Walking by the waters edge at the fall of twilight, you can see the silhouette of ships coming up the waterway into ports. They come with treasures from foreign lands, bringing their bounty to southern shores. The smell of the ocean stirred up by the evening breeze makes you feel alive. Lights come on at the water front as restaurants offer their wares, seafood freshly caught from the depths of the dark Atlantic ocean. Gulls cry over head as they catch the last bits of the sea breezes before heading off to some quiet perch to wait for the sun to come again. As night sets in, beyond the waterfront, rows of stoic houses from a time long past are lit up with gas lamps that cast haunting shadows over black iron gates. The Spanish moss hangs from old oak trees that have seen more than their share of life, like an elegant beard to be reverenced. The cobble stone streets make a tapping sound beneath your feet as you walk to a grand fountain just off of the main square. Then as the moon rises a golden yellow over the surrounding city, you can see the images of ghostly figures from the past walking as wisp from a different time. Then when you feel a night chill, you know it is time to take your rest in the comfort of cotton sheets with the window open towards the water, so that cool breezes can comfort you and the morning sun will wake you in Savannah.

Rising up like an unsure Eagle testing the wind for the first time, children walk on unsteady legs of youth. Leaping out into life's currents they may jump back to the safety of their nest unsure if they are ready for a solo flight. Little by little they will step forward until like the Eagle they are soaring on the wind, sometimes they will encounter turbulence but eventually they will soar free and in time they will watch their own progeny follow on as they did, at first unsure when spreading their own wings.

I let the garbage go until I could not stand it. I refused to wash one more pair of socks. I did not wash one dish or glass because something had to stop. I needed to get things in focus. I had to get him to see things my way. So to resolve all of our problems I came up with a training day. I stopped dressing like a lady and acted more like a man. I walked around in sweat pants with holes and kept my hand in my waste band. I let the house and my duties go. I decided why should I care. I made every meal pizza and an ice cold beer. I didn't bother to the change the channel I just preprogrammed the remote control. Now all we see are racing and fishing shows. When I needed to dress up and go out, I just found what ever was on top of pile of close that smelled like an old wet mop. I pulled my hair into a pony tail and slipped on my flip flops. At first he seemed to like it, but then he said it was getting weird. He wasn't sure how he liked me as one of his friends constantly living here. It didn't take long for him to see things my way. Especially when no bills got paid on time, and the took the cable away Suddenly things got better as he came around to my point of view. He now takes out the trash on time and does what I ask him to do. So if you are having problems with a relationship and a man can't see things your way. Just become a reflection of him and give him his own training day.

Looking up at a single pine tree growing out of a crevice. I find where I shall stop to rest in the shade. Just three thousand feet straight up, I grab the face of the sheer rock face and begin my climb. Pulling up with hands coated in white sticky powder, I feel the sweat begin to roll off of my brow. This is what I have been waiting for, this is that for which I trained. My ascent begins one foot at a time. I do not look back, I only look up, focusing on the lone pine tree that waits for me. With each and every hand hold, I rise another foot up the sheer incline. Not knowing how far I have come or how far I have to go. I only hug the cool face of the rock and pretend that I am one with it. Higher and higher I go, leaving the safety of level ground. The sun ascends with me, marking my progress with my own shadow, as if I were some kind of human hour glass. Then at a moment when my muscles ache and I am sweating beyond belief, a limb brushes my face and I reach my first goal. I slide up into the crevice and lay back under the shade of my new friend. I drink water that I have brought on the ascent. I gather my strength and sit contemplating that there are easier paths to self discovery, but ease of the journey is simply perspective and I still have half a mountain to climb.

I am smoke that rises and disappears into the air. I am the dried straw that lays on the ground. I am little and not much to see. I came and went as if I were nothing. I am a phantom before you, I am invisible in the light of day. I am part of the background when you are near. Oh how I wish you could see me.

