"rarer" poems
If you ask me to describe him,
where will I start?
I can’t possibly fathom my thoughts into words
and turn him into a description of art.
But I can try my best,
try to pick him apart.
Describe him in words,
perhaps in four different parts.
I’d start with volcanoes
for he’s just like one.
Where his touch feels like lava,
but surprisingly calm.
Up next are earthquakes,
since his heart is one.
It makes the world shake
causing me to run.
Third would be hurricanes,
since his mind is one.
He’s a drug I should abstain,
that makes me come undone.
Last would be forests,
since he’s full of secrets.
Hiding and waiting,
to be uncovered by none.
He’s a mystery,
yet someone I trust.
He is impossible to describe,
and rarer than pixie dust.
May 8, 2014
May 8, 2014 at 11:28 AM UTC
Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
Toast to stolen prayers with rarer player’s hands;
Soft in defiant laughter,
when drinking their wine from the bowels of brines
Sing along the Ballads of Heritage with Melodies of Exception;
Boast, not a breathe,
though sullen heirs ghost to fairer wearer’s air(s) of land—
A settlement of Rapture and Resurrection, arid, amid dirt and sand
and King and thy Kingdom sprout flowering tomb, and rosebud temple reach to the sky during the showers of spring
Devours the crescent Moon
in big pink petals of bloom;
A garden so fertile
it could look pretty in wartime—
with Gardeners of Courage and Laborers of Excellence;
(Lapse, not into digressions of Being and Essence
but hands in the soil and planting the actions of kingdom come,
patient building of Spring Reign sure
as the flame, the architect of rising Sun is
(Daughters and Sons of kingdom came,
the soldier in a land been conquered and named; abandoned
for the greenness of hope.
)May it never come, Be All The Same; (
be gentle, though whispering wind)
Seeds of Nextyear and the spores of Awhile,
carried by the Wasps and the Clouds
To the Gentlemen of Excellence and Ladies of Courage,
illuminated, eyes from the flora of stars faraway forest floor of foreign
fears,
as the hungry Owls of Time prepare a final feast—
Consume the years between Here and Now;
Watching from blank perch, among
the Trees of Afterall; a place beyond expectance.
Sing the branches of experience, to wake
in Siren’s cipher; inelegant forms
of waking,
ugly sleep on rocks of seabed; once was aboard a marooned skyline—
Those Who Are Will Be
again, again a serf in a wave of Time’s refraction. Neverending neverbeginning;
Those Gentlemen of Courage and Ladies of Excellence,
on the Day That Is, arrays of seers sayers doers displayers
optimists and pessimists, toast to them
and their rarer player’s hands,
Boast they, not a breathe, though sullen heirs ghost
to fairer wearer’s air and land;
Laugh and howl and dine, they drink their wine
from disemboweled gourds
of their own divine—
Warped, in jowls of hungry fix,
no feast they fear, for they prey to the Owls of Time.
Apr 30, 2018
Apr 30, 2018 at 5:28 PM UTC
F l o w e r s a r e t h e m o s t B e a u t i f u l
I n f o r m s, c o l o u r s and E s s e n c e s
Galaxies Even rarer
In
Fleur of cosmic Space
Threads of our dreamy dust
Embraced in no time we drift
E n d l e s s l y
Intimate Polarities Sacred Pollienation
W o m e n are Rare Flowers
M e n Create~d: for Us
Jun 9, 2015
Jun 9, 2015 at 12:29 PM UTC
Love is unfading
Love is unconditional
Love is worth waiting
Love is like a dove
Frail but beautiful
Love is rare
Love is once in a lifetime
True love is not ***
It's not given to anyone
True love is given to one person
Today true love is rare
Rarer then anything imagianable
This is not a poem
It's an announcement
If you've experienced true love
Don't let it go
Don't be like most people today
If you connect with someone
Don't let them go
Wait for your true love
Mar 28, 2019
Mar 28, 2019 at 9:26 AM UTC
porch talk, simmering in a Bud light sauce
everyone chair-rocking, even the boxer dog,
in his self-propelled 360 degree swiveling chair
eavesdropping and spy eyeballing the farm for
strangers and any creatures as of yet, unsmelled
get done with weather, the crops,
the neighbors,
the weird, and the truly neighborly,
grandkids escapades, hopes and desires, comparative literature and regional dialects and philosophical dialecticals tickling,
bs’ing and tall tale telling, breathing the windy geography of the air over the land that dictates the how we live,
open another Bud for the buds,
did I forget to mention
farm equipment?
