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 flag flies over a group of people, a building or a piece of land. It represents the ideals of those who posses it. They claim righteousness of their cause and prescribe their means to achieve their goal. They adopt aspects of what they believe and blend it into their way of life. There is no room for doubt. The uniform changes and the clothing is redone. The nationalities are different, but the theme is the same. There is no way but my way, there is no one but my people. All others are not worthy and must relent or perish. Regardless of the land, the ideal or the race, the color of hate does not change

Anger foments in the minds of the young as parents pass on their failures and diminished dreams. They are taught to despise another person for their success and for the fact that their family seems to have been left behind. They turn their rage inward, then it reaches a boiling point and they lash out. Striking at anything or anyone that they perceive is the cause of their misfortune. It matters not who they are, or where they are from, nor what their ethnicity is. All that matters is that they have rage in their hearts taught to them by someone else and that there is someone else to blame for their condition.

We are all different, no two are exactly the same. If only in subtle difference in some cases, we are not replicas of each other. Our skin may be a different hue from our brother or sister, but underneath we all bleed red. We may not agree on everything but we have common hopes and dreams. Humanity may be diverse, but we live on the same world. So how can we divide ourselves so readily? Some have enough some have very little. Some have more than they need. Forcing one to give to another does not make things equal, only when we learn compassion will we willingly share. Humanity is not just the color of skin, it is a common bond between us all. Until we learn to live under one blue sky and one yellow sun in harmony, we will not have peace no matter what we look like.

Living is found in many shades. When we are sad it is said that we have the blues. A whole form of music was created to celebrate our sadness. When we are jealous we are said to be Green with envy. The colors of spring and Emeralds is associated with life's jealous side. When we are angry, it is said that we see Red. Which can also be called the color of passion. When a woman becomes a bride, she is dressed in white as a symbol of purity. In a persons vocation they are separated into blue and white, the colors of their collar denotes their work. In all things life is filled with color. If not for color, we would live in a bland and pointless world.

Hopeless faces everywhere, lining up in cell blocks. More and more young people sent behind bars. Drugs again and again, no end to violence. Shootings rampant in minority neighborhoods, even with tough gun laws. Honest people can't walk the streets for fear of being shot for no cause. More and more are put behind iron bars to sit and wait for life to pass them by. Young lives wasted in a grey jail house. No hope for a future that is bleak. One group gets privilege, while another falls through the cracks of the system. Disparity in the sentence based on what kind of drug you were carrying. Guns are the answer to everything, shoot and **** with no reason. Getting life for a cheap pistol and a few grams. Grey are the walls and dark is the color of prison. Not the ones we build with concrete and steel, but the ones we create for ourselves by refusing to acknowledge the problem and change it.

Water falls from the sky when the ground is parched or nature needs to weep. The rain can be clear or silver, or perhaps grey or white. It depends on how the light catches, or on how nature feels. The water was once pure, then we had a hand in it. Now sometimes the rain can even be black. The rain is part of the life cycle of all things. People and nature alike depends on it, so the color of the rain can tell a lot about what affect the things that we do will have on the way things live.

In all seasons there is beauty. In all things there is color. While winter is bleak to some, icicles shine like diamonds against a back drop of white as they hang from barren trees and evergreens alike. Spring comes and green is everywhere along with bursting buds and new flowers. Summer shows more flowers of the field along with shimmering sunlight that glistens off of morning dew that adorns purple morning glories. Then comes the fall with fields ripe to harvest, with golden grains and colorful pumpkins laying beside forest of colored leaves as the seasons change. In nature there is color in all facets of life. You just have to know what to look for.

Look at the sky and see how blue it is. See how it lives in harmony with all of the other colors that exist. The clouds are white, silver, black and grey. They all exist in harmony. See a sunset or a sunrise, the sky can be orange, gold or even red. What a wonder to see no contention between the different hues. So if we can take a lesson from the sky under which we all live, it is that different colors of things or people can live in harmony if they only try.

