Doylies and lace table cloths adoring dark wood tables. Lamps of brass and crystal sit politely  on top of them. Flowers in a vase, fresh cut and arranged just so. The rugs are well beaten, fresh and soft to the touch. A light hearted tune plays in the back ground, soft enough to be secondary, but lively enough to be noticed as one enters the room. Couches and chairs are positioned correctly as to allow guest to see their hostess with ease while being able to take in the beauty of the room lit up by natural light. All is tranquility and resonates with the refinement of a proper lady who when called upon to entertain is in a proper place.

Oh let my soul be down cast and let the lord be set upon high. Let the mountains tremble at his coming. Let me be as the dust and he as the  mighty Eagle that takes flight as the wind. Let my soul contemplate the ways of my goings and comings and meditate on the instruction of the lords wisdom. Let my soul lament it's folly and sing in the morning with the new day the praises of the lord of host. Let me seek out the council of the lord in humility and with reverence beg his pardon, that I might find rest all of the days of my life.

Sitting on a stone by a slow flowing stream. I close my eyes and feel the Moss beneath my feet. I hear a bird chirping in the tree above me, I can hear the water as it washes over smooth stones. The wind gently blows cool air around me and I can feel the rays of the sun shining through the clouds. In moments of solitude, I can reconnect to who I am and refocus on my life. It is in a quiet place that I feel most alive.

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.

Grey skies and low hanging clouds make some people blue, but I see fun where they see gloom. If no rain ever came, then we couldn't splash in puddles. If it never got cold, then we would not know about ice or ice cream. If the ground never got wet, then we couldn't make mud pies. If there were no clouds, then we couldn't see funny shapes in them. If no water fell to the earth, then we would not have flowers after the spring showers. So though the day might be cloudy and overcast, there is a lot to be said for a rainy day.

I walked among the graves and saw many a religious and pious image, until I came to one lonely but grand grave. Upon the finely hewn stone was the image of a raven made from dark marble. It was weather worn, but still glistened in the sun. I thought how peculiar to see such a thing among all of the crosses and angels that people use. As I got closer to the monument, I noticed it's shiny eyes. They reflected the light from the dreary overcast sky. As I started to move away, I thought I saw the statue move. Then I dismissed it as a fanciful thought. It was then that I heard a cry of caw caw from behind me, I turned to see the head stone empty and a dark raven flying away.

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.

Most people will not acknowledge them but miracles happen everyday. A persons incurable cancer disappears, a person survives a horrific accident without a scratch. Other miracles happen, but we do not want to believe. A scientist makes a ground breaking discovery that can cure an incurable disease. Mankind does feats of engineering that science fiction writers only dreamed were real. A person who seemed doomed, finds redemption and kindness, some people say it cannot be real. I tell you miracles are everywhere, if we only choose to see them. We too can do miracles if you only choose to believe in them. Give a hopeless child a book and a meal, share a tragedy with someone whom you have loss in common, help that soul heal. Give a thirsty person a glass of water plant a seed of hope. Tell them that it will rain tomorrow and they will have more than enough to drink. You ask me if miracles are real, I say they are you see. Miracles need not come from a God or scientist, they can start with you and me.

I try to read what is in your eyes, they say that they are the window to the soul. I shiver when you stand next to me. I know that we are friends, but I would like it to be more. I am filled with hope, some of the signs are there, but I have to be sure. I will only give my heart away once, so I must get it right. I just need to know before I go crazy, are you in love with me?

They cry about injustice but then want to persecute the rest of us. They say they don't have enough, then they destroy others property. They demand that the government give them equality , but then try to take away what makes us free. Civil rights are only for those who are woke, it might be funny but it isn't a joke. Our leaders aren't what they used to be, they are now friends of tyrany. If we don't say what they want to hear, then they surpress free speech everywhere. Without one nation under God we are divided. So the die is cast it has been decided. Through lies and subversion they have cut down the tree of liberty. You can only be right if you believe what they say. Free will has been taken away. Can it get worse, yeah you bet! Tell me are you WOKE yet?

My garments are tattered and my shoes have become worn, from many a wear mile that I have walked. I have climbed many mountains and weathered many storms and my sight sometime grows a little dim. Despite the burdens that weigh me down, I still look towards home and the day I receive a robe and crown. When my last labor is over and my work on earth is done, I will lay down my mortal coil. In a moment of celebration and heavenly elation, I will finally receive a robe and crown. A new garment forged of the righteous work I have done, not for earthly glory was it wrought. The helping hand I offered and the witness I gave, was all for the father who waits to greet me. When at last I see Heaven, I will receive my prize, when the master gives me a robe and crown.

