I enjoy the concept of writing using a feather quill, for the fact that some truth can be found in it. Like the bird who lost its feather, we do not know where it will nest, we only know where it's journey started. Much like our own story.

Tis I-the one who walks the weary mile. The one who escapes my past, though I walk in reverse, keeping my eyes set on those who I have met before and God forbid their arrows that fly by night will not pierce my own nerve.

The world burns books as if the trees themselves were seeking revenge hoping to rise once again from the ashes.

An author must have inspiration for the words they write in order to give them life.

Oh, Darling Constanze Reeder
As it pains me to say
That the world has been ever changing
From last our childhood days
No more running through fields and
Resting Yond the Willow tree
And to sleep in silence
In those moments carefree

Oh Darling Constanze Reeder
Your words remain inside
And if only I were able
No more days spent to hide

Oh Darling Constanze Reeder
Should a thousand nights pass
Should I not see your face
As I have in the past
Or should fate be much kinder
And a friend to my despair
Then a thousand days should I look o'er my shoulder
And find you there

Oh  Darling Constanze Reeder
Your words remain inside
And if only I was able
No more days left to hide

Oh Darling Constanze Reeder
If you look towards the shore
You would see German colors
As I wave to you once more
For I go to some land
As you wait my return
But should I not sail to my Constanze Reeder
Would you leave a candle to burn

Oh Darling Constanze Reeder
Your words remain inside
And if only I was able
No more days left to hide
And the memory of your smile
Has remained in my heart
And from the memory
Of my Darling Constanze Reeder
Should I never part

The crowd gathered in the room
And the man pulled back the cloth
Behind it was an old painting
And silence filled them all

Not everyone understood the meaning
From the message in the paint
Some said its a man who took a beating
Some said the man would faint

But somewhere in the back
An older woman stood
She made her way to the front
Holding back her tears the best she could

And she said
"I know this man in the picture
And I know message in the frame
This man took the beating
For what I have myself to blame
Some of you can't see it"
As she pointed at the cross
"Behind the man who paid the cost
The artist left His name"

Then she picked up the painting
As her tears fell on the frame
"What kind of man would take my place
And still care to know my name?"

And she said
"I know this man in the picture
And I know message in the frame
This man took the beating
For what I have myself to blame
Some of you can't see it"
As she pointed at the cross
"Behind the man who paid the cost
The artist left His name"