A stomach on fire from too many unsavory meals. Eyes that are permanently blood shot.  A narrow field of vision that only allows me to see the task at hand. Selective hearing that tunes out anything I do not like. An addiction to Aspirin and coffee. This must be what they mean when you are burning out.

Oh ****** tree that is reviled and stands alone among the sinner. Oh wretched plank upon which the perfect Lamb was slain. If you only knew the burden that you bore, you would crack and splinter asunder. Upon your rough limbs was hung the most precious of all things. The blood that covers you was for cleansing and sins burden was placed upon the shoulders of the man who was hung upon you. So now is the moment, when the blood and water flowed from the side of the innocent that you bore up. So now let you oh ****** tree, become an emblem of forgiveness and victory for the hour of atonement has come.

I am an idea that takes hold in the heart of one person. I am the desire to be free from oppression. I am the need to succeed and prosper. I am the loyal solider who holds the banner of the cause even when it seems that it is lost. I am the one who teaches another what they do not know. I am the voice of reason in the world of insanity. I am a force of one person, but I am the ideal that lives in many.

Two glasses sit empty on the table. They bear the marks of last night. From the hue of red wine to pink lipstick, they tell of a wonderful time. From when we toasted to things that we can't remember until you kissed me passionately. The glasses tell the tale of what transpired between you and me. Once we drank only as friends, but that moment has passed. Because of the wine that stained the glasses, we have become intimate at last The glasses witnessed you laugh and they saw you cry. Your tears are on both of them as we both released what we held inside. So as we sleep silently entwined in each others loving embrace. The stained glasses wait silently to bear witness to what will come next.

On a cobblestone street in a quiet part of Savannah the rain cleanses away the dust and opens up the senses. When I walk down the old path, I smell the fragrant scent of Jasmine after the spring rains. Memories rush back to better days and to light hearted times where love was not a stranger to me. When a special person held my heart before she gave it away. To be caught in the moment with the scent of youthful joy only comes when the southern Jasmine gives remembrance to me.

Running away from my fears, I crawl deep inside of myself, only to be confronted with conscience. I am forced to deal with what I have locked away. It terrifies me and I look for another place to hide. In plain sight I look for ways to avoid having the conversation with myself. Try as I might, the voices inside of me, won't let me avoid the confrontation. So I use what ever I can to distract myself in order to escape confronting my own demons that have been demanding resolution for so long.

I will say what is on my mind and I will walk unashamed. I will not be afraid of what others think. I will defend myself and live my life. I will not conform to another persons ideal of who I should be. I am who I am love me or leave me. If  you don't accept me then just pass on by me. True friends will not judge me, they will take my faults with my strengths. They will remember me in my time of need. They will laugh when I laugh and cry when I cry. I can be among them and feel comfortable in my own skin. So if what I believe offends you, then please don't ask me what it is. I have my own set of values and I will change them if I please. I will be myself and that is what I will be.

Evergreen Pine Spruce and Cedar covered in decorative lights. Silver Bells and colored ornaments shining bright. Waiting for presents to be placed beneath on a quiet Christmas night. Christmas trees throughout the land giving children joyful Delight. Here for only a momentary season then they return from whence they came look for a few brief moments they bring joy to so many lives.

When tears stain the ground and the salt settles in the earth, seeds will lie still in the ground. The sorrow of a broken heart will lay heavy in the air. Many will long for spring to return, but sorrow lingers as the cold of winter. Love longed for fails to return and a dark shadow blocks out the sun. No flowers will grown or bud until the bleakness has been lifted. Until then I will sit in longing, waiting for the sun to shine again so that I can smell the sweet fragrance of gardens full of blossoms.

