Gracefully swaying in the wind with branches stretched out far and wide. The Willow tree whips too and froe. Dancing in the breeze, giving way to the force of nature. It shows how to overcome adversity. When confronted with the storms of life, you must learn to bend but not yield. As the Willow that is firmly rooted, so must you be. Carried through the tumultuous Gale. Tossed and tried, but in the end coming out the other side. Having weathered the storm. Though a few branches may be broken , the roots that hold you firmly in place are in tact. As the Willow so must we be, in order to survive, recover and grow beyond what ever storm life may send our way.

I climbed on your limbs when I was a child. I built my first house in you. I hung my swing from your strongest branch and I carved my history into your bark. You have weathered the storms with me and you are my favorite place to think. Now in the long days of my life, you comfort me. In your shade I take rest from my labors and watch others play in you. As you stand a sentinel I will likely take my final rest under your branches. Live long my old friend and give comfort to others have you have given it to me.

Sitting idly in a garden filled with stones. A Samurai looks at a single Cherry tree. He stares deeply into the Pink blossoms and listens to the gentle breezes blow. He has his hand on his sword and waits patiently. Finally in a single moment, a single blossom is torn free. With one motion of his hand he pulls glistening steel and cuts through the air. He captures the single blossom on the tip of his sword, then pulls it back close so that he can see. Truly magnificent he thinks to himself, how unique is this single flower that sits before me.

Under all of the colors, beneath a layer of flesh. We are all the same, no physical lines separate us. We are all of human kind. We create our own divisions, we create our own hate. We separate ourselves from one another. Some believe one way and some yet another. Some have too much and some not enough. We fight wars over ideals, when our arguments really don't mean a thing. For we are all of one race, which is human and we all meet the same end. Some will live short lives and some will live a long time. In the end death makes us all equal and our final consequence is the same. What we thought was worth fighting for and what we truly believed, will matter little in a short span of time. For all of the power of nations will fade and nothing will really change. Despite where we are born, we will still be the same beneath the skin.

Laying on a blanket by a roaring fire under the Milky way. I reach and hold your hand as a night chill comes over me. You roll close to me and I can smell the hay in your hair from the wagon ride we took just a short time ago. The light of the stars shines like a thousand jewels as you and I embrace. I pull up the blanket over us and I listen to you talk about each bright star as you drift off to sleep in my arms. I lay silent as you slumber, I can hear your heart beating and listen to you breathe. I focus on the brightest star and make a singular wish, that this moment beneath the stars will never end.

All of the people dance around the question and no one can recognize the truth. Life has become distorted into 30 seconds of time on the nightly news. How we have separated ourselves from facts and become facilitators of distortions of reality. What is real is now subjective and open to interpretation by lawyers as we are spoon fed the truth as others wish us to see it.

A Sequoya tree can live a thousand years, some turtles live to be 200 hundred. A mountain sits  for a million years and makes no effort to measure time. In the life of mortal souls we are but a glimmer of light. Yet we live as if we will not ever finish all of our work, before the sun sets on our lives. What is important, what is really of worth. How can we understand what we should wait for and what should be done now. We are human and impatient creatures with no concept of the meaning of tomorrow. For what seems important to us can fade as the glimmer of light that we are in the existence of the greater scheme of things. All we as mortal souls can hope for is to make each day our own. We must take little steps towards learning to wait for some of the most exquisite things that our lives have to give.  So be patient, the best is yet to come.

So proudly they stand primped and petted, the crème de le crème of K9 aristocracy. On display for all of the world to see, the envy of some to others of no concern. Many are lauded, and some misunderstood. They would not change a thing even if they could. Their owners bring them one and all, the compete with dignity and pride, that is unless a primal urge takes over. Then it could be not even a ribbon for mans best friend. Who will take home the grand prize in the end. If your hair is just right and you have the correct pedigree, then you could be the one. The one that gets to be known, the dog of dogs, the best in show.

Do not hide in the shadows, step into the light. Do not be ashamed of who you are. Be the person you want others to see. Show kindness and love even if you are hated. Stand with grace in the wake of persecution. Be faithful to your ideals, even if others don't like your point of view. Never compromise what you are, be true to yourself. Hold on to those who love you and strengthen those bonds. They will serve you well in the life you choose to live. Always be selfless when you have something to give. Show others what they are missing because the will not see the true you. Just remember to be who you are in what ever you choose to do.