skirt politics cause nobody wants any
nothing-to-be-done-damn-aggravation,
leaves nothing mo’ to ramble on about ‘cept the
absent women
no worries all above board no secrets uncouthed,
but the mood softens as the pale daylight wisps come rarer
as now
nearer to nine pm, obvious saved the best for last,
a very manly-way of ordering things,
big silent pauses in the converso conversation,
guy-sighs many,
as the last essay of the day is being jointly authored,
denotating the generalized listings of
how they drive us crazy,
listing the repetition of ever changing instructions,
which doesn't recognize bi-coastal mannerisms, non-differentiating
just humanism-isms
and the peculiarities of each (a list kept)
in a compare and contrast,
an end of the day summation,
and the boasting-outbesting,
of each of their
specialisms
which is sadly now forgotten and which haven’t been
brain-recorded so cannot be disclosed
other than it’s now ten
and all that’s left is
to sleep, perchance, to dream,
of private things
and bigger and better
John Deere tractors
Jun 9, 2018
Jun 9, 2018 at 2:13 PM UTC
Fresh from the kennels. A whole world away.
Companion conversion for a young castaway.
A darling of distraction with irrational fears.
The clumsiest canine with ever aware ears.
Guardian of gourmet. Suspect of all sounds.
He'll catch himself someday, spinning around.
A tug of war here. A muddy mess there.
A lick to the face of the humans in his care.
How thrilled his tail and tremendous his teeth.
How dug up the planet from paw underneath.
The running for fun. The claiming of trees.
The car window ride along - face full of breeze.
--------------------------------------------------------
But now he's a master of "Stay!".
His eagle ears succumbing to gravity's sway.
Napping much more, barking much less.
Now rarer the cuddle, the clean, the caress.
Patch protector. Owner of no debts.
A veteran of various villainous vets.
Birds as trivial as the tennis ball is far.
Eyes now as hazy as the indistinguishable stars.
A howl at the moon. A loosening tooth.
An ode to memories of a modest youth.
They still love this pup. He still loves them back.
May he long be remembered as he faces the black.
Mar 1, 2016
Mar 1, 2016 at 12:03 AM UTC
I'm a Tree Huggin', Soy Chuggin',
I won't eat no meat
I'm a vegan of convenience,
Still, there's leather on my feet
I don't believe in lots of things
I'll protest and attack
But you won't find me out in front
'Cause I'll be in the back
I give money to my causes
Save the whales, electric cars
But I'm not one to lead the fight
"Cause I don't like the scars
Bricks get thrown alot you see
And those things ****** hurt
And I'm not a happy camper
When there's blood upon my shirt
I won't eat seeds of any sort
They get stuck in my teeth
My clothes are all from LL Bean
Except what's underneath
Way back in the sixties
I lived communaly
We ate only what the earth gave up
We didn't watch tv
As years passed by, our voices died
Our causes became much rarer
We sounded more like Manilow
Than Phil Ochs or Tom Lehrer
I choose fine wine over wheatgrass juice
I like leather and wear silk
I no longer go and get the goat
So we can have fresh milk
I'm a Tree Huggin', Soy Chuggin',
I won't eat no meat
I'm a vegan of convenience,
Still, there's leather on my feet
I don't believe in lots of things
I'll protest and attack
But you won't find me out in front
'Cause I'll be in the back
I've changed lots since the sixties
I'm a capitalist blood hound
If I said I'm a true vegan
My board would see me drowned
I used to wear just cotton
Hemp and caftans and blue jeans
Leather shoes and belts and jackets
Were just not part of my scene
My friends, well, they grew up
And others stayed in touch
The ones with money see me
The others not so much
I used to go out jogging
Through the park in puma shoes
Now I workout in a private gym
Wearing nikes and with my crew
You see I'm still a vegan
When it suits me, don't you see
My new girlfriend likes organic
And she's only twenty three
There's forty years between us
Though I've done it all before
When my girlfriend is not with me
I am a carnivore
I support all of her causes
Though most things I don't attend
I'll be a vegan of convenience
Until our courtship ends
Who knows, what then will happen
Will I eat Tofu or some chops
I know which way I'm leaning
We'll see how that one drops
Like I said when we first started
I am a vegan, so I am
But instead of eating quinoa
I'll stick to eggs and ham.