The world is in transition. The old things are fading into nothingness. Chaos has arisen from restlessness as the old gives way to the new. The journey will not be an easy one as for the fearful do not transition into new ideas. In the death throws of what has been, the struggle will claim it's share. In the end however, the inevitable will come to fruition as new ideas take the place of the old. A new day will come and life will be better for those who will embrace new things and move forward into a new and enlightened world.

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.

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

The rock that was cast aside has been laid as the corner of the foundation. Rock of ages that changes not, let me build upon thee. Be the strength upon which I stand when the storm does violent rage, give me refuge oh eternal rock, let me set my building sure on thee.

There are no hero's on the front lines. No one goes in seeking glory. Causalities are the result of generals and kings who cannot agree. We the soldiers suffer the losses. Friends fall in battle, and there is no fog in war. There are only enemies and bullets flying. At the end, both sides have bodies to heap up. Whether in the streets or on the battle field, there is no clear winner. There are only shattered bodies and those who have survived by some miracle, and have to live on with shattered minds. They relive the battle each day, recounting the losses of friends and trying to understand the cost of war.

Jazz belts out of a smoky club, as people dance outside on the street. Neon lights flash and displace the stars. The air is filled with the smell of Creole cooking as the atmosphere is alive with electricity. Old buildings adorn the streets, as ancient Oak trees adorned with Spanish moss stand as witness to all that goes on. The party goes on through the night and people revel in mirth and history of an old city that is filled with history and southern life. A flavor of many cultures that make New Orleans a wondrous place indeed.

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

On a cold and bleak morning the crowed gathered to Jeer. They did not want the innocent but the guilty to be set free. Though not long ago, they had wondered at his miracles, for now this is how it must be. Set free the murderer and hang the innocent on a tree. Beaten wounded and battered, he gave up his life for you and me. Then hanging on a rugged cross, the innocent carpenter built one last thing. He took the rough boards and 3 nails of the cross and made a bridge between God and man.

The timber is stained with the Crimson flow. The nail holes tell the story. The turning point of eternity, the place where all can become worthy. The Crimson flow that makes you white as snow. The place where a choice is made. On a barren hill, the cross road can heal it all.

Water flows freely and grace is abundant. The fountain rushes forth with crystal water. Clear and pure from beginning to end. It holds healing and brings redemption. Let all who will partake freely of the healing waters. Be cleansed and made whole by the flow. No wicked thing can come near, for it will be washed away. As the snow flees from the warmth of the sun, so does wickedness depart from the everlasting flow of water from the crystal fountain.

On Hallmark they come little love stories so sweet, so full of syrup that they will make you sick. Designer ****** mysteries that she baked, Aurora and her Tea garden oh so fake. Things written for bored housewives, neatly fitting into a niche to be over oh so quick, but in real life the charterers would likely be divorced or dead, or perhaps on drugs to deal with the cliches that fill their head. The cupcake movies that people write as dribble and mundane, they make real life look like it is insane.

Scars on my wrist and ankles from more than one time with a razor. Some people say I am crazy, others think I am lazy. They say I do not have the will to live or die. I just sit and cut some more and let them wonder why. I want to feel alive, I want to feel normal you see. No matter what I do, I just walk around in a haze. It just doesn't come and go, it can last for days. When I cut the places that I have let bleed before, I feel something clearly. The pain drives away the fog and lets me see what others see or at least that is what I think. Perhaps one day I will go to far, but for now I will just let the cuts speak for me. For they tell a story that I never could you see.

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

Vines are cut and clusters are pulled in. Vats are prepared and the grapes are thrown in. Then dark haired maidens with olive skin, step barefoot into the piles and the dance begins. Up and down they go with their delicate bare feet, their skirts raised high in natures serenade. With laughter and chatter they dance around, crushing the luscious fruit into a mire of pulp. From the white and amber mixtures, the natural juices flow. Into buckets and barrels the mixture goes. From central Italy, to the south of  Spain, dark haired maidens dance on the grapes. Following a tradition dating back hundreds of years, they dance with delight each time the grape harvest begins.

