Dawn breaks on the horizon, the stormy night has passed. The dark blue Waters are dimly lit and the Shadows are fading fast. The fierce winds have died down and the white froth of the Raging main is calmed. Seagulls cry in the cool morning air as they Venture from land heralding Mariners home. Dark have been the tidings of late an unfavorable has the weather been, long Journeys and separation has found us but now that show all come to an end. For the wind blows warm at our back and the tide gently rolls in. As the sun fully brakes on a brand new morning I no there will soon be good fortune for the tides are turning again.

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

This is it, tonight I will take flight. I am going on a trip and I might not make it back. Soon the pain will melt away and all will be well. My problems will be gone. Just a spoon some heat and soon I will feel the warmth through my veins. No pain just joy that may never end. Living is so hard, perhaps dying would be better. I am not sure, but soon I will know. Will I touch heaven or will I come crashing back to reality, no one can say for sure. What I do know is that I think I have it right. The mixture is perfect and I just need the courage to do it. I will just let the pain in a little more and it will push me over the edge. This time I think I will make it right.

Sheets of paper lay on a desk and a pen lays beside them. Letters that needed to be written, that now never will. Weeds grow in a garden, but they will not be pulled up. Dust has collected on a window seal, but it will not be wiped off. Many a mundane thing shall be left undone. Time has become short and what seemed important no longer is. In a worn-out pair of shoes, I have Journeys that I must make. I'm not sure that I will finish them, I do not know how much time it will take. Instead of sitting idly in a rocking chair, I now must hurry up. The sun will soon be setting, and I'm not sure that's time enough. To reconcile certain things, to mend fences and quell strife. The things for which I thought there was enough time, now may just be part of an unfinished Life.

If I give someone a dollar, and they buy something to eat. They will not be hungry. If I pray for someone and God blesses them, they may prosper and help another. If I show a stranger kindness, then they pass it on, a chain of humanity is formed. In all of these things there are unseen effects to the simplest of things that we can do for one another.

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

Buildings set still like barren mountains in a dry wasteland. Impoverished people wander through the ***** streets like a nomad in a foreign desert. The skyline in the distance is filled with bright lights, similar to the stars that fill a clear desert sky. The decay and death of a neighborhood has a similar feel to a dying forest. The tall light poles look like barren petrified trees and the drainage ditches resemble dried up rivers. Empty beer cans resemble long forgotten fossils. The picture of blight is the same, the desert just goes by a different name. It is surrounded by a prosperous city instead of mountains and rivers that would flow around a desert place.

Placation of the masses, that is the job of spin. Being the face of the bureaucracy, a focal point. Easy on the eyes, soft spoken in words. Not of harsh temperament, but long suffering of angry people. Able to turn a phrase without thinking about why it is being done. Speaking in critical terms, but not being direct to question others. Simply working with inferences of what you want others to think. Such is the way of the useful idiot, who lives through political speak.

Pull together the lump of clay, mold it, shape it, pull it up. Let it achieve the form it was meant to have. Spin away the excess and let the shape come to life. Stop the wheel and admire what has emerged from the random lump of earth. Rub it gently and smooth out the lines. Put it in the fire and bake it until it is ready. Take out the rough work and let it cool. Take a brush, a steady hand and a keen eye, add the finer details of what you can envision on the earthen canvas. Set it aside and let it dry, put a glaze on it then try it by fire one more time. Take it from the heat and let it sit, watch it slowly cool. Then when it is finally realized, a dream from a piece of raw earth. Put flowers in it and enjoy the vase you helped out of a lump of clay.

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

I am only harming myself, no one else is affected. So say those who flaunt the morals of society. My body my choice, but no consideration is given when the act of procreation occurs to the life that might be created. I am getting high to forget my problems, so says the causal drug user until they become addicted to the poison that they put in their veins. In complete honesty, all actions have an effect. Some are direct and some are indirect, but there is an effect none the less. Only when we are honest with ourselves and accept that our actions have consequences can we be free of our obligations and accept that when we dig our own hole, that there might not be anyone to pull us out. Though it is likely there is a good Samaritan who will show us pity, but the help will only work if we are willing to change.

Path ways of cobble stone, walls of uncut rock. Dark rich flower beds full of exotic herbs and blossoms. An old fountain beneath a wooden and wrought iron balcony. Fired red clay tiles adorning the roof, with vines ascending the trellis along the side entrance. A cool air hangs about the court yard as an old shade tree sways in the wind. Gentle silence washes over me as faint noises come from the kitchen. Inside a roughly cut table sits next to the stove. The smell and flavor of Olives, Garlic and Cheeses are fragrant in the air. The wood shows cuts and signs of being well used. The dim light from natural windows illuminates the space. A feeling of belonging with family and friends fills the whole house. To be here for a short time gives me comfort and lets me absorb the spirit of something new but familiar that I can take with me when I go.

