Taking away guns and killing freedom of speech. New York City the once great international city. Fallen from grace as a beacon of freedom, to become a haven for oppression. No rights are held with in your hallowed streets. Your cruel overlords with distorted points of view. How they have hated and tormented you. In a socialist experiment gone bad. Once you had your freedom now it is as if it never existed.

Oh to dance on Green meadows and bask in the sun while my silver mane blows in the wind. My mighty horn proclaiming my dominion over all that I survey, in a kingdom full of fairies and elves. The trees full of sprites playing tricks on unsuspecting travelers while I run as fast as my hooves will carry me. In a place where the water is clear and taste like Strawberries one day and honey the next. Oh how I would love to be a Unicorn living in such a mystic land.

Hanging the Mistletoe, decking the tree. Getting a shopping list or 3. Hurrying to get all of the gifts, forgetting what the season really means. All of the hustle and pomp, overlooks the thankfulness that we should show. Taking a few moments to be kind to our fellow man. This is what holidays should truly mean.

Oh pain , and sorrow cuts me to the quick. What comes from a hateful tome written to spite my soul. How grievous are the words filled with poison that wound me and make toxic my soul. Oh fowl stench of criticism from my peers is gut wrenching, we're a knife plunged into my heart. Oh the Fowl deed is done, the poison words have cut me and curtled my blood , thus bringing me to a literary death.

Drip , plop, splash go our efforts. Into the giant pool of humanity go our efforts. Into a giant bucket with a hole that leaks out what we put into it, our human efforts meet with futility as we try to resolve the problems of our world. Until the minds and hearts of others can join together and accept that we are all human, the best intentions will just be drops in a leaky bucket that will never get filled.

Lay me in the earth and cover me over deep. Surround me with Rose bushes as I quietly sleep. Let the running vine of the Flowering Cherokee rose grow over me. Surround me with beauty as I lay and wait. Perhaps when they bloom, I will be part of something great. So cry not for me, for I will be in good company, I will be sleeping among the Roses you see.

Caring should not take a resolution. Giving of yourself should not be a guilty pledge, it should be the way we live. We should not wait one hour to help out our fellow human, we should do it now. It should not take a new year for each of us to see how we can help someone out.

Tired and despondent I scream at the night. Overrun by the hoards of angry voices on my t.v. . I clamor for a place only to be shut out, I am tired and I will not be silent yet again. Joining with like minded people, I rise up against a corrupt and broken system. I rage and rattle the doors to my cage. I am the one who makes the machine work, those at the top only pull leavers. The cogs must turn in order for things to function, when one cog stops, perhaps it is ignored, but when several seize up, the machinery comes to a screeching halt. This time is different, this time the system must pay heed. The old masters have been dealt a critical blow. Those of us who are under the levers of the operators have decided that we will not be ignored again. The wheels come to a screeching halt and the noises of the parts of the machine will not be silenced again.

Running so fast that my heart feels as if it will burst from my chest. I sweep into your arms holding on to you as if I have been seperated from you for a thousand years. I wrap myself in your essence and close my eyes as I feel every movement of your body. I listen to your breathing as you caress me and whisper to me of your love. In a single momemt I am taken from my worldly cares as I am lost in the pasionate embraceo your love.

At the end of the day on a stone jetty, I watch the silver break of the waves crest onto the massive stones. I pull my jacket close around me as the gulls dance about on the chilly ocean breeze. I hear the distant blast of a horn on a merchant ship coming from afar to bring her wares to our shores. The sun begins to go through it's transition as it changes colors from yellow to orange to red. At it hits the horizon and gives golden and red hues to the few clouds that begin to form. The ships, and waves becomes shadows silhouetted in the last few rays, as the sun yields to the first stars of the evening. In a few brief moments both are perfectly aligned and both night and day touch on the dark blue horizon of an ocean sunset.

Wanting to embrace love, but confused by a torrent of emotions. I am not sure how to share my feelings for fear that I might push you away. We complete each other as friends, but I am sure we could be so much more. I long to show you how I really feel, as I sit here in an emotional storm. My heart wants to explode from the pain that it feels when you are not with me. I cannot imagine a world without you. I feel the winds of time passing and I must find the courage to decide before it is too late. Until then, my emotions are twisting in the wind as I try to muster the courage to tell you how I really feel.