I'm a Tree Huggin', Soy Chuggin',
I won't eat no meat
I'm a vegan of convenience,
Still, there's leather on my feet
I don't believe in lots of things
I'll protest and attack
But you won't find me out in front
'Cause I'll be in the back
May 30, 2012
May 30, 2012 at 2:46 PM UTC
beauty is of many faces
found in many forms and places
first is seen the beauty of the face
it's the greatest at the start
but before its dead it can swell your head
and leave you naught but a broken heart
all and all a rarer find
is the beauty of the mind
it grows and flowers with each season
it’s one true love is love of reason
if this beauty grows to great
it can see the need for love too late
if too much of this you own
expect a hard thought life alone
the most amazing of all is set apart
it's the deepest beauty of the heart
traces found almost everywhere
it’s on the wind and in a prayer
you'll find it anyplace that's wild
and in the laughter of a child
its the beauty that will never fade
still found today as god first made
when this beauty you can confess
you'll find true love and happiness
Sep 3, 2014
Sep 3, 2014 at 8:57 PM UTC
Haven't you heard.... love cures all things?
It seeps into your veins,
burning through each layer
like its a second skin?
Its a once in a lifetime connection....
even rarer should you be bestowed
and granted to meet your twin flame.
Silence is comfortable,
beauty peeking through ocular view.
A vision so refined, it caught me breathless
As I stare into her eyes, i see a reflection......my soul...
*"Welcome Home" she whispered,
'Time stood still while i waited for you"*
Aug 20, 2015
Aug 20, 2015 at 2:36 AM UTC
1045
Nature rarer uses Yellow
Than another Hue.
Saves she all of that for Sunsets
Prodigal of Blue
Spending Scarlet, like a Woman
Yellow she affords
Only scantly and selectly
Like a Lover’s Words.
4.7k
Oh, may I join the choir invisible
Of those immortal dead who live again
In minds made better by their presence; live
In pulses stirred to generosity,
In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn
For miserable aims that end with self,
In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars,
And with their mild persistence urge men's search
To vaster issues. So to live is heaven:
To make undying music in the world,
Breathing a beauteous order that controls
With growing sway the growing life of man.
So we inherit that sweet purity
For which we struggled, failed, and agonized
With widening retrospect that bred despair.
Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued,
A vicious parent shaming still its child,
Poor anxious penitence, is quick dissolved;
Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies,
Die in the large and charitable air,
And all our rarer, better, truer self
That sobbed religiously in yearning song,
That watched to ease the burden of the world,
Laboriously tracing what must be,
And what may yet be better, -- saw within
A worthier image for the sanctuary,
And shaped it forth before the multitude,
Divinely human, raising worship so
To higher reverence more mixed with love, --
That better self shall live till human Time
Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky
Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb
Unread forever. This is life to come, --
Which martyred men have made more glorious
For us who strive to follow. May I reach
That purest heaven, -- be to other souls
The cup of strength in some great agony,
Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love,
Beget the smiles that have no cruelty,
Be the sweet presence of a good diffused,
And in diffusion ever more intense!
So shall I join the choir invisible
Whose music is the gladness of the world.
4.6k
There lives a woman who
Seems mystical, even mythical
--It is true--
Because she is biblical;
Rarer than a precious jewel.
She is virtuous
She is loyal
She is courteous...
She is royal.
She shines brilliantly, like a star cluster trapped inside a room.
She glistens like jubilant sun rays dancing atop the ocean.
The wind of her voice sets inspiration in motion,
Like a sonic boom.
She is powerful.
She is virtuous,
Who is worthy? Just
Wonder & coil
In a corner & toil
As you ponder this.
And honor this
Acknowledgment,
Because she is royal.
Don't dare compare her to the likes of
Nefertiti or Isis.
They are not so estimable,
You couldn't buy her even with a million zeros before the decimal,
Because...
She is priceless.
So the King adorned her,
Because the King adores her.
She is beautiful, so they say,
But such a meager word could not suffice,
Because her true charm emanates like waves
In the ardent expression of her practice of life.
And from her mind and her soul.
Her precious heart--more precious than gold--
Looks like a kaleidoscope of rare gems,
Darting dazzling colors; the spectrum in whole.
Diamonds die in comparison,
Hand her a diadem...
