can something live in Tequila that is 100 proof. I hope it was dead and that is the honest truth. They told me you shouldn't do it, but I guess I will have to learn, that you should never drink so much Tequila that I swallowed the worm

Dawn comes too early, I am not in the mood for morning. Like a grumpy cat I sneer at daybreak. Noonish is a better to start my day. That is why coffee is my first thing to do everyday. Home made Java, that old cup of Joe. Steaming hot aromatic and black. I mixture to stir the senses, just what the doctor ordered. A shot to perk me up and revive me to the world. From no whip latte to the espresso double shot. From Colombian dark roast to French Vanilla, what ever it takes to jump start my heart is what I desire. So if you hear weird noises at 5 am, don't be alarmed. The world is not ending, nor is there an earth quake. It is most likely me and my coffee *** whirring in an attempt to make espresso for myself.

Around a sharp curve on a urban highway there are red splotches and streaks. What to some appears to be random marks are a testimony to the lack of care some people take. At high speeds and under the influence of various things, unsuspecting souls have left their mark on the high stone wall that supports an overpass. One by one they have left graffiti on the wall that was stained with the blood of the unsuspecting souls who did not heed the warnings and took the curve way too fast.

Oh youthful brow that bears the golden crown. She sits upon her throne of stone. Looking out on her kingdom across vast fields. She rules her subjects with generosity. The Honey Bee and the Daffodil reside in her kingdom among her army of other subjects. The golden Dandelion so regal sits as her proud army. She sees those who have aged into white puffs of fuzz and she promptly frees them from their stem. Stomping lightly between the golden flowers, she sends her children to the wind. On a warm summer day, the lively queen, with her golden crown and woven locks of hair. She is loved by all of her kingdom, even if only until the wind comes around and finishes dispatching her subjects away.

Twitter Snapchat Instagram Pinterest Facebook and emails full span. Social media belongs to the left of right-wing opinions it is bereft. If you speak about Jesus, if you say that liberal protests are filled with hate. Then you're called a fascist and your accounts they will delete. So if you're on social media, be wary of the Trap. Being a conservative is not where it's at.

I sit on my front porch quietly and watch the rain drops fall. I see glints of faint light through thinning Grey clouds. I look at the rain as it sparkles like a thousand diamonds coming from the sky. Silver lights dazzle me in a spectacular show of natural wonder. I look at the beautiful silver tapestry that is painted in the sky. I reflect on my life and what is still to be done. I feel so small compared to greater scheme of things. I let myself blend into the wonders of nature and become a part of the tapestry like the silver in the rain.

Hair covered in white flakes like a dusting of jewels from heaven. Cheeks rosy red from the cold. Mittens and a jacket tight upon her, her laugh is like music of another world. Filled with joy as she tosses snowballs at me, eyes full of light and life. A smile that could melt the coldest heart and a soul as gentle as the first snow fall. Her embrace is like spring in December. A love that has no end. The light of her caring brings joy where ever she goes, to her everyone is a friend. What could I have done to deserve her caring and attention. Only heaven could have made such a perfect love, a snow angel sent from heaven to love me and give me a gift that I do not deserve.

Upon worn cobblestones barefoot I go. Prancing by a babbling brook, across an ancient bridge, of like manner. Old mortar and well worn stones beneath my feet. The coolness arises through me giving me a chill, as I watch minnows dash about below in the clear dark water. On the path I go, exploring the dark wooded trail. Looking at thickets of bushes, wondering what mystical creature might be hiding there in. Onward I go on my journey, until the path comes round again to an open way. A clear gravel road gleaming of white stones, I leave the path and venture onto it, wondering where my next journey will lead me.

A war has been fought in foreign countries and in streets. In school houses and church houses, in courtrooms and in the media. Is it wrong, or is it right. Drugs and human sexuality, what is right? People are willing to risk life and freedom to make their own choices. War has been raged against the ideals of personal choice. One way hasn't worked, perhaps another should be tried. As long as no one else must pay for your choices or is affected in their own lives, perhaps letting us choose for ourselves is the right path at this time.

I hate you and I want you to die. Your immature and you cannot be responsible. Back and forth the words fly. Doors slam, and tempers flare. A child rebels and a parent cries. Plates are shattered and harsh words are said. A door slams shut and a heart is broken. Lives are torn apart when we sling arrows of discontent at one another.

I look at the Peach blossom dancing fragrantly in the sun. I smell it's sweet nectar and cannot wait for it to fade, bringing forth delicious, golden and red fruit. Though I will feel saddened when the blossoms fade, my sorry will not last to long, once the trees are fully ripe with Peaches that I love to eat so much.

The streets run red with blood. The war has at last come home. The watchman has failed and the battle is on our door step. In a fight for our live even our way of life. We unfold our armor and raise our banners in preparation for what may be our last fight. In the halls of reason, our words have failed. The tide of carnage is too great, the hope of peace has sailed. So gird your ***** for battle, stand for the innocent that cringe in fear. Let ring the battle horn and see that battle is near. From corner to corner through out every street, let our prayers rise up and shake the heavens until our enemies suffer defeat. Let our nation be returned from the hand of the oppressors and the deceitful, let righteousness once again prevail. Let not the streets run again red with blood, let not our faith fail.

Drawn between pages one and two, making the social media rage and angrily stew. Pulled apart in the internet, sectioned piece by piece. Thus goes the crucifixion of my character with every single tweet. Posting to face book rocks the internet. Oh but their not done tormenting me yet. All of the pages rave about what was I said, your not being berated unless your misquoted at least ten times, but not to worry your cover shot will be just fine. Now days with fame and fortune what is in a name, just be forced to the cyber walk of shame. You will be a star and obtain riches galore, just because your crucified as someone's little *****.

Like a Black Dahlia, she sits in solitude. Her Essence is intoxicating and draws you in with her mysterious ways. To touch her is a delight, but be careful you don't get lost in her. For what may appear to be a delicate flower, is simply an enticement to get you into her web. In truth she's poison, she has been the ruin of many men. So if she happens to Blossom in your path, beware the dark flower.