regarding labelling.

we are not what people think of us, it goes deeper than that,

we are not the words people say, it goes deeper than that.



we are not made by our history, it is something,

deeper than that.

then  in a picture, it is not what you see on the surface,

it is far deeper than that.



#repeated.



sbm.

In the darkness of the night,
Many secrets are kept
And under the woven rug of truth,
Many lies are swept

In the clock that keeps the time,
Many loves are lost
And with the blood of the innocent,
Is how love pays the cost

Into the sea of forgetfulness,
We toss the ties that bind
And in the heart of goodness,
It is evil that we find

In the bottom of Pandoras box,
Lies the last bit of hope found
And to the heartbreak that is love,
We are each and everyone bound

Spring how I adore thee
Vernal season and equinox
Eastertide and efflorescence

We have cast off the
clammy, frigid fingers of Winter
that kept us
white and still beneath
the frozen landscape

Dance with us Spring
tie flowers in our curly tendrils
and perfume our
blushing bosoms
with the scent of Your
Wild Love

I can't explain how special and important to me you are;
And to add to this,  you are the reason of my survival as I discovered so far...
You are my creators, first teachers, friend, my needs and it's true;
I would be totally mad and incomplete without you...

Life is a long journey, I know
If you had a mistake, just apologize and bow
But if you don't, life seldom gives you another chance;
So learn to bow or apologize perchance

In life's long journey, God does show some grace
He sends representatives of His, to just handle our case...

Someday, all the Gods of the discussed together,
What to name the representatives, when someone suggested, "What about Father and Mother?"
And so it was... father and mother.

One day, this message finally reached earth-
'Fathers and mothers have children birth'
All were happy to know their names,
And even the poor people and lame!

Everyone yelled and thanked in delight, "Thank you O Lord,
For the sole purpose of handling my life,
Sending us these representatives of yours!"

The bluebells whisper in the dead of the night
Sweet nothings are all the bindweed hears.
On and on they go till it gets quite light
till the moon disappears and the mist clears
The daffodils stir and join in mid stream
without knowledge of the subject or occasion
A glow casts a shadow from a new sunbeam
allowing the rest of the forest to awaken.
Story tellers, nothing but story tellers
but then there is not much else to do.
Which is fine for most of the forest dwellers
If only the story tellers - the bluebells knew.