She is special
She is jovial
She is gentle
She is royal.
She is not haughty,
Nor does she flaunt like worldly wenches do.
She tells girls who've been told they're peasants they can be a princess too.
She is not naughty,
Nor does she taunt like wanton vixens do...
Because she is godly.
Yes, indeed there lives a woman who
Seems mystical, even mythical
--But it is true--
She is virtuous,
She is royal...
She is you.
Jan 22, 2016
Jan 22, 2016 at 9:36 AM UTC
I miss you all so much
Words with such passion, right?
If only you could feel what I feel
(But you do, don't you?)
Then you would know what it is to “miss”
(But you do, don't you?)
Then “so much” would actually mean something
Maybe if I used a rarer word
A word favored by artists and English teachers
Then the feeling would be adequately described
Right?
Correct?
My heart longs, but that does not do it
My heart cries, but that does not do it
My heart burns, but that does not do it
My heart explodes with every pain of desire it has ever held
Repeat with soul
And still, nothing
These words are meaningless before feeling
Why do we move around?
Why create these feelings?
Maybe if
I add some Santa Easter Bunny Jesus Lincoln desire-made belief?
That I will see you all again
And we will share our most intimate moments
Worthy of many exclamation points
!!!!!!!
Until the end of time?
Stay put and never leave
Put down roots in the soil and in hearts
Never go and always let them know
Just how much you care
Never let your ambition or desire outweigh your love
And Be Godammit, Be!
Oct 23, 2010
Oct 23, 2010 at 3:39 PM UTC
Let's oftener talk of noble deeds
and rarer of the bad ones,
and sing about our happy days
and not about the sad ones.
We are not made to fret and sigh,
and when grief sleeps, to wake it,
bright happiness is standing by
this life is what we make it.
Let's find the sunny side of men.
Or be believer in it
a light there is in every soul
that takes the pains to win it,
Oh; there is slumbering good in all,
and we perchance may wake it.
Our hands contain the magic wand,
this life is what we make it.
Then here's to those whose loving hearts
shed light and joy about them
thanks to them for countless gems
we ne'er had known without them:
Oh; this should be a happy world,
to all who may partake it.
The fault's our own if it is not
this life is what we make it.
Dec 25, 2015
Dec 25, 2015 at 8:05 AM UTC
If you want to find out about someone’s character you ask them how do they gauge truth, or how do they know something is true?
Most will say because so and so said so, some variant of outsourced knowledge. Some "Religion." Some "Scientist." Some "Dr." Some "Guru." Some "Parent." Some "Mother." Some "Father." Some "Thought triggered by someone else." Some “Theory.”
Rare people will say they don’t know, they’re a bit more evolved because they see the conditioning. They see the confusion.
The rarer people will say they know because they’ve observed for themselves, not blindly, but with purity enough to observe correctly.
Sep 14, 2014
Sep 14, 2014 at 8:47 AM UTC
You make my cheeks burn brighter than Charizard's flame,
And make my heart beat faster than Sonic The Hedgehog on Green Hill Zone,
You calm me down like you're Lugia's song,
And you make me laugh harder than a boss level itself.
If you were the doctor I'd jump in the Tardis without a second glance,
And fight daleks and weeping angels just for the chance,
To grasp your hand.
Out of all the starter Pokemon,
I'd still choose you,
And never trade you away,
Not even for Mewtwo,
You're rarer than a shiny Pokeman and mean more to me than that,
You're hotter than Aiden Turner and Ash,
If you're Link then I'd love to be your Zelda,
The princess you save over and over.
Like Tetris itself you complete me,
You hold the key to my heart,
And I'd proudly go on a quest to reclaim Erebor if you were by my side.
I know this poem is nerdy,
But I hope you find it sweet,
Because I find without you,
My life wouldn't be complete.
Copyright© 2014 Megan John
All rights reserved.
Oct 18, 2014
Oct 18, 2014 at 2:14 PM UTC
I don't have a best friend
Not to be mistaken with having no friends
I do have some friends
But I have to the conclusion that they aren't trustworthy
Instead, they are rather demanding
They have seen me laugh
and be funny
Talk about silly mistakes
and how others make me feel
They know that I don't have anyone in my life
and my unwillingness to dance
What they don't know
is that every day I fight
with myself
Not with scratches, blades and pins
But with my soul within
They don't know what I have been through
They have never seen the bruises still blue
They don't know
They just assume
They are not there when I am begging to up above
They are not there when I need a little love
They are not there when I have been crying for hours
They are not there when I feel like dying in the shower
Gossips and lame stuff is what they share
I continue to listen while the music continues to blare
There were many
who became my best friends over the years
Losing touch with them is what I feared
Then that's what happened
Sooner or later they forgot me
Phone calls became rarer
and Facebook our home.