A piece of hell's gate fell to the earth. Black as Satan's soul. Found by something other than human but not wholly a beast. Dipped in molten rock and hammered into a desired shape. Sharper than Obsidian and colder than the icy heart of the deep sea. Formed to cut and whither with fear those who oppose any who wield it. The dark blade is the master and  not the implement, as it drains the life out of whoever holds it. Stealing souls to do the devils work.

When my humanity is forgotten and I don't seem to mind doing what feels good. When I lose my inhibitions and forget the teachings of wrong and right. When I forsake what is moral for what is wanted. When I give the devil his chance to play. When I become something wickedly playful, or uncaringly cruel. That is the darker side of me.

The light has faded from the sky and dark clouds have blocked out the heavens. The streets are filled with waste and buildings have been abandoned. Hope is missing from those who are left, despair can be seen in the faces that peer out from broken windows. The wealth of the land has been stripped away and poverty is all that remains. Justice is a  myth that it talked about in bedtime stories and brutality and want are all too real. In cities across the land this is the stark reality and a resounding truth. A once vibrant kingdom has become nothing more than a dark foreboding land.

I have a mirror cut from black glass, it stands in a frame hewn from dark wood. The surface is finely polished so that your reflection can be seen in the faintest light. Some people who see it think it is quite odd, but it is very practical you see. Because when I look in my dark mirror I see my truest self, not a pretty lie that the world wants me to see.

Covered in the darkest silk robes with lace gloves and silver chains adorning her face. Walking with footsteps that quietly echo like the brushing of stone from a sweeping broom. Her presence elicits both awe and fear! Her form moves beneath her dark veil , every motion is an inviting temptation to seduction. Her pail skin and dark lips offer a sense of foreboding. Her piercing eyes are full of longing, and the thoughts of wicked pleasures yet unknown. Many long to feel the sharpness of her Ebony nails, but few dare to try. For she is a dark mistress bound to a cruel and unforgiving lord, who does not like to share such peculiar treasures filled with other worldly delights.

I dare not take a drink or use a pill, for the beast will awaken again. I must stay sober and not let the monster out. Try as I might I fight against my mortal self. To let go and give control over is so easy, but would be wrong of me. So I sit here and fidget in cold contemplation as I think about trying to sleep. Even if I can close my eyes the nightmares will find me once again. I will see the horrors that I inflicted on others and watch my actions through surreal eyes. So I watch and I wait, holding on to what bit of sanity I have left, hoping that I will not give in to the darkness with in myself.

The path of least resistance may seem like the easiest one to take. The dark road may cover up our sins for a while, but sooner or later we shall run out of path and end up in a pit. So is it not better to walk in the lighted path where you can see the traps and avoid falling into the pit?

Walking in the light I fear that I have gone blind. I no longer see the difference in anything. I think it is time to cross over the imaginary line and live a little wild for a while. Perhaps if I don't rise until the sun goes down and stay out until the coming of dawn, then I can see clearly again and at least I will know right from wrong. So for now it is devil may care, that is the way things are going to be. So let the party begin and come take a walk on the dark side with me.

When the sun of innovation shines down and new creations replace the old problems of today. People will finally realize that killing for ideology is futile in it's nature. With the coming of amazing miracles of science, new ways of living will emerge. No longer will hunger and want reign in our world. New forms of wealth will become prevalent as the old things pass away. The horizons of man will expand beyond what we can ever imagine. The control of humanity will be wrested from the hands of the few and given to the ideals of the many. In this better world, we will solve our problems collectively and not just as one group. We will share the desire for peace and give each other hope, as we bridge the gaps that separate us and we shall then see the dawn of a new tomorrow.

The sun rises and the shadows fade. I wind down slowly and find my grave. Through an endless pattern of light and dark, I carry my curse. Each day I find the crypt that I call a bed. I slumber and pray that I will not see death. Then as the sun travels it's arch, the shadows begin to fall again. I slowly rise from the place where I will likely be buried, no one comes to call anymore so there is no one to find me. I simply slip out of my crypt a pail lifeless form, like a shadow or a ghost of my former self. I walk into the pail street lights and find my way to some place. I live in the night because the daylight hurts me so. Onward I go in this hellish existence, until the sun comes up and I must flee from  the daylight once again.