Water drips down from a damp rocky face. Drip, drop, plop it goes. Settling into  small pool far down in a mossy spot below. The water drops until the pool overflows and trickles down over small rocks. The trickle moves on quietly, gurgling slightly every once and a while. It simply moves forward slowly, not knowing where it must go. As the former drops move as a trickle, they join with other trickles that become a stream. The stream washes over rocks and through crevices in a mountain pass. The flow moves on to be a river which becomes mighty and a force to be reckoned with. Even if it is dammed up, it is only for a while, then it proceeds on again. This is the way of movement or ideas. They start small, but are joined into the thoughts and spirits of others until the must be reckoned with and often bring a force for change, what ever that change may be.

Curds and Whey taken from churned milk. Filling molds and sitting in the dark. Taking on distinctive flavors and unusual shapes. Turning into colors and hues of every imaginable kind. Some are delicate and some are full of holes. Some are briskly sharp and some will take your breath away. Some are well aged and come are only a few weeks old. Some are the stuff of legend or nightmare depending on your pallet. Cheese, a delicacy shared by both kings and commoners. Versatile and useful, cheese.

Monarchs do not come from mighty palaces, nor do they come from refined schools. Those who would rule, will not seek it. They must first learn to be a servant, for a kings life is not his own. They must not seek palaces or treasure, but the well fare of those around them. They must not exalt themselves, but must put others before them. They must seek wisdom not self aggrandizement. A king must be in touch with all peoples and not just those from he expects to receive gifts and favors.  Only a person who values law and justice more than station and honor will truly be a great king.

Life is a wisp of smoke and a vapor that we must endure. Life passes too quickly and then we come to the end. As the leaf that falls from the tree, so we live and then pass. Our sorrows are only for a moment and our pain is only for a time, then it is gone. In anticipation of a better reward we live this life and look forward to the hope of tomorrow. That which is for both sorrow and joy passes as our mortal vessel dwindles and fades from the stage of life. We come and then we go, as the changing of the Summer to the Fall and then to Winter, this life and it's suffering it is only for a season.

Lights pierce the night sky and shine down on this mortal shell that exist for a wisp of time as smoke it is here and gone. The stars that light the sky could have long since faded from when they first shone in the heavens, before my eye beheld them. Yet I am of no consequence compared to the existence of the cosmos. For now, I must stare in awe of the wonder knowing that in my present state that I cannot walk the Milky way. Perhaps we are still too young and must be content to simply look up at all of the stars in the sky.

Primal fear grips the soul of any who dare to leave the safety of their familiar surroundings. Fog rises from the marsh and the ground as the night takes hold. The darkness fills in the gaps and lets the imagination run wild. Terror fills our subconscious mind as we conceive that the most terrible evil awaits us in what we cannot see or understand. So we cringe in a corner or in a cave or perhaps under the covers hoping that the evil not see us. When it truth, we ourselves are the most dangerous thing that lays in the darkness.

I walk on a narrow road and often times I am on dark paths. The burdens get heavy and I often stumble. Despite the hardship, I am often lifted up, by unseen hands that are all around me. In the beggars house, I give the bread of life, to the lost soul, I bring the guiding light. In the barren fields of despair I plant a seed and watch as unseen friends help it to grow. In the middle of the storm when the enemy is at his fiercest, I simply kneel and watch as bands of helpers surround me. Under the shelter of their wings I am kept safe, by the angels that walk with me.

I pulled down some stars to see what they would do, they burned my hand and made me sorry I did it. I wanted to talk to a fish, so I stuck my head under water, I soon realized I could not breathe. I decided I would pursue self enlightenment so I filled my bed with nails, I didn't get much sleep, but now I am truly holy. I tried many things to make my life less dull, so I think I will paint myself and watch it dry. That sounds like a lot of fun.

Curse my mortality, shame is it upon me. I can not bear the grief that my own desires bring upon me. Temptation and the delight of pleasure, if even for a brief while. These things make me at odds with the celestial powers. What is man, but a bundle of emotions? Desires that rule our reason. If we are hungry then we seek to eat. If we are lonely, then we seek company. Not in the sense of spiritual comfort, but in the worldly things that give such as this. Alas all of this is temporary, for again we have a mortal self. That which gets in our way and causes us to stumble. If not for divine dispensation, we would die of our own lustful ways long before fate had dictated our end.