Pulling on my jeans too tight, stepping up in heels so high. Swinging to the left and bumping to the right. Keeping up with the rhythm every single time. I'm too fly to be left out of anyone's scene. I'm working it fine in my Apple Bottom Jeans.

Last night I had a dream, I was sailing on a boat. The boat was ancient and creaked as it went along. I could not see all of the faces, but the captain stood clear. He held the helm with confidence even as the wind blew up the waves. I walked to where stood and watch him at his task. Then I noticed he had scarred hands, and quietly I asked. Where did you hurt yourself and the turned so I could see, he said oh the scars on my hands, I got them from a tree. He said that long ago, he had suffered loss. He said that the scars were a reminder of how much something cost. He said the tree where he was injured, did not hurt him long, but the injury was severe and cost him everything. I wept at his story and he asked why do you cry, for you see I had to suffer so that you would not have to die. He said I left my fathers home for a journey that you could not take, and on that tree, I had to take your place. He touch me on the shoulder, and it broke my heart. Then as suddenly as I had seen him, we were torn apart. The dream ended and I awoke, with tears filling my eyes. I knew with whom I had spoken and why he had to die. So late at night in silence, my world was torn apart, but with great remorse, I gave that man my heart. Now I long to speak with him again. I look forward to the day that we can sail on that ship again. The next time that we meet, I will already understand, why my Jesus wears the nail scars in his hands.

They stole it, it was a conspiracy so says the disenfranchised nut job. It wasn't our fault, we did nothing so says the liberal left wing voter. Never mind the candidate was toxic and needed hazmat suits to be handled, we were robbed. On goes the rhetoric as they are told to resist. Become the deep state and dig in for the long haul. You are not defeated voters, you are resistance fighters. From California to New York and other places in between, the cry goes up as they take flight. One by one they blame everybody and everything but themselves. The loon bat takes flight not knowing that it is an endangered species as it's delusional world crumbles in lieu of common sense.

Once there was a stony garden, where nothing grew at all. The dirt and rocks lay dusty and forgotten. Then one night a man came there to pray, his tears fell like rain. In great distress, he unburdened his soul until they came and took him away. At the place where he had knelt, his tears had soaked the ground, it all seemed in vain some would say. They took the man away and the let him die, then they placed him in the cold, cold earth. For 3 days he was mourned, then on the morning of the next day, they found his grave was empty. On that very same morning, at the dawning of first light, a passer by happened on a remarkable thing. From the ground where the tears had fallen, a vine had sprung up over night. The vine clung to the rock upon which the man leaned and it used it to climb up to the sun. The as by a miracle the plant exploded in magnificent blooms and Roses bloomed in the barren garden. Now there garden is still there and the mans memory has gone from that place, but every year the roses bloom. It's vines run far and wide in this once barren place, because the Rose of Sharon once bloomed in this garden place.

My garments are tattered and my shoes have become worn, from many a wear mile that I have walked. I have climbed many mountains and weathered many storms and my sight sometime grows a little dim. Despite the burdens that weigh me down, I still look towards home and the day I receive a robe and crown. When my last labor is over and my work on earth is done, I will lay down my mortal coil. In a moment of celebration and heavenly elation, I will finally receive a robe and crown. A new garment forged of the righteous work I have done, not for earthly glory was it wrought. The helping hand I offered and the witness I gave, was all for the father who waits to greet me. When at last I see Heaven, I will receive my prize, when the master gives me a robe and crown.

When you think you are alone, his arms are open wide. When you have fallen and think you can't get up, there is a nail scarred hand reaching out to you. When the burden seems too great to bear, there is a shoulder you can lean on. When you have lost all hope and are surrounded by the waves of despair, he will walk on the waves and carry you to shore. When you heart feels empty beyond reason, remember God loves you.