I saw the people standing around me and I heard the angry cries. I felt the cold rain falling down onto my face. I could barley stand because my legs were so weak. I had been beaten beyond any mans ability to stand. The screams and howls could not be distinguished. I only knew that I was at my end. A solider brought me forward then another man stood beside me. I saw the fear that he had. The crowd cheered for him and booed at me. I knew that my fate was sealed. I tried to scream as the put the thorns on my head and the blood ran down my face. I heard the taunts and felt the weight of the beam that I carried as I stumbled along. As I approached a lonely and barren hill, the screaming crowds seem to be filled with laughter. I looked through blood filled eyes and I could see ghostly images jeering at me. I felt the weight of the crossed beams becoming more than I could bear, then another person stood along beside me. He picked up the weight of my load and helped me along, until they laid me down on the cross. I felt each nail as it was driven through my hands and then I looked up at the heavens and tried to scream out why. As I was lifted into the air I felt the full weight of the guilt and shame that was all around me. I tried to free myself, but it was to little avail. I cried out but no one would hear me. Then in the distance I saw someone drawing near, a figure dressed all in white. As he came to me, I felt the pain being lifted and I swapped places with this man. Then I was standing at a distance and I saw him clear as day, he was on the cross where I had been. I then shot straight up out of my sleep and realized that I had seen what they had done to him. I fell to my knees with my heart breaking into a thousand pieces, I cried until the breaking of the dawn. Then when sleep again finally found me, the man met me in a distant and beautiful garden. I fell at his feet and asked why did this happen. He picked me up and simply said to me. You was what you should receive, but what I took on for you. I have forgiven all of your sins and now your free. I awoke with a new understanding of what should happen, the day I was crucified on that tree.

In a life well lived with not any particular care, I was brought to a sudden halt, by the girl with the Auburn hair. In one awkward moment, all of my intellect failed me. My heart lost it's rhythm and I could not speak. Time slowed to a crawl when I saw her green eyes and warm gentle smile. Something told me to stop and stare for a little while. All of the birds stopped singing and the sun would not move, the day my world stood still because of the love I felt for you.

The sky was dark and the sun did not shine. The crowds were deafening with their cries. Three lonely crosses stood on the top of a barren hill. In between two criminals they hung him on a tree. From the portals of heaven the angels watch in silence as all of heaven stood still. In agony their king was tormented, death loomed not far away. Though he did nothing wrong, the kings of angels was put to death. As he breathed his last, the rain began to fall. It wasn't an ordinary rain you see. As God turned his gaze away from all of the sins of man that were placed upon his son that they hung on a tree. The angels wept and their tears fell to earth below, the son of man was dead. For a brief moment, heaven knew sorrow, the day the angels wept and their king died for our sins.

Champagne corks popped and glasses were filled, the FBI had lost it's will! A deal was made for 30 pieces of silver, no one would be going up the river. From several venues they drank to the foam. There is no justice, we can now move on. No more does it matter that brave heroes died. No more does it matter that someone lied. To cover up their misdeeds, that was the plan. The day has come-it is here at last. The wicked have inherited the earth, a person's word no long has any worth. So spin what ever tale you like. Its all right now on the day that the truth died.

The morning is still dark and the sun has yet to find it's place, yet I awaken before the light begins to break the eastern horizon. I know not what shall transpire, I only know that possibilities lie before me. I will take one step at a time into the unknown. From there the roads diverge into many possible endings. I must simply step carefully and trust in wisdom and experience to guide me. If I am true to myself and show kindness to others. Then perhaps the day to come will be one of accomplishment and become rewarding as I approach it's end, knowing that I left behind me worthwhile things, instead of a dark and empty space.