I see the mighty Oak in a vision or a dream, I am not sure which it is. I look at a trail filled with many tears, I am sad because I know I do not belong here. The great plains are silent but once they thundered with a million hooves, as the Bison rolled across them like a wave that did not end. I see the tall mountains that could not be climbed, now scarred with the signs of mans greed. I sit high on a hill and listen to the wind, in it I hear ancient songs that now only exist in memories. The great Eagle screeches in the sky, but we are now few and our past is being forgotten. I want to remember the wisdom of those who came before me, but the voices of my ancestors are being silenced each time the old stories are not told. I see that we are fading like the grass from the Prairie. How sad to sit and watch a people and a way of life die.

Sounds of static rattle inside my head. I feel out of control until I tune in. I hear the whispers from the dark corners of my mind. I am directed by the things they say to me. Some days I do just fine, while others people would call it insanity. I test the limits of reality to find where the line truly is. The cutting is not my idea, one of the whispers told me it would be fine. They took me to see a doctor but he couldn't help me. They gave me pills, but they just wreck what I have. As long as I am on the right frequency, I can function in their world you see, but sometimes I just have to live in my own reality. I must do what the voices tell me to.

I stumble out the door and down the steps. My clothes are wrinkled and my hair is a mess. I can barley stand up but I am pretty sure, that I did something which I don't want to remember from the night before. My shoes don't fit right as I walk to hail a cab. I have to admit that it is looking really bad. Thankfully for me at this early hour the only real witness is a dog. I feel like I am on a bill board and my image screams really loud, look at what the cat dragged in as I try to hide my face. I stumble into the taxi to finish my walk of shame.

The room is getting smaller, I swear it is. I try to fit through the door, but I just can't squeeze through. Everything is shrinking or I'm getting bigger. I can't really decide which it is. I just know that everything is an inch closer than it was a few moments ago. I am fighting to keep hold on my sanity, but the walls are closing in on me.

Emotions separate us and tear us apart. Distrust, suspicion and lies are the things that get in our way. We throw up barriers to protect ourselves. Physical barriers such a separation and distance from the ones we used to love. We set up emotional barriers to guard our heart so that we won't be hurt again. Brick by Brick we build these obstructions, the things that keep us from really living Our Lives. Until we begin to Tear Down the Walls that we build, we cannot again feel the warmth of love and know trust nor can we begin to heal until this is done

From person to person it goes, with it's owner seeking love. In one relationship then out and into another, it cannot find peace. Like a lonesome sojourner it keeps on going, hoping to find peace in the next person, yet it still moves on. Broken and tattered it hopes against hope for that one perfect moment, when it will find a soul mate. So goes the wandering heart, seeking love.

Madness, madness utter madness, a closet full of clothes and nothing to wear!All of last seasons are out style and no shoes match this seasons designs! Two closets later and nothing seems to fit right. Have I lost my mind or am I just to picky? What shall I wear? Will someone please tell me? I cannot decide on what colors go together and I am flustered! Only 8 hours until I must appear at a party to die for, I just need to get a new wardrobe and start all over again!

The battles have been hard fought. We have been handed defeat. At every turn we show our frustration. We can't see how the fight can be won. That which our mortal minds will not realize, is that the war is already won. The fight had a culmination about 2000 years ago. On a lonely barren hill top, our captain was lain low. With what for any other man would be a mortal wound. Against all immorality and wickedness, he would prevail very soon. As he gave up his last breath, he returned to his heavenly home. From there he commands his armies, sitting on his eternal throne. He said I will return to give the victory to those who will believe. So we wait on Christ return, our victorious and eternal king.

Delicate flower that floats on the pond. Spreading out your leaves to cover the still water. Opening to give a fragrance or fill the dark pool with your color. You add uniqueness to quiet places. Birds wade over you and fish jump around you as frogs sit upon you and croak in the cool of the evening. Your roots reach into the depths like fingers seeking to grasp at some lost treasure. Your simple beauty can be overlooked, but you are a special flower indeed.

When the sand is spoiled with footprints, you need only wait a little while. The waves will wash in as the tide rises and it will wash away the past and leave a clean slate for you to start again.