Till today, I stand without a best friend
Because I know I am whole
I am a winner
who stands alone.
Oct 1, 2014
Oct 1, 2014 at 3:05 PM UTC
It’s really a feeble attempt to make something between one and five work in our daily lives. They have gone from an intriguing idea and amount of worth to a silly little gift grandparents hand out freely on Valentine’s Day along with a card worth more than the contents. They've never set foot in any wallet of mine; they simply always made their way back behind my socks. The valuable of least worth I owned was never spent strictly based on rarity. These days you are a mistake just like all the other rarer coins like that three-legged buffalo nickel only I could maybe pay a bit of college tuition with one of those. You can bring in about four Lira though; enough to get a big bowl of any kind of noodles and sauce they have down at that restaurant in Istanbul near the Grand Bazaar. That night I stopped a little closer to my hotel and spent my last four on a beer with my meal. We kept walking and saw that young boy shivering as always against the cold vents that produced less heat than my freezer back home. No change jingled in my pockets because I had eaten my fill. A thousand suns heated my back without that jacket but the warmth was bitter like stolen Turkish Delights. I couldn't tell if he was going to drape that jacket around his tiny body or have it stolen by one of the bigger kids. We still spoke though. I know that was the day I discovered the language of the universe.
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 12:24 AM UTC
I am feeling very small
Like I don't need to feel at all
But numbness doesn't last
Only a step in my emotional fall
Give me the luxuries of a queen
And shower me with everything I could've wanted
And I still will not find my happiness
Because everything is as black as coal
As cold as a blizzard
That leaves 11 inches of snow
You can try
With material things
Buy me diamond necklaces and a ring
But it won't mean a thing
If you don't treat me as rare as the accessories and jewels
Money can't buy me love just materials
They have no heart
So you ask me if I'm happy
I reply with a thank you for all you have given
But I've been deprived of love
So my final answer is I'd rather have love than diamond rings
Because to me love is rarer than the most expensive items you can buy
Love is a jewel itself
Show me with actions not a stone
Because my heart is breaking
Due to feeling alone
It's only me and loads of cash
Wishing I had what I needed the most looking back
Apr 3, 2017
Apr 3, 2017 at 8:10 PM UTC
This year, Spring has been stopped in its tracks.
Incessant rain has driven life underground,
so as a diversion, we're putting on a play.
It's not the real world, rather a representation of it.
The director is a control freak, so her role is perfect-
she can dictate without having to act.
Rehearsals take place in the Philharmonic Hall where the local
band used to practice. But the young have all gone to the city
looking for work, so the drum kit in the corner stays shrouded
in a black cloth and the unplayed snooker table supports our props.
On the stage, the backdrop is dominated by a church.
Its steeple points to God only knows where, aiming to instill pure thoughts.
Impossible to believe, its true aim is to inject fear into its people-
depending on your point of view.
The main player likes to be different. He turns up.
A vain attempt to give some structure to his life.
Late as usual, he's unshaven, and drowsy with wine.
No one can decide whether he's in character or himself.
Waiting for our cue, we stand on the narrow balcony,
flicking damp cigarettes into the river of rain below.
Eventually, we all change, put on our monstrous armour,
become the same curious creatures following the same script.
Except one....
who refuses to change, deciding in his own mind where he will play his part.
So he pulls on his proofed coat and heads out for the bar.
Outside, the power is off.
The streets are silent. Even the cafes have closed earlier than usual,
tables and chairs left out in the rain chained together, like prisoners
crying for release.
He slips along the cobbled streets, chanting his lines in time with his own footsteps:
'There are more dead people than living....the living are getting rarer.'
Even he's not sure if he's quite himself or still in character.