It is almost surreal, the whole day became black and white. An echo could be heard for miles, or so it seemed to me. Standing in the grasp of stark reality, I fell to pieces. Like a building cracking under the pressure of a massive explosion. The force with which you shattered my world, would have made all war unnecessary, it flew into a million bits in one moment. The mind numbing pain that I felt from the white hot reality of your betrayal, could not be equated by anything in the normal sense. I could only feel the fusion of shock and disbelief as all of my realities melted and I was forced to reel from the emotional bomb you dropped on my heart the day you told me you no longer loved me.

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.

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

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

Arid dry unforgiving land, filled with terrible creatures and endless sand. You are clean and pure as your truth is bare for all to see. There are no groves of trees that dot your horizon, nor do creeping vines grow as places for  things to hide. The few simple plants that do grow in your burning climate are easily discerned. Thorns ***** and the Cactus fruit is enticing once you get past the prickly surface. Water is scarce and when you find it, you hold a treasure that is necessary for life. So while others may prefer a tropical paradise or the tall forest of the mountains, I will go to the desert, for the desert is the most honest place that I know.

The world cried out for a savior and God gave them one. Then Satan came along and said let's have some fun. So as the savior waited for Gods word, Satan threw a party. For days the celebrating went on as if there was no end. Then the savior came back and all had to repent. The check came due for the misdeeds, but Satan could not be found. He said you guys have become a ****** so I will just sit this one out. On the people went and then their savior faded away, then the law was left but the rules they did not obey. So Satan came again and said let's have some fun. He tempted each person, all of them one by one. Then the bill came due again and Satan could not be found. The people had to pay the check yet again. So people began to wonder what is the devils deal. Is it to temp and torment to break Gods will. No in truth this is not the case, for you see he just want you to have fun. At least until the clock runs out and the bill has come. Then you will be left to pick up check for the devil will not pay his due. Then he will slip off quietly and laugh at you.

Trees sit dead among the Evergreens. The wind howls and the clouds gather to sweep the remains of the leaves. The rain begins to fall and cover the limbs and needles on the Evergreens. Then the wind whips up and the temperature drops and the droplets stand perfectly still. Frozen in place, the forest is encased in a sheath of ice. Clear and white the icy drops dangle from barren limbs and Green needles as they gently sway in the wind. Then the clouds part slightly and the true beauty begins to show. What was a dead place except for the sparse Evergreen comes to life in a dazzling array of light and color. As gentle rays of light pierce the tapestry of icy jewels, they glisten like precious gems. The forest becomes as diamonds adorning every tree. Rainbows dart here and there and points of starlight shine and twinkle. To some it is simply a cold and dismal time, but to others the life of the light that shines through the frozen gems is a treasure to behold.

On the scale off of the scale. Up and down my weight goes! I can see my toes I can't see my toes. Up and down my weight goes! No red meat all vegetables, cook them no eat them raw. Cleanse now don't cleanse. Up one size now down two. Work out all cardio no go back to weights. I lost 4 inches but gained 10 pounds. Up and down the struggle goes. So many diets, so many plans. It is enough to make you depressed and binge eat. On and On I go, doing a two step with my weight and self esteem. Twirling around in a dizzying diet dance. I'm so frustrated I just want some chocolate cake!

I can be curious and I can  be Bitchie. I can be obstinate and I can be loving. I can be uninterested and I can be arousing, so just patiently love me. Some days I don't like the hair on my toes and some days I can't stay inside. There are times when shoes are optional and I want to show my Wild Side. So if you are willing and strong enough to take this trip you see. Then in time you will get to discover all of the different parts of me.

One moment I am all the rage and the next I fly into one. In one moment I will be courageous then I want you to tell me what to do. Depending on the day or the meds I am not sure who I will be. Sometimes I think I can fly and others I want to live in the basement. All of these people living in my head often confuse me. I can't get a moments peace except when I am asleep, then I am not sure who takes over. I can be very responsible to the point of obsessing, at least that's what my shrink and my lover say, my mom and my room will tell a different tale. So when I wake up and we meet, don't be offended if the next time I don't recognize you and I am a different side of me.

Whiskey clear as water served in Mason jars. Dimly lit dance halls with a neon glow. Beer served by girls in barely there clothes. The twang of a steel guitar and shut your mouth. Welcome to the ***** south.