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

Nature is not kind, it can be overly cruel. What we see as unnecessary violence is in fact the way that life exist in all of the world. Violence is part of the natural order of all things. Predators eat prey and the remnants of what is killed is gathered by insects and bacteria, scavengers and is   recycled in a never end game of give and take. In humanity it can be seen as the same in certain ways that we live. The weaker of us are oppressed by the stronger and what they want is taken. Unlike nature, we amass more than we need and so the difference in the ideals of nature and man can be clearly defined. One takes and consumes out of necessity and the other will take and take even when there is more than enough. So which one is actually the more civilized?

Cities lay desolate and all they do is lay blame each other. Children use guns to resolve their problems then watch the destroyed lives. Some go to the grave and others go to jail. Each experiences a form of death, but who really cares. Politicians sit on ivory perches and intellectuals say how bad they feel, but all their platitudes will not feed a hungry child. We work ourselves into an early grave for a few scraps of paper only to have it taken away in the end. No one knows where the wealth goes, it vanishes into the either sphere. What is the answer, today it is more rage. Where has love gone to and why was it replaced by hate? In life there exist a void that human understanding cannot fill. Until we put down our selfish ways and start seeing another's pain, then noting is going to change.

Currents churn oceans and winds blow leaves, but love is more volatile than them both. Fancy can become pain if the wrong word is uttered. Hearts can become as fragile as a glass figurine or as hard as a mill stone, depending on how love goes. No one can measure the ways of love. Knowing when the earth will quake again would be an easier task. Philosophers and wise men can discern the mysteries of the universe, but to know the reason that love changes, is likely beyond mortal understanding.

In a field of golden Sun flower with eyes as black as night. A single plant opens its golden petals and an Iris of ghostly white. Among all of the other flowers, it stands alone. It gives a pause to all who see it and a wonder why it is different and alone. None of the other flowers seem to pay it any mind, as they all reach for the sun, but none reflects the light, like the different one. As people come by, they stop to look to see the different Sun Flower, many wonder why can this be. The flower notices the stares as it sits alone different from the others but the same in all other ways. It then ponders the question, why it was made this way. Perhaps it is a random thing, or for greater scheme. It is not just about me, but all of the flowers it would seem. Before the flower bloomed with the white Iris you see, people would pass by the flowers, but not really stop and see. Now the whole field is seen, so perhaps being different is not such a bad thing.

The fool, the joker, the jester by many names you can call the wild card. The thing that makes it so dangerous is the fact that it is unknown. Is the fool really a fool or a cleverly disguised part in an intricate game? Who can truly say until they have played the part of the wild card? Only when you play the fool will you really know what the intent of the part really is.

I drive by the same street each and every day. On the corner there stands a man as happy as he can be. His clothes are torn and ragged and it looks like he could use a good meal. Yet he always smiles and waves Yet he always smiles and waves, every time that I go by. I pulled over to the side one day when I saw him drinking from a paper bag. I rolled down my window and said that must be some really good stuff. He just laughed and smiled and said once it was never enough. He reached in the bag and pulled out a bottle of water you see. He then smiled a little more as he walked closer to me. He said I used to be a wino and I didn't give a care. I would drink almost anything and I will sleep just about anywhere. But then one day I met a beggar and he told me about a man he meant by the sea. He said from that minute forward, he was forever changed just like me. So I asked him if you don't drink then why are you on the street? He said I want to share my happiness with everyone I meet. That beggar was once a wino and was lost just like me but he showed me the way to Jesus and I no longer have to drink you see. In a moment of stunned silence, I just found the strength to smile I drove away confused but only for a little while. I pull over to the side of the road again and my tears begin to flow because I knew that wino had a peace that I had never known. I surrendered my heart to Jesus right then in there. I then one on my way where I had lost all my cares. One day I heard that wino, had quietly passed away. So so now I'm taking his place as I go along my way. I'm not standing on a street corner in ragged and torn up close, but I share what he shared with me everywhere I go.

Dressed in black stockings and white lace she parades down the aisle to her betroth. Carrying a scent of passion as her breast heave against her bodice, she flicks her black and silver streaked hair to one side. With eyes like two cold blue Diamonds and lips as red as wine, she enticed the unsuspecting man to her side. At the stroke of midnight beneath a silver moon, they take their vows in the presence of her coven. Her sisters look on with glee at that which will soon be. Chosen for his worldly gifts and abundance of treasure, he will find heaven and hell in one night of pleasure. A Potion of seduction is given in the bridal cup, just a few sips, that will be just enough. He is enthralled with his new wife, but alas he should beware for his life. In the wedding bed he knows her flesh, he receives her lovers gift unto death do we part. When the morning light comes, his love has grown cold, as his enchanting bride scream in tears. Her husband is dead, how could this be, a spell cast by his witch bride you see.

