As the sunflower drops
in afterglow of shade  
And the gloss of the gleem fades
across the moonlit shadow
We are summoned by the horizon
into the magnificent light
that offers no shadow
The light of God is perched on love
without  side effects...
without a shadow of doubt...
crossing the night into dawn

Cherish the little things
Cherish the little things
Iike good morning texts
Good morning smiles
And greetings from friends.
Cherish the hugs lasting a little longer
The smiles just for you
And the gleem in the eyes of those
held close.
Cherish the laughter of loved ones
And the sound of wind blowing
The glitter in the dew
And the sound of conversation.
Cherish silence
Music
words sent in silence
And love said in looks.
Cherish the sound of pages
And words captured in ink
In pencil
Dancing
Singing
And paint.
Cherish words that will never be said again
In love
And words of love meant to be repeated.
Cherish the second chances
And moments spent in purity
Moments spent living for small little things.
Cherish your beliefs
And hopes.
Hopes for better days.
Cherish those better days.
Cherish smiles
Cherish friends
Cherish what you can,
Because they are the most precious things.
Cherish I Love You
Cherish I Miss You
Cherish Warmth and Comfort
Cherish morning coffee
Little touches
Sunbeams
Rain
Clouds
the sights and sounds.
Cherish what you can.
It can disappear in a moment.

Love can be so fleeting
like the brightly shining sun
to leave you feeling sorely burned sometimes
or relieved when days are finally done
times to leave you feeling empty or leave you feeling perfect- full
sometimes love is high so grand
sometimes there is a quiet lull
sometimes it's awful easy true
other times
it's like a stupid an
stubborn bull

either way
- we always seek it
elusive like a distant dream
we chase it an ever wander on
to seek a perfect shining gleem,
like the rays of the sweet
warm sunshine
to finally bask in the
lovely glowing beam

that's what love is I think.

I'd like to begin
by pointing out the color of the walls;
the pink under the plaster,
and the tubes,
red and blue,
that keep my shower water warm.

This is my home,
that some call a temple,
with two brightly lit halves of an attic,
and no trouble keeping them full.

Its windows are always open,
except when the lights go out
and the shutters are pulled closed
and all that's left breathing is the fireplace
and the attic.

the fire place is a grand face
of grout and proud brick
cradling the humblest coals
under his black, stuffy nose
clogged with no longer solid logs.
His breath keeps the attic warm,
with the help of the coals,
who ask for no thanks.

I'd invite you in
if it wasn't for the moss on the threshhold.
That emerald green.
Those gems that seem,
with dew, to gleem  
a blue and gold sheen
of umpteen citrines.
The sun's careen is seen by these
green finger leaves.

When I turn out the lights
and retreat to the attic,
I hear the moss sigh
like some sort of static.
Her breath reaches the crest
of my gentle home's breast.
The ceiling beam shudder
with a reeling like no other;
A sound that makes me cry,
while my cluttered attic comforts me,
and I speak no word but why.

The moss,
she makes me cry.

I'd like to end
by pointing out the color of the windowpanes,
and the gray of the drywall.
The tubes,
red and blue,
still keep my shower water warm.

This is my home,
that some call a temple,
with two brightly lit halves of an attic,
and no trouble keeping them full.

Its windows are rarely open,
except when the lights go out
and the shutters flutter open
and all that's left breathing is the fireplace
and the attic,
and the colors.

Irish Immigrants found
when they stepped
Onto the Ground,
Their Pockets full of
Donnegal Potatoes.
The Dirt beneath their Nails
Was a Mark of how they'd Failed
Famine and Starving brought them
But the Slurs of the Dublin Micks
From those who Looked Down on them
Determined them to Show off their Pride
Some, teamsters worked horses and Frieght
Some nimble fingers Stitched Linen and Lace
Some Irish tenors the Rage of the Stage
Some with a Swing were the Sting of the Ring
Bringing down Boxers Seasoned Sparring
Fiddlers fiddled and coleens were maids
And through it all Heads held High
Shined the Gleem of Irish Pride

young blood boils
hearts burst
Daring earth to do her worst.
eyes they spark
and grins they gleem
full speed running
through our dream.
hand in hand
hearts apart
faith in knowing
this is the start

How can i take the monetary subtance, a miserably deceitful good, from a brother a shy less than flesh and blood; Whom gave me more than i could ever imagine. her name was hope. Her maternal twin is love. And our brothership is intensified by both, as one truly trifled heart could ever gleem. He slaved over brick and mortar to provide for himself, for i cannot steal his earnings when i have no right to any fortune. He gave me shelter when i lost my path. He fed me and clothed me when i lost my life. His arms wrapped around my shoulders when the tears trembled down my face. Death, I and he, faced eachother and nothing felt closer. But I, a devil in sheeps clothing, could never accord such heartfelt care in a multitude of life times to come, netherless todays nor tomorrows. Thus, i leave him my belongings, my manmade tinkerings, and all he may ever need. As i depart,It is the least i can do for a brother. O' brother.

12 Spheres of Good, Of Life , Of Fruit
Each Way a Passage NOW by Sleuth

The Soul is Vision, Guidance, RIGHT
For JUSTICE stands for Holy MIGHT

What Truth is Done thats Born in Lies?
Gods Vision Sees and Never DIES

By ONE-ness is God’s Justice  ART
As others look, Love’s Words now start

How sad they say, for all shall loose
The Prise now Gone, For those who Choose

Stand in the Light of Truth and Grace
Before the Witness shows their Face

For if the Prize is worth so much
then stand as Life’s Creative Touch.

The Job is Angels Gift from God
Not Yours, Courts Say, to Give , or ROB

Procedures of the Council Poor
Removed the look but not the floor

The Rainbow Flag of JUSTICE say,
Read Now the Truth both Night and Day

conflicted Interest, Built Your Stand
from slander, lies, and falling sand

What Now, you Say?
I ask the Same
How shall I end this Holy Game?

For one is Guilty of a crime
And All will Fall, soon is the TIME

The choice is yours, so set the stage
Prayer meets with LIFE that now may Gauge

For one does not an ORDER make
with two said God does Life Relate

You heard the thought Create Anew
and Yet you kept the same old View!

Creator, not within your Team
the 13th Fruit is mine to  Gleem

I give you choice, to make this Right
For God is Witness and All have Sight.

Being paranoid is being stuck in a prison in my mind, i and yet i know i comitted no crime, and yet with time i still see no rhyme or reason why i m being blamed fo this teason. It feels like i am going cray or maybe i am just too lazy to look on the bright side of things, oh how i hate how much it stings. Being trampled by your own thoughts is a horrible way to go, i think i'd rather freeze to death in the freezing snow. Everything is real, at least that's how it feels, i feel like i haveto *** but i can never make it gleem. Oh this feeling i dread, sometimes i think i'd rather be dead or at least hit in the head, to get these thoughts out of my mind or at least find a fine line between fiction and reality but thats not going to happen on a little caesers salary. Everything feels real but i know its not, sometimes i wanna go back to smoking ***. i know i need help before i start to yelp. If i dont i feel like ill hang by my neck and by then it will be too late to correct. Being paranoid is being stuck in a prison in my mind, i feel like i commited no crime...