The templars took the cross
and made it a religion rose
a psychological overseen dome
of acquiesce and admiration

What if there weren't any slaves?
only mercenaries who craved
for power and a subservience rave
across the vast seas and distances

We trace the Omlec race in Americans
way before Colombus leaped his strides
as they left scented archeological remnants
of basalt and granite sculptured rights

The templars took the cross
and created glorified corded bonds
aesthetically covered with an overseer
of utter deceit and embellished conmanship

My ears are open
My eyes are to the sky
God I will try
But help me let this go
If I must

For she is more fair than everything. But she is not mine. No words... Just the sight. That would say it all. If it were possible.

Moments lost,
Adrift in the sands of time
Regret stains the soul
As unlived dreams linger
Life erodes,
Memories fade to sepia
Worn and disillusioned
The spark of life wanes
She struggles
To reignite
Her lust for life

Kelly Rose
© April 12, 2017

Sweet evening dove
Are you in touch with your mortality ,
are you at peace with deaths totality , do you
harbor ill will toward the western sun falling down ,
do you understand sadness as you sing so blue and profound   Your a lovely , lonesome lady on a bell tower in a sleepy town
You bring a smile with shared pain as you make your evening rounds , a reflective lullaby blocking every twilight sound ...

Copyright April 12 , 2017 by Randolph L Wilson * All Rights Reserved

love is like swinging on a moonbeam,
and admiring the stars when in a dream
like the feeling of a beating heart
when beautiful smile meets gorgeous smile
and you know the wait was all worthwhile

xoxo

What is it that stops us from questioning
the scaffolding of our reality?
Why aren't more of us solipsists?
Shouldn't we all be like those
delusional violent ones?

They see no reason
to think the world exists
outside their heads
Therefore their thoughts influence
their reality more and more

All of our thoughts
influence the reality
We sense to a varying degree
unique to each of us

But do we really all, for the most part
believe some ho-hum passivity?
Oh, what pressures magnetize our brains

This distance between us occupied
minutes and hours multiplied
by walking and running thoughts,
divining the cost of careless loss
roving and darting with such might
not even a rest in dreams of night.
Then a trouble or something tragic
pauses me, and a moment of magic
makes all that distance naught.
I fly to you my love in thought
bound again by strings unclear
I yearn and ache to have you near.
     But again the world cries out to me
     and again I am gone - in its roiling sea.

Inspired by Shakespeare's Sonnet # 44.  Although I am not an expert at writing sonnets, they are a delightful challenge for me.  Shakespeare's sonnets have at times brought me to tears - his love affair with the language is palpable.

This England rises an falls
It is the way of the reddest rose
To offer its unfortunate beauty
And whither and die
It's funeral is diarised
Voices raised in joy
Are tears against broken dreams

Are we laughing ?
Are you laughing ?

beams of golden shine
rippled atop the creek's trace
glowing in shimmer

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