I stopped living in other people's reality. I went outside of what was expected of me. I began to explore what could possibly be. Into nature and the super natural, I began to look at what others did not want to see. The further I went the wider my eyes were opened. Then one day while I was walking reality disappeared before me. I saw the pristine world covered in morning mist. I felt drawn towards the illusion and I almost stepped through. Then I was caught with a reluctant fear. I knew with a certainty that if I walked through I would not be coming back. So I reached out for just a moment and touched the window. I felt the ripple of reality like electricity against my finger. Then as if it was a curtain, the rift pulled back together , then faded away. Some how I felt emptier than I had before. For I knew that I had been offered a chance to have what I was looking for, but I was too reluctant to go through the door.

Left or right, liberal or conservative, ideologies do not put food in a hungry child's belly. Foreign aid, domestic spending, in the end, where does the money really go. Trillions are spent by both sides but the poor still seem to be poor. Perhaps we should get rid of  the ideological leaders and give the average person a chance. How would a waitress make the law work, would a carpenter do better at rebuilding our inner cities. Perhaps if we move beyond the politics and let real people have a chance, then the world beca better place.

Geese take flight at dawns first light. Falcons soar into the sun. The noble eagle ascends on the air currents that take the bird to the highest mountain peaks. A Red Tailed Hawk swoops down from a tree into a valley then back up again with it's prey. Magnificent creatures who master the wind and take flight at will. To stop and watch their beauty is to be lost and humbled. What wonder it is to see birds on the wind.

**** black high heels and Silk Stockings she can be oh so enchanting. Treat her badly and she will become sarcastic and demanding. You were drawn in by her dark blue eyes and Raven hair, the sharpness of her blood red fingernails made you not really care. Then she steps on your manhood would that ****** high heel, she berates you as inept and you're not sure how you should feel. So is this the enchantress, that cunning and seductive witch or is she just being abusive to you because you caused her to be a *****?

Memories fade as leaves fall from Autumn trees. The house seems empty these days. Old friends have gotten busy with their lives and children have grown up and moved on. In solitude and reflection, I look for closure. A year has passed since you left and time has dragged on slowly. In quiet hope I prayed for things to be mended, but the threads of time had frayed and cannot be sewn back together. So with bitter sweet resolve, I will take the first steps. Looking forward to the coming winter, and the cleansing cold. Hoping that in spring things will bloom a new and I will find new strength to become myself again.

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

I saw her in the bar, sitting down on one end. Her hair laying all wild over her dark brown skin. Her dress was long and flowing, her shoulder straps lay to one side. Her breast could barley kept inside. I saw her looking at me, as she pursed her lips. I walked down towards her and she gave me a wicked smile. I asked what they called her and she magic, she then asked if I would like to get wild. She took me by he hand, and said let's go dance. We let ourselves go into the music, it felt like I was in a trance. From the dance floor to my front door, it all happened way too fast. Clothes flying body's writhing, I can't remember what was first and what was last. All I know is that when the morning light came in my window, she had gone away. There was just a note on my night stand, that said see you again sometime. I'm now under the spell of a girl named magic, who gave me one hell of a time.

Deep beneath Spanish moss covered trees where snakes sun themselves and gators creep among the reeds. The water of the bayou lies still asleep. Murky and foreboding hiding secrets of the ancient past. It boast no light getting in, as the murky waters flow on with out an end. No one knows where the soulless waters well up from. Some say deep caves beneath the dark bayou. Others believe the water comes from Satan's well, just outside of the gates of Hell. While no one for sure knows where the water begins, many know where it ends. Flowing out through the tall marsh grass, where the blackness fades and it clears, running into the Mississippi then out to sea. Where it blends with other waters only to be replaced by more black water deep beneath the moss and live Oak trees.

Unholy and vile tongue, what ill conceived words do you speak. Rebuking the gift of peace and choking out the words of love. Rejection of truth and humility, in favor of pomp and fanfare. Desirous of accolades instead of sacrifice. Wishing to be exalted instead of giving praise. Unholy a thing you are filled with poison. Oh how you do wound, giving credence to the darkest speech. Oh tongue, speak not your blasphemy's .

Drill, Drill, Drill is all that you hear. Turn on any television an it echoes like a broken recording. More, more , more is what they cry. As sharp needles pierce the surface of the earth, drawing out it's life's blood in the name of society. No matter what stands in the way, it can be removed. Mountains are torn down, forest are leveled and families displaced all in the pursuit of more. When all that is needed can be made in a factory, there is no need to tear up the surface of the earth. Trees need not be cut down and holes need not be pierced in the ground. Plants that we can grow and sun that shines can give us more than our share. Until we stop and listen to what the earth has to say, we will continue to let it bleed to satisfy our materialist needs.

