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the heart aches
like
earthquakes.

today
i allowed myself to feel
heartbreak
one very last time for you.

the sun was settling,
silhouetting the city

it felt like
the burial site of massacred dreams.
This day
This grass
This air
This breath of wind

This wood
This path
This lake
This walk

This car
This street
This pub
This talk

These roads
These walls
These hills
That view

Every one
Reminds me
Of you
I have cleared up the mess
and packed up the guilt,
I have put regret back on the shelf.

I have made some space,
Cleared out some old thoughts,
I have thrown away a habit
And shooed out some ghosts

I took some old memories and cut the ties
I wrapped them up and put them in a box up high

I found love there and dusted it off,
I found happiness and caring,
and I found a future.
And I kept them.

I opened a window to let in the light.

This space is not new,
But I've cleared it out now,
For you
One of my very first attempts at poetry so please forgive any major technical errors. Let me know what you think.
Let it lie
bleed and die
If you don't care
Why should I?
I will not mourn
I will not cry
Your scorn knows not my sacrifice.
Poets of pretentiousness
say my poems are ****
they think emotions lie inside
large words that no one gets

Poets of Pretentiousness
say the shoe doesnt fit
watching them contort their feet
to walk within their niche.
My invisible scars
are plain for anyone to see,
as I blindly journey on...
This path of Christianity.

Wanting deliberate faith
ready on my tongue,
I received God's Salvation
when I was dumb and young.

Inflicted wounds to my soul
from a lack of understanding
have been healed by the Power
of Christ's personal anointing.

I am worth dying for
according to His Word;
The Lamb's wondrous sacrifice
had sin to Himself transferred.

Now my soul graciously sings
with overflowing joy!
For redemption has been granted
to this formerly, lost boy.



Author Note:

Learn more about me and my poetry at:
http://www.squidoo.com/book-isbn-1419650513/
Cream puffs, cannoli’s and Saint Joseph’s pastries
I can’t decide which, cause they all look so tasty
Chocolate eclairs and Cheese Danish rings
These are a few of my favorite things

Creamy napoleons and crisp apple strudels
chocolate truffles, oh yes!, give me oodles!
Black and white cookies and chocolate ring dings
These are a few of my favorite things

Girls in the pastry shop stifle their laughter
they know that their cheesecake must be what I’m after
miniature pastries, boxed, ******* with string
These are a few of my favorite things

When my belt’s tight
When my pants split
When I'm feeling sad
I simply remember my favorite things
And then I don't feel so bad
The desert sands, oft dark and drear,
show signs of life this time of year.
Rain, that most infrequent guest,
supplies the means, seeds do the rest.
What once appeared as barren ground
with desert lilies now abounds.
Their flesh so pale and delicate
exploding from the silicate.
So if you come to Joshua Tree
there's more than cactus here to see.
You'll see the lilies bloom at dawn
so welcome come, so quickly gone.
We've much in common , it seems to me,
these flowers and humanity.
We, too, quickly bloom and fade,
then spend forever as a shade.
The Desert lilly blooms briefly in March and April in the Joshua Tree national park in the Great American Desert
I was minding my own business
on my way from here to there.
(I was not one of his disciples,
stack the bibles and I'll swear.)
Yet when I was accosted
by a Roman with a sword,
I was forced to bear the Cross-
as certain "points" can't be ignored.
The way was steep and rocky
and the cross beam hard to bear.
On our way up He was silent,
perhaps lost in silent prayer.
There were sounds of women weeping
and jeering Jews who came from town.
I was glad to reach to summit-
relieved to lay my burden down.
It was only then I saw His face,
beneath its thorny crown.
He thanked me for my labor
with a kindly look and word.
I said a blessing in return,
but I wonder if he heard.

Yes, I recall the day quite well
when our paths crossed, then diverged.

His eyes burned in my memory
as I stumbled on my way.
I did not stay to watch Him die
but I was there that day.
A simple man with a strong back helping Jesus bear the cross.
When I was but a boy
no older than 4

       I insisted that the number of pickles
       on my sandwich be representative
       of my age.  

4 years.  4 pickles
5 years.  5 pickles
6 years.  6 pickles


This went on for awhile.

    Eventually, though, I felt it was time to end that particular tradition.

28 pickles was getting ridiculous...
Based (mostly) on truth.

— The End —