Long have I traveled and far have I come. I have stopped to help many a wayward soul. In life's storms and through tragedy I have kept up the good fight I have given of myself all that could be ask and perhaps a little more. Now as I grow weary, I look for a place to rest and seek to find my way home. I have carried my banner and stayed the course, now I long for rest. To again know the warmth of a fire and the blessings of friends around me. Through one last night and over one more hill, I will finally come to the journeys end.

Filled with rage at the stupidity of others. Seething with the lust for their blood. Wanting to slash and cut deeply into the heart of the problem. Cursing at the existence of people too stupid to live. Daring anyone who crosses my path to speak an ill word so that I might unleash my fury on their inferior intellect. All filled with rage and hate, looking to find a way out. Then I look into the mirror one more time before I go and realize that all the things are me.

The stars are out, the stars out oh come you spirits and rise. The joy of evening is upon us, the cruel sun has met it's demise. In fading light, the evening comes, the pin holes in the curtain of night give gentle repose. The silver moon can now rise and coolly shine on our dance. Hearts leap and shades skim across the water. Silent lakes and deep quiet rivers are their play grounds. Lapping at the water as they skirt quickly across scarcely leaving a trace that they were there, only a brief glimpse of a reflection to remember them by. The flowers have wilted into their shells as crickets serenade and night owls keep watch. Fire flies dance and children laugh in the days fading light. All is alive thought a dark curtain has fallen. Life does not stop at the suns going down. Only the cool of a faint shade of darkness rest on the land that part of the world can sleep while the rest in twilight can play.

Giggles and snorts, howls and pleading for me to stop. That is what I get when I make funny faces. To a 5 year old that has little self control, contorting my expressions are like a living amusement park. Sitting for hours each day, make a young child laugh. The power of the uncontrolled joy passes too quickly. Regardless of the age, the laughter will always be a treasure, something that over writes the painful times of watching a precious child grow up.

If the skies went silent and the streets were empty of cars. If restaurants simply closed down and all of the air traffic went away. If we all stopped fighting for just a few days and just stayed home, what would the world say? If Americans all took a vacation and had a few days off, would it spread terror through our leaders and what would it actually cost? To just sit in silence and be with our loved ones. To just sit on our porches and listen to the rain or lay out for a while in the sun. Just imagine what it would be like, imagine the utter shock, if we all decided not to work and took our power back.

Speaking with dissent and objection, turmoil erupts among the masses. The tides of public opinion are swayed by pundits and spin doctors that twist the facts to suit a narrative. Until the people are worked up into a froth, the hidden agendas are not satisfied. Only when the power brokers get what they want by deception and misdirection will they be content, but only for a little while, at least until they trouble the waters of society again.

Hopeless faces everywhere, lining up in cell blocks. More and more young people sent behind bars. Drugs again and again, no end to violence. Shootings rampant in minority neighborhoods, even with tough gun laws. Honest people can't walk the streets for fear of being shot for no cause. More and more are put behind iron bars to sit and wait for life to pass them by. Young lives wasted in a grey jail house. No hope for a future that is bleak. One group gets privilege, while another falls through the cracks of the system. Disparity in the sentence based on what kind of drug you were carrying. Guns are the answer to everything, shoot and **** with no reason. Getting life for a cheap pistol and a few grams. Grey are the walls and dark is the color of prison. Not the ones we build with concrete and steel, but the ones we create for ourselves by refusing to acknowledge the problem and change it.

Walking among the white Lilies that bloom with the golden centers. Standing on the blue grass among the purple Roses, I see the Gold fish singing in the green water as Humming birds keep time. I look at the mushrooms upon which the fairies sit playing grass flutes, made from long stems taken from the flower bed. The wind blows through the Yellow Bells that ring in harmony. The Willow tree filled with chimes ****** and clink to make beautiful sound. The Morning Glories shudder and dance as they shake off the first dew of the day. The suns shine down through the canopy of Oak trees that sway and shake. Harmony is achieved as I sit in my fantasy garden of make believe.