A Rose blooms in it's own season. It is covered in thorns but is delicate and filled with beauty. For a moment it lives then fades with the wind. Withered into nothingness. As the Rose so is a persons life. It is delicate and on a thread. It is full of thorns but holds beauty and in it's own season it will blossom. Then in a moment fade away into nothingness.

Once there was a stony garden, where nothing grew at all. The dirt and rocks lay dusty and forgotten. Then one night a man came there to pray, his tears fell like rain. In great distress, he unburdened his soul until they came and took him away. At the place where he had knelt, his tears had soaked the ground, it all seemed in vain some would say. They took the man away and the let him die, then they placed him in the cold, cold earth. For 3 days he was mourned, then on the morning of the next day, they found his grave was empty. On that very same morning, at the dawning of first light, a passer by happened on a remarkable thing. From the ground where the tears had fallen, a vine had sprung up over night. The vine clung to the rock upon which the man leaned and it used it to climb up to the sun. The as by a miracle the plant exploded in magnificent blooms and Roses bloomed in the barren garden. Now there garden is still there and the mans memory has gone from that place, but every year the roses bloom. It's vines run far and wide in this once barren place, because the Rose of Sharon once bloomed in this garden place.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. What is treasure to one is trash to another. What is precious to one has no meaning to another. Life imitates Art or does Art imitate life. What one creates another seeks to destroy. Our Art is part of who we are, but one cultures perspective can be offensive to another. All things have beauty if someone is willing to see it. The true Art comes from what we perceive through the lens of our own understanding or what we are willing to study through the perspective of another.

Violets lain out across the field, Purple the color of royalty. I put on my cape and walk among the Golden Rods, barefoot across the Purple Violets. I feel the cool petals beneath my feet as I step delicately. I am royalty a princess born. Noble to a great house that has done great things. For a few moments the birds chirp and sing of my beauty. I dance before the royal court and dazzle them all. Then my dream passes and I fall into the a Scarlet carpet of flowers and take a little nap, still dreaming about the great things I will do.

Feelings mingled with fire burn the skies blood Red! The bridal bed forsaken, the groom lies dead! White turned to Crimson before the wedded bliss was sealed! She never agreed to be a part in this deal! So now she flees the wrath of those who would hunt her down! Still filled with rage, she sheds her clothing like a second skin. Baring all for the world to see, she jumps into the sea. Behind her lays revenge and sorrow, fueled by rage she seeks her own tomorrow! No bargain will determine her fate! If it is death then so be it, but vengeance will have to wait! Born again across another border, she climbs out of the chilling water beyond the reach of her persecutors! Into the arms of a waiting true love, he takes her to a secret place and there a bond is made! Ever should he show her his loyalty, lest he feels the wrath of a scorned woman's blade!

The white walls have turned Grey and are cracked and in need of repair. The harsh words that were spoken have ceased to matter. The air is thick with the smoldering remains of a long fought battle. Hearts are shattered and the ground is white with the salt of many tears that have been cried. Hope is a wilted flower in a garden bereft of life. No birds sing, only mourning can be heard as sighs of anguish rings out. The world that two people built lies in ruins. All is Ashes and none remain to remember why, or perhaps to even care.

The stars shine in a cloudless sky, as the earth turns. People sleep in peace as our fighter jets fly and our satellites keep watch in the night. Ships sit on the horizon as the watch changes unnoticed. Children dream under the stars and stripes in many lands, because our soldiers are at the gates. A world waits for dawn so that sleepy eyes can wake. People go out to play and children don't have to worry. A silent night watch was kept by America on land, sea and in the skies.

On Bended Knees with tearful eyes in a quiet lonely place, a broken soul soundly pleads asking for heaven's Grace. The wounding is deep and the pain will not go away. The world does not understand ,or does it even care. Yet when the silent prayer reaches heaven, it is a thundering echo there. Before the throne of God Satan trembels in fear as the gates of hell are rattled buy simple silent prayer.