The curtains of my bed are on fire from the heat that is between us! We embrace each other so tightly that no air can pass between our bodies. Our hearts beat in unison and often skip a beat. The passion is thick in the air, it scorches my skin and yours. We climb into the abyss of love, joining each other in bliss. At a loss for words, the sheets are a tangled mess and the fire burns even deeper, each time we put our blistering passion on display.

The Grey walls of this place will not define me, the prison that put me in will not hold me. On my body I have the memorial of my brothers that fell in the street. Each name tattooed for eternity, with much respect and love rest in peace. All of my home boys were soldiers until the end. Now I sit here each night, watching the faint shimmer of the distant city lights. I hear the haunted voices in my head, I am reminded of the unholy dead. The bodies that were left to bleed, the families that were torn apart by our deeds. Each day is the same thing routine again and again. To make it out I must be strong, I have people who want me home. So I tear at the walls one brick at a time, block by block I am bring this fortress down. I will not rest until I have beaten this place. I will make it back out of the gate. So now I lay me down to sleep, I pray to my God my soul to keep. Let me not die before I wake, please don't let this tomb be my fate. Forgive me mother for what I did to you, if I live this I promise to you. No matter what it takes, I will open the door to my freedom, block by block this will not be my final fate.

I sit a top a hill and listen to the sound of Steele at it rings. The sparks from blazing swords cut  through the night as fires burn to light the battle. I hold fast to the reins of my horse as I prepare to take the field. With lance in hand I hold my own destiny of which new generations will sing. I rally my comrades for my final push as I swear upon my fathers bones, I will reclaim his rightful throne and in my wake upon the rotting heaps of the dead, I will be crowned the rightful king.

I strike the page with my pen but nothing will come out. I slash at the paper in rage and the ink spills over the page. I vent my anger in every line. I rage against the structure of the words I write. I cut and slash the language to pieces as I try to extricate what lies deep inside of me. My rage and anger fills the air as ideas cascade out but make no cohesive sense. I spill the blood of ancient poets as I try to master my craft. With each vain attempt I slaughter what might have been worthy of the old masters. I vent new age words as my pen becomes a sharpened knife. A slash here and a cut there until I have bled over my master piece only to find out that I am out of ink and cannot continue the blood letting until I refill my quill.

I cut my hand upon my blade. I swear an oath I gladly take. I shall avenge my family and my noble lord, or shed my own blood upon my sword. To remove the shame from the land, in the way of darkness I must stand. To bring honor back to my line, I draw my sword perhaps for the last time. So upon my blood stained blade, I keep the oath that I have made. Blood blended with blood, that darkens my steel blade, I have fulfilled the blood oath I made.

Covered with thorns but radiant in Crimson Red, a flower that grows rare and with a scent that can confound the senses. A rose that comes from the rarest of lines, from Sharon it was taken and planted in a garden, then it found a tree upon which to hang. Planted in the earth then bursting forth in 3 days, though it blossoms Crimson, it can make anyone white as snow.

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

Punching before the sun comes up, 9 hours on an assembly line. Feet that ache from standing up all day. Two kids and a wife to feed. Thirty years in one spot, going through a hundred pairs of shoes. Then your job is deported instead of those who took it from you, now what do you do? Up a power pole in the wind and freezing rain, keeping the lights on so children stay warm and dry. Union blue runs through your blood, until your job gets outsourced too. Things that made America great, make it great no more. Most who built the country have went from blue collar to being poor. American pride has been forgotten, for real hard work is to a rich mans shame. Sometimes you just want to forget the title, and find another working name.

Banjos clang out a rhythm and someone hoots on a whiskey jug. A washboard rattles and feet stomp on old boards. A fiddle winds up and echos down the hollow, corn simmers in a *** and biscuits are hot out of the stove. A harmonica whines like a train down empty tracks and a juice harp twangs. People dance and laugh as children run around. The sound of the Ozarks or the Blue Ridge cannot be mistaken for anything else. People of good spirits and a hard working nature come together you see. They celebrate life and caring for each other at a Bluegrass Jamboree.

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

Hidden behind stacks of lore and fables. Buried in romance novels and historical biographies. Devouring the written word, with seldom a thought for humanity. Oh book worm won't you come out into the sun light. Leave behind your musty hole and breathe the fresh air. Come to experience that which you have only read about.