Vote for me, no Vote for me as the talking heads scream across my T.V. Irritated and inundated  with the latest accusation or scandal. My opponent did this and I didn't do that, it is more than one sane person can handle. While the world burns with so called wars, our radios and T.V.'s become political mind fields. Now longer and longer the winter comes making cold the public debate. As news pundits swoon over the next it person and the riders of so many an elegant leg jockey for a position. I must get up and go to work to pay the heavy taxes they promise they won't increase. Were election time like any other season, where a license must be obtained, before you enter my home over the latest episode of my favorite show or block my best sports team. As my head swoons and my insides turn into mush, I just pray for an end to this protracted political season that I have grown to despise so much.

Stuck in black muck, idle for lack of trying. I am trapped in an inkwell and cannot get out. The pen punctures the surface of the icky goop, but I still cannot escape. Try as I might, I am stuck in the darkness. I see only brief glimmers of light each time a quill pierces the surface. Nothing is moving, I am stuck. I cannot just materialize on the page. The words that want to be written are trapped in the ink well and I can't get them out, and thus I am trapped with them going nowhere.

When I give a glass of water to some who thirst, let the glory be God's. When I sew a seed of hope, let the glory be God's. When I answer a friends call for help in the midnight hour, let the glory be God's. In all things that I do that are worthy of honor and praise, let the glory be God's.

Twist my arm and squeeze my breast, claw my back and slap my face! Hold me down and pierce me hard! Twist my ******* and bite me, reduce me to the basest form of pleasure. Use me and abuse me make me like your love. Hurt me in ways I never thought of, give it to me rough! Show me tortured pleasure, do it over and over again! Pay no attention to my whining, let my pleas fall on deaf ears and just make me scream!

Through the Poppy fields and down a rabbit hole, to crystal waterfalls and Candy Cane forest I go. On cobble stone roads made of silver and past a Ruby wall, in golden slippers I walk. I stop for a while and talk with a Blue Unicorn and ask which way I go to get out. He says climb on top of a giant Dandelion and give it a shake, then grab on to a seed pod and see where it takes you. So up I go and with a mighty shake, the Dandelion's fluffy head goes ****. I grab onto the seed pod but I have a hold of two. One wants to go left and one wants to go right. So I let go of one and hold onto the other then off on a Raspberry scented breeze I go. I finally land on a white sugar beach next to the Pink Lemonade sea. Trying to find my bearings, I look up at the Lemon Drop sun and get blinded by it glowing light. I see a swan shaped boat and I ask it for a ride, the head of the boat says it wouldn't mind. So I jump in and off I go over the Pink Lemonade sea, I see Rainbow colored Dolphins splashing around me as I approach the Blueberry cove. There sitting under the shade of a 4 leaf Clover, I sip on a glass of Blueberry punch. Then in a quiet moment I awake back in my own bed, but I can still taste the Blueberry and my teeth are a darkened hue of Blue. So did I ever leave my home or did I actually take a beautiful journey into another world.

Nature is full of wisdom. There are many things that we should not ignore. I found such a lesson when one day I decided to explore. I walked down a well worn path then I veered off the main way. I cut through some bramble bushes, then sat down by a small stream. To my surprise I saw a little bird sitting on a rock. The little bird didn't seem to notice me, it just kept tapping on the stone. I then noticed it had a snail it was trying to open up. I looked a little closer only to get quiet the start. With ruffled feathers and a quick chirp, the little bird warned me back. I fell over into the stream and gave a hearty laugh. While laying in the cool running water and the mixed up leaves and mud. The little bird landed on my chest, it had to get in the last word. With a few chirps and a screech thrown in for care. It read me the riot act then went back to it's rock, like it didn't have a care. So I learned a valuable lesson from my experience, that sometimes it is better to just let nature be. At least that is the message I got in no uncertain terms, from what a little bird told me.