I saw a beggar last night standing out in the cold. I heard him plead for a few coins, he was very old. I gave him two dollars and of that I felt ashamed. I wondered what could come of it so little that I gave. Then when I slept, I began to dream. I saw the old beggar again and he spoke to me. He said I should not worry, for what I did was enough. He said that he was able to spend the night riding a transit bus. While on the bus he was warm and could sleep. He said that the next day, things began to change. He showed me where he walked down an empty street. A woman in a fancy car, he happened to meet. As she got out and passed him by. An earring fell to the ground and she didn't bat an eye. The old beggar picked it up and said excuse me ma'am, I believe this is your as he put it in her hand. The woman stood for a moment then began to cry. She thanked him for being so kind. She said these were my mothers and I could not stand to loose them. She gave him a reward and sent him on his way. I then saw how the money changed the beggars life. He had other good fortune and no longer was in need. All of this because of a few dollars a simple sewn seed. I then awoke suddenly, not feeling so bad. My sadness was gone and I felt very glad. For what we think is nothing, to someone else may be great indeed. So do not despair or worry when you sew a kind deed.

To all who will hear and give heed, I will proclaim that I will remember you. To all who are weary, I say I will speak I over you. To all who will accept mercy, I will ask that peace will find you. I will seek favor for you , as I pray.

The world moves around me and time marches on. The conflicts of life are abundantly clear. The turmoil of my emotions wants to overflow the walls of my soul. The forces of nature are all against me. While I am tempted to run away, I must not fear. In certain times, I must plant my feet firmly on the rock and watch as I stand still. It is in this hour when God will come to move. Though I might not see his hand, it will be there. Then just as quickly as the storms of live overtook me, a ray of light will pierce the dark clouds and all will be well, because I had the faith to wait on God, as I stand still.

Looking into a mirror, I see my beauty fading. My eyes are showing signs of age. Youth is fleeting and my bones ache. A soul that was once vigorous is now weary. My hair has lost it's luster and I get cold all of the time. The warm sun does little to give me comfort,the bright light hurts my eyes. Loud noises disturb me and I just want to sleep. What has come over me I cannot say. The doctor can find nothing wrong, and yet my spirit finds no joy in life. If nothing changes I will just waste away. Were it over quickly, it would be a blessing, but unless I can will myself to cease to exist, I will suffer a slow death as my spirit loses the will to live.

Sitting quietly by the seashore where fishing  boats go out before the dawn. Waves and cold wind wash on to a Jetty and make you feel alive. The summer brings new people, but they never choose to stay. When the leaves turn and winter comes, they quietly slip away. Time moves at it's own pace  and people change little in this place. Everyone seems to know everyone else . As the seasons come and go, Christmas is a special time, when family and friends gather together to celebrate unity. Hard work is called for to live, but compassion and caring make life worth while. Such are the joys and challenges of living in a small New England town.

Across Green valleys over snow capped peaks, and through scorching deserts I walk on a journey home. From distance lands I come, bringing back my weary soul. In the name of a country that has all but forgotten me, I return to my greatest treasure. As I walk down stone streets wet with rain, I hear laughter and see a familiar door. From inside the sounds  warm me. The cold of duty recedes from my weary soul. I open the door and I hear every creak and groan. As I step through I see the reason I kept my oath and fulfilled my duty. I see all that I hope and believe in as I realize a forgotten dream and let my soul rest in the love and safety of my home.

The flags fly in tribute, the grass is cut and the stones glisten white. A fallen hero lies quiet until the eternal call comes. When you look at the name and the place, you wonder who he was. A story that lays untold is a story like mine and yours. He was someone who loved his country and was not afraid to answer the call. When it came to defending freedom, he stood proud and tall. He didn't want to lay here, but he knew that is how it might one day end. This could be anyone of us whose love of country is so great, that we would be willing to die for the land of the free and the home of the brave.

Tall live Oak trees tower over the landscape. Willow trees reach out and touch the ground with it's limbs. Children run in between the branches at play. A warm breeze blows across the fields that are ripe with corn and cotton. People sit by a river bank with a hook in the water watching the deep dark water flow by. Families gather to cook out and share stories as generations pass on from one to the next. The sun rises and sets gently as the day passes with ease of life. The heart of the summer brings out the best of life in the south.

My life would be in turmoil but for my guiding light. I would be lost except for my focal point. You are radiant beyond the light of the stars of the heavens, your love shines in you like the mid day sun. Through the storms and the dark days, you have guided me. On the sea of life, you direct me. You are the point of stability that brings me to safe harbor. Without you I would be lost. So know that I love you and that you are my compass. As long as I see you I have a star to guide me safely home.

