Tides continue to turn Though Rome has changed The sun still circles as people pray
Prompted to pace Echoes of rage Darkness seeps in the shadows of her longest day Still we afraid
Little bubbles rise from the fireside Frustrations heard on the mount Count in reverse internally and observe the confusion or clout Why do you serve one of the two when collision rules for the powerful
That crackling conversation by the fireside on a hopeless winters night led me to sipping of cognac from the pools of your eyes and there you were weaving dreamy spells to effortlessly entrap my heart
i had no hope you knew.
Though many moons have passed, I still see those roses pressed between the pages of a book reminding me of the thorns we pricked , when we were young it was also the time you said you would never let me go… and you never did.
Today, the aroma of coffee is wafting in the air drawing me out to hear the guitar strumming to my heart on a Valparaiso sunset ever so slowly at each cord…
So you hold my hand and enchant me in nostalgia once again as those childish waves splash playfully on the shore beckoning us to come and play
and we do... we always do.
this is all about falling in love with that one and only -and sticking through thick and thin.
Last night was a perfect night, watching shooting stars across the sky the crackling firewood and the glimmer in our eyes; smores, and stories of troubled times and how we're grateful we made it out alive. Scripture study fireside, testimonies, and lots of tears cried, lead to long group hugs to dry our eyes.
This is what real Friendship feels like: this is remembering why I needed to stay alive, this is why I'm grateful for God's presence in my life.
And I think I'm learning, "borrowed time" means staying up until the sunrise and still calling it Saturday night.
Why else would He have created Summertime?
Grateful to He who planned out my life for giving me such amazing friends and influences in my life to remind me why I fight
a commune back home not hippie buy 300, no 500 acres great land in Codroy or misty high hilled Avalon built great big house wraparound porch beset by rocking chair by the sea yet in the woods at end of road all brown dirt
growing gardens, herb and vegetable pulling weeds but keeping good green **** brewing beer by own hand group work but not always group think
friends lovers writers growers givers all come to stay making great pots of stew and strange brews awakening brought far from Peruvian Torch homeland telling stories all somehow great fables and anecdotes for life and living and love and everything that's good in the long run
at night over bottles on beaches by fires we worry these are funeral pyres for our great little social experiment fear of leaving loving womb of isolated salt fish by sea commune
real world so crass&brash; an unctuous affair where here instead guitars, ukes silly screaming little buddhas recite poems by gleaming eye fireside