I spill my misery into a cup full of tears and drink the bitter fruit of loneliness. My heart is filled with the poison of a broken love. I cast my eyes downward and let the tears flow. I have no life in me and my strength is spent, since you departed and took my heart with you. All that is left is the bitter taste of the cup from which I drink, that is seasoned with the salt of my tears.

On a path that is straight and narrow, I will attempt to walk. Through valleys and dry places I will seek to go. Though I may stumble and fall, he will pick me up. I will follow the steps he has put before me as a guide. In his word I will be steadfast, to his calling I will adhere. Being brave in my convictions as I go. Not wavering though death shall overtake me. I will follow Jesus, in his footsteps I will go.

Hold my heart gently and do not let it fall. Tell me how much you need me each and everyday. Stand between me and the fury of the storm and comfort me when I have lost my way. Give me reassurance that things will turn out for the best. Confide in me your deepest desires and share with me all of your dream. Lift me up instead of tearing me down. Wipe away my tears and be willing to just listen sometimes. Understand my faults and accept me for who I am. Let me give love back to you and help you when I can.

Born into reality and not prosperity, I grappled with the circumstances that surrounded me. Disadvantage was my native tongue and necessity was my teacher in the school of hard nocks. I earned my diploma at a young age and became street wise. Survival was the only way of life I knew, until I was older and had earned many battle scars. Now I am not sure if I am better or worse for what I had to go through. I only know that I wasn't born with a silver spoon and the only way that I will ever grab a brass ring is to likely steal one.

Wind sweeps over buildings and past people. Glass and steel towers crumble and fade into the background. Those who walk in and out of them become ghostly images, caught in a photo of a moment in time. The wind keeps blowing, picking up bits of this and that. It wears away at mountains and uncovers tombs that once stood as great monuments, but are now nothing more than worn out pieces of rubble. What one man creates, another may destroy or simply neglect. All things come from the earth, iron, stone, and flesh alike. All are covered by time that a human cannot hope to measure. Mighty mountains and landscapes can sparsely keep up with the eons that pass. All things return back from which they came, as the dust of time collects and then is blown away into forgetfulness.

I drove my car as far as it would go, 100 thousand miles I had let it go. With only the most basic of work, because often I was flat broke. Then my shocks went out on a date and one pothole and my girlfriend banged her head. I was mortally terrified, because I thought she was dead. With only a large goose egg on the top of her head, at the hospital she said she loved me but that we could no longer date, not until I fixed my car. I whined and asked can't it wait. She gave me stern look as the nurse pushed her towards the hospital door, where she got into a cab and at that she said no more. So in utter frustration, I finally gave in and decided to visit the dealership for the service I had been putting off. If I had know what I was in for, I would have bought another car, it would have been cheaper than a tune up by far. When I entered the service bay, the floors were squeaky clean, the service attendant was very nice and I thought this isn't as bad as it seems. They filled out some paper work and I said what the heck, I signed my name on the dotted line and said give my car a check. I sat in their waiting room as if it were a delivery date. Then after two hours I met my mechanic, he said hi my name is Nate. He begin to explain to me all of the ends and outs, I barley understood half of what he was talking about. When at last he had finished, he said will all of this be ok, I just nodded a confused yes and he said great we'll get on it right away. For 2 more hours I sat in the waiting room, hoping that the nightmare would be over soon. Just I was about to fall asleep, a voice rang over the loud speaker for me to come to she service desk, from that point on, I can scarcely remember the rest. I saw the friendly attendant in the area with nice clean floors, when she handed me the service ticket it nearly reached to the door. In utter shock, I didn't now how I was going to pay, then as by magic she had my wallet and a credit card and she said we'll take care of this right away. So with my vehicle up to code and all of it's problems fixed. I no longer have a girl friend and I have no desire to date. For once I get my card paid off from the service on my car. I am pretty sure that I will be able to take a trip from here to Mars.