I sit in my rocking chair and look out the window, I see the Seasons changing around me. My world has gotten smaller, now that age has taken hold. Once I could go where I would, now I am restricted. If it's too hot or if it's too cold, my joints seem to bother me and my energy quickly flows away. My grandchildren used to visit often, but now they seldom come. When they were younger I could see the world through their eyes as I would sit and listen to the stories for hours, but those happenings were in days gone by. So now I wait on people to come, strangers that I do not know. They talk to me kindly, but they are only paid to be here. Those whom I cherished, have lives of their own to live. I hold no animosity toward them, for I know that this is just how it is. I look out the window frequently, wondering when I will see death coming to call. So far he hasn't paid me a visit, but perhaps it won't be that long. As the world around me closes in, it becomes harder for me to get around. I'm left only to look at the things around my room and to listen for Quiet Sounds. It won't be long now I think, when that which I once feared will come and set me free. It is my belief and Hope that when the veil is pulled back, that there will be a new door for me to walk through. For the world is getting even tighter around me and it can't push me much further in. I long to see a quiet end, and for a brand new journey to begin.

The needle in my arm just hangs there. The burning sensations have disappeared. I am becoming numb as I turn ashen. I see the lights becoming a blur. As I lay on my bed, I think finally I have killed my pain. My breathe becomes shallow, each one seems like my last. I can no longer hear the noises, everything is simply a buzzing in my ears. Perhaps this is it, perhaps I will not come back this time. As I slip into unconsciousness, I feel a slight chill ,as I enter the blackness the world grows cold around me.

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

I looked at my familiar life and though what about a change. I wondered how it would feel to wake up in a strange place. So I looked around and found someone who was willing to exchange. I went to live in their world and became a stranger for a day. When I woke up my first morning in someone else's house, I found that things were out of place and it took a while to get around. From making my morning meal to walking out into the street. All things were unfamiliar but I began to find my way. I saw an old woman with groceries, trying to get out of a car. I smiled and held the door for her and she waved and went on her way. Though I didn't speak her language, I communicated just fine. She understood the language of kindness and responded in kind. As I walked through the streets and shop exploring as I went, I began to feel at home with my surroundings and the people that I met. while their culture was different from my own and it took time to communicate. I was well received and shown the kindness and respect that I was able to give. As the sun went down and I retired to my bed, images and sounds were rushing through my head. As the next morning came and I woke to a different sunrise. I was no longer a stranger and my surroundings felt familiar. I was willing to open up and learn about other people and a new place so I was only a stranger for a day.

When I was lost and in need of guidance, I happened upon a stranger as I traveled along. He asked me how I was and gave me comfort. He understood what I was missing and was willing to listen. As we parted, I felt a new peace in life. I went my way and later on I did the same for another person to whom I was a stranger. I know not where the stranger who met me went to nor do I know what effect I had on another life. I only know that if not for a stranger in my path, I might have taken a very different road.

I settle among the Golden flowers on a woven blanket to watch the children play. I turn the pages of a favorite book and wile the day away. With my bonnet in place, I let the suns rays warm my body. I lounge amongst the fields as an invisible part of a painting that is being created by a master in some other time. The sky is different hues of blue and the grass is green and gold, depending on where you look. All of the pieces are in place as the master piece is finished. A work done almost to perfection, entitled simply A Summers Day.

I adorned my house with Pink seashells because they let me hear the waves roar. I planted my yard full of wild flowers so I could have bouquets all around me. I made my windows out of the bottoms of colored bottles because I wanted to be bathed in rainbows when the sun rises in the morning. I made my front steps out of tea cups and marbles because they glisten when the light hits them. I built a walk way of sand, so I could feel the beach between my toes when I walk outside. I built my home to suit my personality, because I want it to be unique like me.

My breath grew short and I began to feel faint. I was awash in a sea of blackness. Then I felt a hand grab me and pull me to the side, I saw a fuzzy figure, but could not discern who it was. In a moment of desperation, I ask who the person was? The only response was I receive was that I am a friend and a foe. I was puzzled for a moment, still in a confused state. I had been in a dark empty void, now I was no where and somewhere. I asked the ghostly image, why I am I here? It responded, I am not truly sure, I only know this is where you are supposed to be. Time passed, but I had no sense of it. Then the shadowy figure said that it was time for me to go. As quickly as I fell into the black void, the light surrounded me. I remember passing quickly through many layers of light. Then my eyes opened and I was back on the mortal plain, people hovering over me, working on me. I went black again, but not like before, this time I only slept. In one moment of a dream, I caught a glimpse of the former ghostly figure that I had briefly spoken with. I then awoke and had clarity of mind. For a brief moment, I had a talk with death. In truth a friend to some who are seeking it and an enemy to those who are not ready for it, and ever so often, a temporary stop on another part of a life's journey.

Threading the lines of a poem and blending the images of a story, the writer weaves the fabric of imagination into the manuscript. In speech or written word, the magic is cast as the audience becomes enthralled with the passion and intensity that the author puts into the tale. The whole is a tapestry of words created by the person who puts their soul into their story.