Briefly, the clouds part to reveal the cold light of the moon,
the only thing in which he has absolute faith to guide him on his way.
copyright © Caroline Grace 2013
Apr 26, 2013
Apr 26, 2013 at 1:07 PM UTC
Two antagonists
joined and evolving...
prevailing scarcity
far rarer abundance
a forked pattern
through millennial time
new century
visions holistic...
technology sightings
viewing through lenses
holographic
wholeness appearing in parts...
promises of science
now simply profound
clear water and plenty
hungry billions soon fed
innovations cropping from
the boisterous crowd...
standing robots astute
heavy labor performed...
global nervous system
growing and formed
by the web...
residue and waste becoming
power transformed...
optimism breaking long
history's confines
questions
large and looming give pause...
the antagonists mentioned
are they soon to transform?
abundance and scarcity
new parents
new consciousness birthing...
awareness with awe
in one simple moment?
ancient spiritual light
is it now flowing
holographic vessels to fill?
what might the
newborn be named?
should she simply
be called... enough?
this name also naming
a bright center glow...
daughter scarcity now
absorbed and lining
her abundant light...
new strength
new vision
a new fork
in our road?
Jun 2, 2012
Jun 2, 2012 at 11:27 PM UTC
All work, no play and neon screens
menial tasks even coat my dreams.
Overboard in bored and a silent phone,
oh no, I think I’ve evolved to drone.
Punch in, punch out, this is the wrong route.
Punch in, punch out, a life of drought.
This technological terror
has caused life to flash in error.
For lady dollar; I can’t bear her,
as the riches are even rarer.
I’ve become a machine, to crush numbers
with no log off for needed slumbers.
Now my brain’s racing, a million miles per hour,
oh no, I think I’ve gained A.I’s power.
Punch in, punch out, this is the wrong route.
Punch in, punch out, now what life is about.
This technological terror
has caused life to flash in error.
No sudden movements; don’t want to scare her,
she’s updating with no carer.
Learning binary,
a breathing library,
processing slowly
but still a finery.
I forgot what my hands were for
they used to write all that I adore.
Now fingertips type, each key a shot,
oh no, I think I’ve grown into a robot.
Punch in, punch out, this is the wrong route.
Punch in, punch out, no one hears me shout.
This technological terror
has caused life to flash in error.
Pure absorption; a simple stare,
life’s equation could be fairer.
Learning binary,
a breathing library,
walking geometry
complete machinery.
Oct 12, 2018
Oct 12, 2018 at 10:39 AM UTC
Iago Prytherch his name, though, be it allowed,
Just an ordinary man of the bald Welsh hills,
Who pens a few sheep in a gap of cloud.
Docking mangels, chipping the green skin
From the yellow bones with a half-witted grin
Of satisfaction, or churning the crude earth
To a stiff sea of clods that glint in the wind—
So are his days spent, his spittled mirth
Rarer than the sun that cracks the cheeks
Of the gaunt sky perhaps once in a week.
And then at night see him fixed in his chair
Motionless, except when he leans to gob in the fire.
There is something frightening in the vacancy of his mind.
His clothes, sour with years of sweat
And animal contact, shock the refined,
But affected, sense with their stark naturalness.
Yet this is your prototype, who, season by season
Against siege of rain and the wind's attrition,
Preserves his stock, an impregnable fortress
Not to be stormed, even in death's confusion.
Remember him, then, for he, too, is a winner of wars,
Enduring like a tree under the curious stars.
2.8k
salt water breath
i'm thinking about air or an heir or whatever you call it,
whatever you think i'm thinking cause i don't know how to explain this feeling
heart is aching and breaking as time goes on
freezing in the lack of ocean, fresh air, and sight of the milkyway
how my body craves the smell of salt and family,
the desire keeps me up at night with taunting dreams of gummy bears and the breeze,
never thought i'd say i'd miss a mode of transport that makes me physically ill,
red eye lids, and chapped lips pine for a better way to sleep due to the sick desire for some place a little rarer
Feb 7, 2013
Feb 7, 2013 at 10:09 AM UTC
Is not an easy task
But it is rewarding
To do what Jesus asks
My father now needs me more
A new level of care
So I will look after him
I'll always be there
My mother is not able
Handicapped herself
And so it is left up to me
I put much on the shelf
I won't be on the site as much
I guess a rarer bird
But I will still share with you
You will read my words
I will need strength in spirit
I must find a way
If you find it in your heart
*Please help me and PRAY.*
♡ Catherine
Aug 4, 2016
Aug 4, 2016 at 2:05 PM UTC