Cold alone and unwanted cast away like so much garbage. I shiver alone in the wet and cold. I don't know why no one wants me. I can't figure out what I did wrong. I tried to be good, but apparently I wasn't. If I was then I wouldn't be here. All I wanted was to be loved, yet I was abused and rejected. Now I am abandoned and I see no hope for tomorrow. I just want someone to love me.

If we could open up and show what we keep inside, would others like what we would show them? Beyond our false pretenses and fake smiles, what would the world really see? Would all of our frailties be exposed and make us look weak, or would we become more human? Would the ugly and hateful self we hide in the shadows of our heart appear and repulse those who call us friend? Would the world embrace what we truly are or would it shun each of us as it saw a reflection of itself? No one can predict what would happen if our true selves came out. All that we can say for sure is that the world would be a different place than the one we create for others to see.

With each day I walk through out my life, I leave things behind. Though I may not see the traces I leave on my path. Each instance give me the opportunity to do something. The marks I will leave can be for good or bad. They can be for happiness or to leave a person sad. I can give encouragement or despair. I can cause confusion or help to clear the air. How I live my life, whether with selfishness or love will all come back to me when I am finally gone. Though I do not know what lies ahead, I know what I have left behind and on these things I will be judged, on how I lived my life.

Accusation and rage, a woman shows her scorn towards her lover. Her partner retorts with venomous chides. Both rage at each other over something that may be trivial to those looking in on their passion. Pacing like Leopards squaring off to fight. Each has disdain for the other and yet longs to embrace. In tense moments of anger, their quarrel is forgotten and replaced with a desire that burns from with in each others souls. Finally they lunge at each other, but not for violence sake, but to embrace as lovers. Joining in hot writhing passion that tears away the sheets of the lovers bed and drenches two bodies in sweat. After each takes pleasure from the other and leaves the apex of mortal passion, they settle into bliss and contentment. Having forgotten their lovers quarrel, they sleep in bliss until next they engage in discord, only to end up in passions throws again.

Stomping with angry hooves, rooting in the soil and stirring up dust. This is what the Earth Beast considers fun. Gnawing on bitter roots or lying in the burning sun. No one tells the Earth Beast what it must do or when it must be done. With a neck like two fold iron and eyes that are piercing and black. The Earth Beast can make its enemies flee with a snort and a roar from it's snout. Lumbering between trees and displacing rocks. The mighty behemoth wears a path over everything as it goes.  The ground creaks and groans at the Earth Beast coming, while leaves fall from trees as though winter had come. Into the water the Earth Beast goes, taking the river into it's mouth in one mighty gulp. The Earth Beast trudges on with little fear of anything except it's own kind. When two of the mighty beast collide, the mountains echo with the thunder of the crashing blows and the roars of the mighty Earth Beast make men's heart fail. So is the way of the mighty Earth Beast as it lives out it's life to what ever end it may seem fit.

Ground is opened in the urban sprawl. Dark earth sits where concrete and asphalt use to be. The dirt can breathe once again after years of being kept under a stony tomb. Now green things take root and grow. Food is produced by the hard work and sweat of those living in the masonry covered towers. The idea of hope is taking root as more buildings are reconfigured to allow for green spaces to blend into the urban landscape. In slow movements forward, the towers of cement and steel are being joined by cabbages and pole beans. The life is returning to a once desolate place and things are living in cohabitation under a new sun.

A woman lamenting the death of her child is a tragedy, a bride dancing at her wedding is joy. A mother giving birth is both at the same time. Life does not imitate art, life is art. Each picture is a moment of humanity. Each story needs to be told. To write another persons story is to speak volumes of the world outside of your own sphere of control. Without poetry, philosophy or stories written, we would lose our history and not know where we came from, who we are or what we can become.

Remove the gospel from the schools and tear down the crosses from the public cathedral's. Change the law to make the bible hate speech and shut the churches down. The blood of Calvary still flows from the cross. The forgiveness of God has not been lost. Try as the world might, this is a fight they cannot win. For all power in heaven and earth was given to Gods perfect lamb.

Alone in the garden, he sorely wept. Alone in the garden ,a watch he kept. Alone in the garden, he waited for it to end. Alone in the garden, he was betrayed by a friend. Alone in the garden, he shed his last tears. Alone in the garden, he let go of his fears. Alone in the garden, he became the one, when he prayed father thy will not mine be done.

