A part of the process.


As the cadence of my voice becomes a part of your tongue,
I communicate with you in silence using telepathic thoughts.
You are still growing and as of yet you are unborn,
But creation has begun
And there are many things you are learning
And so much more that you need to be taught.


Whisper to me and I will fulfill your needs;
A daily dose of unending love is what you give to me.
So happy inside your little bubble;
Will you grow up to become a lot of trouble?
Or will you bring us the contentment we have been searching for?
You are a moving hand found beneath the rubble and we are all yours.


A light in the dark, a glint in the eye;
A smile and a wink and it was bed time…
And so you were formed, so soon to be born;
Nobody fully prepares you for all of the love.


The fun you bring with you and the changes;
What are the chances of my mind changing?
They are not even remote; they are not a possibility.
We are creating a planet; you are my world and my everything.


And when you are with us, our cherub is helpless;
But we will help you with whatever you need
And do whatever it takes to make you happy.
I don’t mind changing a ***** or two…
It’s just a part of the process
And you are now a part of our family.


(C)2016 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

Might there be a fountain
where souls long dead from thirst
find spirits raised to life in floods abounding free,
so that what once walked as corpse,
night-bound and blind, may see?
Old self exchanged for Treasure,
diving in tastes such rejuvenation
as can't be weighed by mortal measure—
wine unlike our earth-grown fruit whose petals fall,
from this Vine flowers the pleasantness of Love Divine
which bathes in healing waters all
who come as humble newborn with bold **** to dine.

Casualties of war


Godlike?  No.  Human?  Maybe.
Yet living above the bones of dead babies,
Who fell to their deaths from the top of the world;
The forgotten, the miscarried, the unfortunate boys and girls.


Now the babies lie with bullets;
Sanctity no longer exists.
Once upon a time, we were all for it,
Now we just wish this war would cease.


Fire!  Called the Sergeant as the Germans advanced.
Onward called the General, as the men became entrenched,
In the trenches and fell to their knees;
Some prayed to the lord above, others fell down silently.


Many days and many nights had come to pass
And still Old Blighty was under attack.
Churchill’s calls, spurred on a nation;
Whilst mothers and babies were simply seeking salvation.


The babies cried, as the explosions filled the skies;
The poor boys tardiness meant he had to find somewhere to hide,
And pray he wasn’t killed by the bombs or the bullets.
Just hoping not to die in a watery grave.


For all that’s left in the bottom of your rivers,
Is babies bones and war souvenirs


(C)2013 Aa Harvey. All Rights Reserved.

You need to breath, untighten your shoulders, and unclasp your fist.
Tell me with your brows all your worries and I will say prayers.
It's okay to cry. Let the window pane gather your tears and send it to the heavens.
Let the Divine hear of your melancholy and allow him to remove you out of the mud.
Do not resist. Do not be so obsessed with the lies that covered your life.
Remove the dust settled from the window sill of your soul.
You can invite the eternal peace to glitter your sky.
And you can step out of the chains of the past, the regrets, and the hurts.
Dip your hands in the wholeness of freedom because..
Irog, you can be free.