Passed  a  neglected  garden  of  late.
It  seemed  in  quite  a ­­ sorry  state.
Some  men  came  to  make  some  notes.
But  seem­ed  to  give  it  little  thought.
Up  on  high  the  grasses  gr­ow.
Beneath  the  windows  row  by  row.
The  other  plants  just­ ­ cry  with  pain.
I  guess  we'll  never  grow  again.
They  ha­ve­  taken  up  our  space  on  the  ground
Like  an  advancing  ­army  I'll  be  bound.
They  are  taking  our  water  Oh  my.
As ­ they  journey  to  the  sky.
Perhaps  it  soon will  be  resolved.­
And  peace  will  reign.
Once again

Keith  Wilson    Windermere.  UK.  2016­.

When you paint your walls
with nonsense, and the sky outside
reflects your feelings, sensations
tiring, discovering floors and no ceilings.

And the faceless poor man
doesn't want your tips
but your hand, he wants to try
standing, because he's tired of kneeling.

When you insure the beggar's
confidence with a dime, hoping
he will ask you to stay awhile, then
you see he's not the freak, you are.

It is your mind that is on trial,
the beggarman dying, you slowly
take up his cup, and begin the eternal
begging for just one single smile.

The Pen
The pick up the pen;
The put it down again
(That sunken feeling, nemesis or friend?)
The pen. The Pen.
The pacing, the pressing up against
The period. Stop stopping
Again. Pick it up to put it down.
Pointless. Pshaw.
Please.
Please me simplicity. C’mon!
C’mon pen lemme pick it up
And put something down.

I’ll plagiarize the flow for a few words of my own.
I’m looking for inspiration from the great beyond.
My muse is missing.
I know the medium is a constraint.
I know inside
The set of symbols paints
Me into a corner.  The parameters
Of my pen’s head worn out. I’m ******. The metaphors
Pressed. The pen is second-guessed.

A literate piece of poetic license,

The defense mechanism
Against the prison I impose.
Me, myself, and I inside
The pen pining for a purpose.
The nexus of picking it up and putting it down
Is perplexing me, is vexing
Me like a sticky keyboard key.
So, I’m putting it all down
With the pen.

The pen.
The picking it up: who cares?
The putting it down: pensive prohibition.
The picking up; what I left out.
The putting it down: polygraph precision.
The picking up where I left off:
The putting it down: priority, what’s left of me.
The picking it up, when I don’t even know
Why I bother?
The putting it down: passion
The putting it down: plea of let me be.  
The putting it down periscope; I’m diving under  
The pressure’s mounting; I’m down for the counting on my muse
To bring me back
From that inky black abyss once again
My personal sonar is
Probing the depths, of what lies
hidden within
the pen.

It is five twenty three
When my world stopped.
I was walking on that corridor
While you were waiting at the corner
Your eyes fixed on something I didn't know
Yet when you hear these footsteps
You began to meet my eye
My heart was beating wildly on and on and on.
I was too terrified,
Terrified to let those gazes go
I was calm on the outside
But too weak that I might be dead in the inside
Why I was this so connected to you?
I know you
I know your name
I know where you lived
I know your favorite color
I know how those little eyes shines when you smile
But no
We haven't talked before
And we didn't do until now.

As you continue looking at my scared big eyes
I started to turn away
And regret all the stupid things I made
From the moment I sat next to you on that public vehicle
Until now that you are there,
There that I don't know where.

I regret being a stranger to you from the beginning till the end.

That's all I am to you:
A stranger you are sitting next to,
Seeing on the hallway,
Giving promoting cards to,
And an audience from the crowd.

Meet me here
Where I am
With broken heart and empty hands
Be the light that guides the way
Through dark of night and bright of day
And though I fall
I still hear you call

Broken I come
Hungry I run
Into the arms of my Savior
Jesus
Lead us
Into Your grace and Your love

Here I stand
Here I fall
Before the glorious King of All
He's my joy
He's my peace
He's my rest when efforts cease
And though I fall
I still hear You call

All I know is You?re all I want
Savior of the poor and lost

The following song will be available for download in a few weeks...when it is up I will alert you all.  Check out my ministry page @

https://www.facebook.com/Reformedandrecovered/

Sweeter than the song of a nightingale 
Gentler than the whisper of a spring wind
Quieter than the murmur of  summer  grass 
Softer than the symphony of hyacinths 

Hypnotic like the splash of blue seas
Tinkling like a stream that flows 
Mesmerizing like the cadence of rain 
Enchanting like the hush  of snow 

Like the faint breath of a scarlet dawn 
The rustle of clouds on a turquoise high 
A duet of  night and an ivory moon
A Capella of  stars in the sky

A hymn, a chant, a choir of angels 
Singing  on a rainbow of time 
Celestial is the serenade of love  
A tune and a note divine.

The Right way is what works for you
The Right thing is what interests you
But the right time is now;
You see?
All rights you seek are with you. Right now.
Alas, you don't see!
So, go on
Take left, do wrong
As long as it's right for you.
For its your life, your battles, your problems.
And you, only you can fight for you.
And That's what is right for you.