Try then fail, then try once again. Repeat and alter just slightly from the first time. Become frustrated then break through the problem. Solve one puzzle and discover another. Go back to the beginning, then return to the middle, before deciding that the end is actually the beginning after all. Such is the path of discovery, such is the way of life. Mistakes and reversals, trial and error. This is what makes discovery a journey unto itself.

A silly laugh and a toothless smile with sparkling green eyes. A selfless spirit and dark brown hair. His face lights up at the silliest things. Since you have been away, I depend on him more each day. Such a little man to bear such a big responsibility. Your picture sits on the mantle, he looks at it and says daddy. He recognizes you in your uniform. When we walk down the street, he points at anyone we meet who is dressed like you. I know why you had to go, but I still don't understand why you didn't come back. Each day I pray to God for his strength and I find more of you in our son. So for now I will go on, knowing that a part of you is always with me. He reminds me of you all of the time and that is both a blessing and a curse, since I know I will never hold you again.

You start out with a fantastic plan, then get distracted by teenage lust. You fall into young adulthood and end up with a little you. Your college fund is now your mortgage payment. A minivan just replaced your 2 door coupe and your sweetheart isn't a beauty queen anymore. !2 hour days are your normal routine and your money just doesn't seem to go as far as you thought. Your spring break to Cancun is the last taste of real freedom you had, but you wish you could remember more of it. Suddenly, your 30 and there are now 2 replicas of you. You get up one day and find that spandex in your pants is not a bad thing. The only exercise you seem to get is when you walk the dog that isn't anything you have bought. So you struggle to get back on track, but the rails keep slipping out from under your feet. Finally you enter a crisis that they say happens at midlife, but you think that your midlife was at 20. So at last things begin to make sense, just as you try to buy a coupe again, only to find that you are too wide to fit behind the wheel. All of these things are your fault, your kids and wife had no part in it. When you finally collapse from the exhaustion of all of this, you wake up and find it is only a dream. The tequila has worn off and you are once again 18. In 5 minuets you forget what you have learned, but somewhere in the back of your mind a road map has been drawn. The question is do you follow it or not.

The orator speaks as the masses run towards the flame. Not the light of knowledge, but the radiant beacon of ignorance. The masses embrace the false comfort of surrender as they bask in the light. Life is too hard and we must not think for ourselves. Release us from responsibility they cry, give us our desires and protect us as we give up bits of our freedom for false security. Many are mesurized by the hypnotic words of the Sphengali's that promise them everything, but deliver little. The fault of your life is too much freedom surrender and be at ease. To those who go willingly the dissenter are the obstacle that must be overcome. As the mass delusion carries the masses to their doom, some struggle against the light of ignorance, but in what seems a futile fight. The curtain begins to fall on freedom as democracy is replaced with lies. So goes the book of liberty as the chapter of the script of ignorance heralds the end of a story as freedom is closed out of the scene.

When you see a unpolished stone in a persons life. If you are willing to put in the work and give of your time. You can knock off the dirt and rough edges and make a Jewel shine.

Teetering on the edge or the roof, I will look up at the stars. I listen to the cars pass as I walk in the darkness. I repeat this each night just after midnight to see how far I can get. It is 10 stories down to the pavement below. Each story passes a window with a story of it's own. My story is one of wanting to know what is next. So up I go to the edge, walking along the asphalt covered room, looking at the stars as I walk along the edge. Standing on the line between life and death I wait to feel the first rays of the rising sun to know that I have lived, unless I may slip and splatter on the concrete below.

I once lived as if there were no tomorrow. I didn't care what I did. I thought this moment was all that there was. I was lost and foolish, I could not see the truth. I was without hope as so many are. I struggled to find the answers to a burning question I had inside. Nothing I tried would could give me peace. It wasn't until I one day found Jesus, that I finally was given rest. I came to know the truth. I was broken and couldn't fix myself, I had to empty out my soul. In a moment of utter shame, my sins were lifted away. That was the day he pardoned me.