The graves of our sons and daughters line the shores of foreign lands. We might squabble among ourselves, but if outsiders try to interfere then united we will stand. We give our all to everything we do and the promise of freedom still stands, to anyone who wants our dream you will find we understand. So if you want to be one of us then you may have to wait in line. Don't expect a hand out but we will give you a hand up so you can stand up on your own two feet. Being born an American is not easy, but it is dam well worth the fight. So roll up your sleeves and let's get to work making America a better place.

From birth, we fight to draw our breath. We are often put at a disadvantage from our first day. Not being born to privilege, most are forced to struggle for their daily bread. To those who go through the harshness of life, we are purified like precious metal inside a fire. It is this that gives rise to our strengths and makes us a success. Though many may never know our accomplishments, our greatness is in the legacy that we will leave. As we rise to life's challenges to let the world that just because we were forced to struggle, that we will not be held back from achieving our dreams.

I am not sure why people look at me different? I am not sure if this is how it is supposed to be? I only know what I feel, I only know that this is the real me. What I like does not fit a social norm, it is frowned upon, but I do not feel right any other way. So I will keep living what I feel is right and let other people just fade away.

A loaf of bread takes a lot of effort to make. Finding the grains and crushing each seed to release what lies within. Then sifting the meal that comes from the grain, until it is refined. Depending on what kind of bread you want, you may blend many types of meal from many different types of grains. Once this is done, you can begin to make bread. Adding water and yeast to the meal more commonly known as flower begins the process. The doe is kneaded and tossed until it reaches the right consistency. The doe must then be given a chance to sit until the yeast has become active and makes the doe rise. Once this is accomplished, the doe is placed on or in a pan and put into a very hot oven. There the doe cooks until it is done and the bread is made. What seems to be a simple thing takes a great many steps to create something that is enjoyable and delicious. Why do we expect life to be any less complicated than making bread? Why can't we all be more like the bread and have so much in common as we all come from the basic seeds of humanity, we are just different in some ways, but can blend ourselves to make something wonderful?

As summer closes and fall creeps in, many stop seeding the earth, but in a time of renewal, it is often best to break ground. Then replace that which was lost with new seeds and old things that are in decay. Together they will grow slowly, but will yield a bountiful harvest in every sense of the word.

Killing is rampant in the streets. Protest are ending in violence. Starvation and poverty are rampant as a divide becomes greater by the day. Life is without answers and we refuse to follow the lessons of history. We will not look back in order to move forward. In all great civilizations, a defining point is reached. At the precipice of growth something must change. When the arch that holds up the foundations of the society finally gives under it's own weight. All that remains is to sift to the ruble and see what is left after the smoke clears. Governments and armies will disappear, while the remnants of those from the edges survive. Who knows what the breaking point will be, but if history is to be are teacher, it will not be long before it comes.

Worry not for me for I am fine. The earth is welcoming to me and my soul is gone. On a new journey I am setting out. I am not sure where I will land but the trip is amazing. Out into the darkness beyond the starry light, onward I sail into places unknown. The last glimpse of the weeping mourners behind me, I finally had the courage to break the mortal bands of pain and enter into the eternity what ever that may be.

In forest of tall evergreens under crisp blue skies. I ascend the side of a tall mountain to find the sun. Looking up to tall snow capped peaks, I draw in a deep breath. In a land once though lost, I breathe in the clean air.

I saw a luscious looking berry just hanging from a vine. I thought I would pick it quick and just be on my way. Little did I expect what was laying in wait, behind gorgeous Green leaves, where the berry waited to be pricked, were rows of unsightly thorns, wanting to give me a stick. So in my hurried anticipation, I reached into to claim my prize, then I winced as tears filled my eyes. So just remember this lesson, when you curse at the fruit you would have enjoyed, check behind the foliage first because Briars do have thorns.

I wake up at night in a cold sweat. I toss and turn on my bed. I am afraid to close my eyes for fear I will see my friends. The ghost I left behind, on the battle field. The people on who I could depend. They are gone and I am here and it just not fair. I keep their memory trapped deep down inside, sometimes I cannot silence their voices, I just want to die. People tell me that it is ok, but the weren't there. They don't know what I went through, so how can they say that they care? I keep fighting the battle even though the war is over for me. I guess I just have to accept that I brought the battle home with me.

Covered in mud and sweat, tired beyond belief. Another tour completed, another mission achieved. Too exhausted to shower, I just fall asleep in my clothes. Into a cot or hammock, I just lay down and hope to wake. Up before the sunrise, shower then to eat a meal. I can't remember when I slept in a warm bed, or how my wife and children feel. I only know that I have a duty, and I pray to live to see it done. In a land far from my own, I serve until the battle is won. I perform my duties and don't complain, for it would do little good. When I took my oath, it was understood. I must serve a greater cause, and do what I am told. I don't make the missions, I just have to go. On into harms way, sometime for what I don't understand. I just know that I proudly serve, until those in charge decide this should end and at last my duty will bring me home again.