Dressed in lace of the darkest black, with ruffles of red. A veil covers her face as her skirts trail over her shoes. She walks down cobble stone street, as her heels click. She looks forward and walks on in the direction of her purpose. Lips painted bright red shine through her veil. Her nature is her own affair, yet she gets attention where ever she goes. With skin of a light Olive hue, and dark mysterious eyes, she pierces the heart of anyone with her soft gentle gaze. A mystery wrapped in black lace. So goes the woman in the veil.

Oh rocking horse sitting beside my bed, where shall we journey today. With your wooden saddle a bright sunset Red and your golden reins in hand, I mount you and watch the world pass by as we thunder across sandy dunes and dash into the surf. Only to lead into the barren waste of the mighty desert and into an Oasis. Around and around we ride as you buck wildly as I try to tame your fierce nature, to the amusement and applause of a cheering crowd in a dusty rodeo. Each day is an adventure with you and a childhood dream come true.

Reaching into the forge of the soul and pulling out hot embers of prose, the pen falls onto paper as the hammer falls to the anvil. Striking the proper cord and beating out the embers of a phrase, just as a blacksmith draws out the iron into a fine implement, each fiery exclamation comes from deep with in the heated passion of the writer. Again and again the words are poured out like molten metal. The story or the poem takes shape. The vision of the artisan being realized in ink just as the tool or object reaches finery in the hands of the craftsman, so the wordsmith crafts the written work.

My wheels turn the wrong direction as cob webs clutter my thinking. Distractions make the pictures seem murky as I try to write the story down. I am not sure which way the words should go as they get mixed up with other things. My mind is full of clutter and I must do some house cleaning if I want to see clearly. The flow of ideas is clogged up somewhere along the pipeline. I have tried to snake it out with meditation, but I get sidetracked by some insignificant idea. So for now I will leer at the paper and try to imagine the ink to flow and the lines to form. Perhaps this will empty out my memory and clear a path for the words trapped in my head.

The sun rises and sets as it moves from hemisphere to hemisphere. East to west the yellow ball goes. People live their lives and like bits of dust we are blown away. The planet doesn't not judge us, it simply endures our presence and bides it's time. What ever you may believe, in truth we are of little importance. Whether by divine creation or natural selection the world is ever changing. Plants die and new species are born, the climate changes and mountains become valleys. Continents rise and sink leaving only a remnant to be an Island. So as we try to leave our mark on the earth, remember it was here long before we thought we were of consequence and the world will be here ever changing long after we have gone away.

Bombs exploding everywhere as colorful rainbows fill the air. Blue and Gold skinned people dance and chant, for what I am not sure. Houses are smaller than I remember, but that is just fine with me. Perhaps I will take a pill and see how small I can be. No this isn't wonderland, nor is it all in my mind. This is just what was on my t.v. in a span of 10 minuets time.

Through the flat panes of glass, I see the world as it goes by. I view the people passing on their daily lives. I watch the reflections from both near and far. I see the leaves change on the trees and the flowers bloom in their due season. I watch children play and see the sunset and the moon rise. I watch young  couples stroll down the street and old couples slowly wander by. If you stop for just a brief moment, it is amazing what you can see through a few dusty panes of glass, if you only take the time.

At a quiet street market in a dust party of town, I saw an old vender selling odds and ends. I stopped to look at his wares and I saw that he had shoes, I picked up a pair of sandals and he asked do you like those my friend? I consider them for a moment then asked if I could try them on, he smiled and said I could. I pulled off my shoes and slipped my feet into the sandals, they fit just right for my size. All of a sudden, I was not on the street with the vendor, but I was walking far away, behind me were 12 men. I looked at a seashore and then I saw a crowd before me and I felt the ocean spray hit my face. I saw myself in a temple holding an ancient paper and reading out loud to men who hated me. In one moment I was taken for a journey and I never left the street where I stood. As I came to my senses, I looked at the vendor, and he asked me do you want the shoes my friend? I left my shoes where the sandals had been and I said I would take them. I started to pay him and he said there was no need. He said that the shoes were quiet worn, but they would work for what I needed and I quietly went on my way. As I walked along I noticed that people began to stare at me and I stopped and began to speak. As I talked people listened and stood there completely amazed, and wondered who I was and where I was from. It was then I realized where the sandals had been and to whom they belonged and what I had become.

Pink hats and blood curdling screams! In the streets they riot for no reason it seems. The tall orange man stole the victory. Out from the hands of their savior he took it. It should not be allowed, burn it all down. He cannot do it not again. So they scream and howl like banshees caught in a holy place. On they rage, yes they are deranged.