Sorrows and love all through adversity. My life is written in a book for eternity. On each page a day is recorded. Kindness and mercy shown on my journey. Each trial I go through strengthens me. Making me better than I used to be. I reach higher even when I fall. I want to do better and leave goodness behind. Perhaps a better world for others to find. Each day that passes I add another page to the book of my life.

When the heart if broken and shattered into pieces, the nail scarred hands are there. When you feel your greatest joy, loving arms hold you close. When all that you believe is tested, God whispers be still. We only need pray to feel our Gods embrace.

Just a few cents is all they say it takes. Then you can save a life in a far away land. Combined with the efforts of others you can feed a child. What does it really mean and why has it taken so long. For decades we have been feeding the poor, yet they continue to come, more and more. Where does the money really go, has anyone ever truly ask? Is it some kind joke or a Ponzi scheme that never ends. Why can't we just give the money directly to those we would like to help, then we could truly see what a dollar a day means to someone else.

Arms around two bodies, embracing in the heat of passion. Two forms lost in each other forming an image as if a master sculpture had fashioned them. Two heart beats becoming one, as breathing joins in a rhythm. Each giving energy to the other as two lovers share the most intimate parts of themselves. All secrets are exposed and all pretenses are lost. For one moment they share souls and exchange pleasure with each other. Rising to the apex then slowly coming down together in a silhouetted embrace, entwined in each others love.

Arise all of you who live under the heavens. To all who live life, let us give our God adoration, let us praise his name. Cry out with a shout of exaltation. Let the heavens proclaim his greatness, from horizon to horizon. Let the name of the lord be made great. Give thanks for his mercy and let us give him praise.

Years of early mornings before the sun would rise. Aching muscles that screamed for a rest. Long nights of study to make up for lessons missed. Pain and self sacrifice beyond human limits with focus on a single goal. From the day of graduation to the halls of higher learning, breathless anticipation awaits. Walking down a walk way where thousands have walked before, headed to the gladiatorial arena. In one instance you feel the weight of the world on your shoulders, should I be here, am I good enough. In the moment in a locker room whether it is for football, soccer, or basketball. This is the hour you have waited for, this is the dream for which you have sacrificed. As you make the hollowed journey onto the field, your blood sweat and tears finally pay dividend. This is the hour of your triumph. When the voices scream and  blend into silence as you take the field for victory or defeat. It is you that has worked to get here and this is the hour to shine.

A leaf falls from a tree and a nest is left empty as a small bird takes flight. Over the whole of creation, God watches both day and night. To all that he has made he is attentive. He is very caring you see. So much so that not even one lowly sparrow is unaccounted for, when it leaves it's nest and or falls from a tree.

Waiting patiently adorned in white, made clean by a crimson flow. Working diligently in the field, to plant seed, work the ground and bring in the harvest. The bride waits unto perfection, for the day the prince will come to claim his own. A marriage made of sacrifice and labors of love, for some even unto death. Then in a moment appointed, the father sends his son to claim his betroth. Bought by a thing more precious than Rubies, the lord of the house will come with a crown and glory. His bride pure and ready to receive him, as the bridegroom which is Christ comes to bring his Church home.

The cover is cracked and worn. The pages have turned yellow with age. The tear stains mark the pages that were read most often. The name of the book has faded and only the word holy remains. Inside of the cover, those who were redeemed and those who have gone are written. Four generations have dog eared the pages and yet the words can still be seen. Just like Jesus my old bible has been broken, so that the world could not break me.

I am up then I am down. I live on an emotional Merry go round. I never know who I will see in the mirror when I wake. I never know what kind of day it will make. My life is a mixed up cake full of pills. A discolored bottle is where I get my thrills. Pink, blue, white and green pills. Several times a day they make things very real. I live in a drug induced stupor, people call me brave, my mom says I am a real trooper. All I want is for the fog to go away, perhaps I can be the real me for just one day. How did life end up this way? This is not the existence I would have chosen, but I have personalities by the dozens. Being one of my many selves is not always appropriate, welcome to the world of my psychosis.