Strands of wire lie rusting in a heap. Pieces of someones history pulled apart by time and circumstance. Angry words and unhealed wounds leave the fence in tatters. Sometimes the pieces must be picked up. With a strong resolve and a lot of sweat, slowly the strands are woven back together. Some are patched and some new pieces are added. Until the fence is strong and vibrant again. From pole to pole, from friend to friend.,the fences are mended and made right. Now things are as they should be. Past mistakes are forgiven, wounds are healed and the open holes in the fences are fixed for good.

I look into a shattered mirror and see a distorted reflection. I watch my heart laying about in a thousand pieces glistening like a shattered jewel. I reach to gather the pieces, but each shard cuts me reminding of the wound you inflicted on me. I bleed my emotions until I am empty. I am at a loss for words. My tears have salted the earth and caused black flowers to grow in their wake. All is sorrow and mourning as I walk an empty shell. My love is broken and shall not be mended until I can draw the pieces of my heart back together and find the will to go on.

A homeless mother just wants to see her child again. She tries to get  back up on her feet. Though she cleans herself up, no one sees what she has done. They just see a ***** woman that once lay in the street. An alcoholic father finally says enough, and gets into rehab. He cries everyday over the family he almost destroyed and the lives he has brought harm to. All he wants is a second chance, but others judge him for what he has done. He caused many great pain, and simply wants redemption, but in the eyes of many there is none. The world is full of broken people who just want to try one more time. Their past haunt them and they are often reminded of their failings, but in some way aren't we all broken people as well?

Crystal spheres float around me and are filled with tiny rainbows. Suds drown my sorrows and fizz when I drink. Music plays and light flashes through different soapy creations that float out of a machine meant to delight and entertain. A child blows into a plastic circle and pretty jewels form in odd shapes and rise on the wind. Something so simple as a bubble that can bring so much joy and excitement just makes good sense.

Majestic might and gentle creature thundering across the plain. Shaggy brown coat covered in snow from the winter cold. An unending line of history going  back to before man came to your land. Now so few of you remain. Misunderstood and taken from your people, who only visited you when they had need. In numbers too vast to count, once you covered the land. Like a dark carpet upon the earth you roamed. Here and there across open spaces of tall golden grass. Through deep running rivers you would go. Brining your young with you, measuring time by the way the snow would fall and the grass would grow. Now you dwindle and are pushed into history. Your proud line laid low. The spiritual symbol for native strength, the majestic Buffalo.

Cutting wood and sanding  it smooth. Cutting the holes and fitting it together. Each piece must be precise and give just a little. Staining the outside and inside of the box and putting on a glossy coat of varnish. Fitting the padding into the box and making sure the lid closes just right. All of the steps necessary to build a coffin for my friend who used drugs too much.

I picked up a bunch of stones laying around and put them in a pile. I then dug up some uneven ground and began laying the stones down. I worked tirelessly for years building a path. Until I had run out of stones and my strength was spent. Then as I sat down, I happened to look back. I saw others gathering stone and walking on my path. Though they did not see me as they walked past. I watched them laying their own stones on my created path.

I took a moment to look around and see what was wrong in the world. I took out a shovel and began to dig through the confusion and the lies. I broke ground on a new path that no one had dared take. I cleared away the debris and smoothed out the rough patches. Along the way, I fell into a few potholes and got blocked at some critical turns. Despite the set backs and obstacles, I walked forward anyway. After years of struggling to clear a path, I looked back and saw that I had only gone a few yards. The ground beneath my feet was hard and the way ahead was filled with a lot of clutter. What I hadn't noticed, was that I was no longer alone. Behind me were more people who saw what I had done. One by one they came up and joined me. Finally I was bent over with age and weary from the fight, but many more were willing to continue on. I handed my shovel to someone I thought I could trust and found a place to sit down for a while. It was then that I realized what I had accomplished. I saw the path I had made, both wide and smooth. Though the ground was still hard ,the way had been made clear. Now that others could see the direction that needed to be taken, many were willing to help me build a road.

Closing out the ones we love, shutting off our emotions. Separating ourselves from our feelings. Putting up barriers to block out the hurt of things gone bad. Throwing ourselves behind barricades. Building up emotional walls that isolates us is an unhealthy thing. Only by dealing with our problems can we begin to work through them and move on from the pain and loss.