We the people have freedom of speech, until what we say disagrees with another's point of view. We can agree to disagree unless the other person doesn't get their way. We believe in freedom, they believe in someone caring for them. We believe in peacefully assembly, they believe and loot and plunder. We believe in self defense, they believe the state should protect you. We are called bigots and intolerant because we dare to believe in morality and a God. They push immorality and believe in nothing, yet they say they are the tolerant ones.

Remove the gospel from the schools and tear down the crosses from the public cathedral's. Change the law to make the bible hate speech and shut the churches down. The blood of Calvary still flows from the cross. The forgiveness of God has not been lost. Try as the world might, this is a fight they cannot win. For all power in heaven and earth was given to Gods perfect lamb.

They dress in finery and celebrate being ******. The laud their superiority over those that they revile. They celebrate immorality, blindly following a dark path. Life is nothing but a changing scene for them. Riotous living is what crave as they play in the streets. Law and justice are trodden under foot. They say we want equality, as they strip away other people's rights. In a delusional fever they dance to a tune played by the devil they serve.

On a cruel tree blood and water did flow. From a broken body the sinful world was made whole. In anguish he cried as the spear went in deep. Then rivers of salvation from his side did seep. He gasp for one final breath and said father it is done. Then the sky grew dark and the earth trembled at the setting of the son. A Roman solider looked on and said truly a righteous man has been slain. Yet salvation was born when they pierced his side that day.

On a barren hill some Romans planted a barren tree. Rugged and stripped of it's dignity, the tree bore fruit you see. The seed was with in it, though it had no branches or boughs. The blossoming of eternal life is what grew. Between two other trees precious blood was spilled, oh what a harvest it did yield. When they cut it down, it began to spread, the roots of the tree went beyond the barren hill into eternity. It brought forth salvation you see and produced the Rose of Sharon that bled for you and me.

Men and women come home from war with limbs missing. Their body parts lay in the dirt of some foreign land. American blood stains another person yard, and yet they keep standing for what is right. Our children can't pledge allegiance to our flag but burning it is okay. Our politicians open our borders but American children cannot go out into the city streets and play. Drugs and violence end innocent lives while politicians complain about civil rights, unless you try to mention God or own a gun then they say you have no rights.  Our leaders turn their backs on their own people while running down the land of the free. If the haters of our country had their way they would take all our freedoms away from you and me.

When I see Roses in full bloom, I think of your lips. When I hear a bird singing I am reminded of your sweet voice. When I feel the soft breeze blow past me, I am reminded of your gentle touch. When I see a dark stream flowing, I am reminded of your deep Blue eyes. When the sun comes up, I am reminded of your warmth. When the moon comes out, I am reminded of how mysterious you can be. At every waking moment, I am thinking of you and I am reminded how glad that I am your in love with me.

Drug needles lay in the streets while people live in the gutter. Neighborhoods fall apart as young men shoot each other over a street corner. A young teenage mother holds her child who is crying from hunger. Leaders bicker over petty politics while their is a civil war going on. People look out their broken windows at burned out buildings dreaming of a better life. Where is this hopeless place you ask? Just turn on your TV because this is America!

Years of early mornings before the sun would rise. Aching muscles that screamed for a rest. Long nights of study to make up for lessons missed. Pain and self sacrifice beyond human limits with focus on a single goal. From the day of graduation to the halls of higher learning, breathless anticipation awaits. Walking down a walk way where thousands have walked before, headed to the gladiatorial arena. In one instance you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders, should I be here, am I good enough. In the moment in a locker room whether it is for football, soccer, or basketball. This is the hour you have waited for, this is the dream for which you have sacrificed. As you make the hollowed journey onto the field, your blood sweat and tears finally pay dividend. This is the hour of your triumph. When the voices scream and  blend into silence as you take the field for victory or defeat. It is you that has worked to get here and this is the hour to shine.

A man once left a far away place and came to live among mortal men. He spent most of his life at hard labor then one day he became a teacher and a poet. He gained supernatural powers and did amazing things, only to be killed in the physical sense. Then three days after his death, he came back to life and told of his amazing journey. Forty days hence, he flew into the heavens not to be seen among men for a great while. He told of his return on a white horse that can fly and he will reward those who believe in him. This is the story I believe that will save my life.

Through the eyes of faith, there is no mountain that cannot be moved. Through the eyes of faith, we know the right path to choose. Through the eyes of faith, children have perfect trust. Through the eyes of faith, the smallest thing is just enough. Through the eyes of faith, to life there is no end. Through the eyes of faith, God is always there to lend a helping hand.