A woman lies on the sidewalk wrapped in ragged clothes. I see her and feel embarrassed. I walk by as she looks at me, then I stop and go back, ashamed I offer a few dollars. She takes the money, with sadness in her eyes. I feel so lost wishing I could do more. I smile warmly and cry in shame as I walk away. Driving I see a mother holding a young child close. She looks like she hasn't slept in days. The child has sunken eyes and whines as it's mother clings on the a post waiting for a bus. She sees me and I try to look away, hoping for the light to change. Should I offer her a ride, but I have somewhere to be. I drive on leaving her behind in my rear view mirror, I look back and think why did she have to be there. As I go through my day, I ask God why this has to be. I want to know how do you choose. With all of the need, what can one soul do? I ponder this as I head to my home and I put it out of my mind. As I go to sleep, I hear my child coughing and I rush to see what is wrong. It is nothing more than a little water will fix, then it comes to me so clear. It is not what one can do, but what God can do with one. Each single bit of hope weaves a tapestry that satisfies a need. In each persons kindness, someone is helped. Just as a little water soothes a cough. so a little mercy can change the world.

Strands of wire lie rusting in a heap. Pieces of someones history pulled apart by time and circumstance. Angry words and unhealed wounds leave the fence in tatters. Sometimes the pieces must be picked up. With a strong resolve and a lot of sweat, slowly the strands are woven back together. Some are patched and some new pieces are added. Until the fence is strong and vibrant again. From pole to pole, from friend to friend.,the fences are mended and made right. Now things are as they should be. Past mistakes are forgiven, wounds are healed and the open holes in the fences are fixed for good.

Oil runs through my veins and into my heart. The loss of your love has made my blood run thick and it is difficult to breathe. As if the cold has thickened my life's essence to oil that my heart cannot pump. I grieve for you but my tears have dried up. I sit quietly trying to move, but each joint aches. Though my blood thickens, it does little to help my motion. I sit as a machine incapable of action, until the warmth of your love gives me life again.

I am not skilled yet, but I one day will be. I have much to learn in how to use the gifts that have been given to me. I sometimes feel that I am not ready to move on to the next place. I often question what I have done, and wonder if I have made a mistake. I want to be better than I was before. I would like to learn so much more. I refine my gifts each day as if I am repainting on the same canvas. Each time the picture becomes a little clearer. I am beholden to the master for his instruction. I want to be as good some day. First I must learn patients and then faith. Both of these things are essential to my success. When I have acquired both, then perhaps I will be ready. I will be able to step out on my own. Holding fast to the lessons learned from the master, and becoming a teacher myself.

Delicate flower that floats on the pond. Spreading out your leaves to cover the still water. Opening to give a fragrance or fill the dark pool with your color. You add uniqueness to quiet places. Birds wade over you and fish jump around you as frogs sit upon you and croak in the cool of the evening. Your roots reach into the depths like fingers seeking to grasp at some lost treasure. Your simple beauty can be overlooked, but you are a special flower indeed.

Golden flower that annoys my lawn. Puffy white seed pod that drives my cat insane. Flower of Irish lore and a recipe for stew. How I love and loathe you. While you are pretty to look at, you cause me great distress. You come on like an invading army, blotching my landscape with your golden pimples. I cut you down yet you flourish, just a little lower to the ground. Then at the appointed time, you morph into snowballs of allergic terror, giving my sinuses fits. So oh Dandelion, I will love you from afar while trying to find a way to get rid of you. Until the frost comes our relationship will be one of love and hate. May winter find you and **** you off, as the frost helps me bid you goodbye.

I am obscene, I am force and I am cowardice. I prey on the weak and the strong. I hide behind an illusion until I reveal my true face. I take what I desire and leave emptiness behind. I am empty unless I force others to sacrifice to satiate my lust. I am not always ******, but I can always be found hiding in plain sight. I take many forms and I am not always alone. My true face can be that of one person or that of many, depending on what the need is that must be filled. I know few limits and I will project my lust and pain onto what ever or whom ever I desire in order to feed my hunger. There is no rhyme or reason to what I am, I simply exist, to prey on others in order to hide my own weakness and lack of self control. I am ****.