Walking in a market place with cobble stone streets, I watch vendors set up their stands. I see all of the wares that they sell and I take in the scents and sounds of my surroundings. Some greet me good morning and offer me a bite or two of what they have to sell. I sample a little here and a little there, then move on with a polite good day. I listen to music being played by a street performer early in the day, I put a few dollars in his hat as I stop to watch him play. I move on to more sights and stop by a fountain to watch the water flow and children play. I absorb all of the things I have experienced and sample a life surreal.

I knock on a door dark as Mohogany . The heavy brass knocker doesn't thunder but taps lightly. I anticipated a forebodeing when this moment came. On the doorstep of eternity I wait for my opening. As suddenly as I drew my last breath, the last barrier fades away and light overwhelms me. As my soul surrender I think to myself, this isn't so bad after all.

I rest under the starry sky in your arms. I feel your warmth and I am blessed. At the coming of  day I must leave you, no matter how much I would like to stay. I long to hold you always and I pray that night will never end. Though I know that I must be to my labors that I will relish when I can hold you again. So in obedience to heavens dictates, I must work with my hands. At first light I will be going, though I profess that it is more than I can stand. So to heaven I commit you my love and ask that your kept safe while I am away. Until the shades of night are falling and I can hold you again.

Reality lies fractured around me, the world has gone into a spiral of madness. No matter I look, the reflection looks back at me through the eyes of insanity. I walk barefoot on the shards of a thousand broken mirrors as I try to find the reflection that is my true self.

I sit on the edge of the abyss and look into the darkness hoping that something will look back. I revisit wounds that have been carved into my psyche and tear at the stitches that bind them. I cannot let them heal because already there are too many emotional scars. So each time I torment myself reliving what I have done, unable to find forgiveness with in. I live in a hell of my own making, hoping that one day there will be an answer from the inner darkness and I will be able to end my own torment.

When peace resounds and you can do no wrong. When you have found a moment of perfection in life. When you know all the answers and have success beyond measure, know that it is not a dream. Not all days are stormy and not everyone is unlucky forever. From time to time favor will find you. So when you are walking in the peacefully valley beside the still waters, remember to give thanks. So that when the storm finds you again and the road becomes rough, you will not forget what it is like when you walked in blessings.

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.

Behold a single sapling growing in the edge of an open field. The off spring of a great oak, one of many. The Acorns are scattered by Squirrels and the wind and slowly over time the ones that survive take root. In 50 years, which is a small length of human time, the saplings have turned into mighty trees. A grove has been established and some of them are cut down to become lumber for a home. The trees that remain weep for the loss of their siblings, but on a clearing not so far away, they see what they have become. A house that holds a family and children's laughter, hopes and dreams. So one tree with a purpose grew others which in time had a purpose of their own.

Palm trees sway in the breeze as waves crash on the beach. The sun sets low over the horizon as the boat gently rocks just off of the shore. Paradise to some an escape to others. Cabanas are decked with blinking lights as people dance to the sound of the steel drum and the Mandolin. Coconut drinks are mixed with local spirits to bring good cheer. Dark and White *** are the mixers of choice as fish bake on open coals and ***** boil in a ***. Gifts are exchanged by the light of Tike torches and  bon fires. The moon rises over the ocean and a starry sky is beset like jewels in the night. All is at peace with a tropical Christmas .

The sun begins to set low and the shadows of night fall earlier. The wind changes and the sea begins to become restless. The warmth of a season is replaced by a familiar chill and the evenings are more for warm fires than swimming. The plants are beginning to fade and leaves show their age, as they begin to take on hues of the rainbow. I put away my sandals and find more appropriate shoes, as I watch the lazy sunny days slip away. I settle in for the inevitable change that must come to all things and take my last look at the summers end.

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.

When knowledge fails and wisdom will not be heard, it is at this point when we know that we are in love. At the end of reason, passion rules the day, for the heart wants what it wants and will not be denied no matter what our intellect might tell us is rational, love will win out over reason every time.

The sun has made it's journey from the east unto the west. I have labored all of the day now I take my rest. With all of my hard work behind me, I feel the cool of the night. I see the lights of my home and let my spirit rise in delight. Like a Moth ascending to the light of a shimmering moon, my soul leaps towards what waits on me as the sun goes down too soon. The simply joys of children's laughter and a loving wife's caress. These are the things that give my weariness rest. So as I let go of my cares and let my burdens melt away. I find joy and peace at the end of the day.