In several pieces there was a broken doll. Once filled with beauty, she now lay shattered. Longing to be whole again, she wept as she lay still. Dust covered her pieces and placed her into forgetfulness. Then one day a man found her and gently picked up the pieces. With the care of a master craftsman he mended each part. When the last piece was set in place, he picked up his brush and returned her beauty. Then what was broken was made whole and put back to be admired and glisten in the sunlight for all to see.

On a steed as black as night, a lone soul rides out from the vaulted walls of the citadel to which he is assigned. Onward into the mist of the coming morning he rides. The heart of the horse and rider race in time with one another, onward the rider goes. Jumping over ditches instead of following well known roads, the message of such an urgent nature must get through. Beyond fields filled with herds of sheep and swine that have been released from their pens, on goes the rider into the coming dawn. Driving the steed until it's heart might break, through blurry eyes the messenger goes on. Finally the camp fires are seen on the line, as the rider approaches the sentry, the sign is given and passage is allowed quickly. As the rider jumps from the exhausted steed covered in a white froth from galloping across rough land, with legs numbed by the ride, the messenger collapses before the captain, with message in hand. Tearing the envelope asunder the young captain sees the news, to him a son has been born. With rejoicing he is elated as the messenger fades away.

Piece by piece monuments are torn down. Brick by brick that which is distasteful is set aside from public view. Ignorance is bliss to the nay Sayers, as they writhe in discomfort at remembering past ideals. To some they are heritage, to others a stain on a memory. To all they are reminders of things that should be remembered. In taking down that which we dislike, we offend our children and hide our mistakes. Ugliness isn't always welcome, but it is part of who and what we are. To dismantle any part of it and pretend that it didn't exist, is to discount a part of ourselves, for good or ill.

Cogs turn and wheels spin, the machine moves forward. People come and then they go, but the machine moves forward. Each decade passes and no one knows who runs the machine. it is so vast that connecting to the operator is almost impossible. The parts run in an orderly manner, as the machine moves forward as a set pace, but no one knows who sets the pace. The machine extracts life from the people who are in the mechanism, and it moves forward. When one person wears out, that person is simply replaced with a new one and the machine moves forward. What the machines purpose is no one really knows, all that is known is that it must continue on, for if the machine stops then the fear is great that things will end. For so long, people have been inside the machine that it's true purpose has been forgotten. So the cogs turn and the wheels spin and the nameless faceless machine consumes yet more resources and more people to keep itself going forward. The machine must go on.

I was called a Rose and the fairest among ten thousand. I was ask how much I loved you and I open my arms wide. I ached so much to know you that I gave you all I had. With each stripe and drop of blood I tried to express my love for you. Then when the mortal coil quietly slipped away and set my spirit free. I gave my life to show you how much you mean to me.

Forty hours a week never gest the job done. Turning wrenches and busted knuckles is how things get built. Steel beams with red hot rivets, long welded seams on flat iron plate. Miles of highway laid out with tar and cement in the hot summer sun. Bridge foundations laid and mighty buildings sent spiraling skyward. Machines that run around the clock to weave and knit things we wear. Bakeries  that can cook anything we care to eat. By the sweat of our brows we earn our daily bread. Hoping to make a better life than the one our parents had. On a day reserved for rest and reflection, let the world know that the greatest of us is sometimes not seen, but in the things that were created, we leave our mark from behind the scene. The working men and women of America are the true heart of the machine.

For three days there was a hushed silence, and darkness across the land. The hope had been extinguished, the light had been snuffed out. The faithful were scattered and the powers that be rejoiced with glee. The man that had promised deliverance and to set the oppressed free had been defeated, or so it would seem. Then on a faithful moment, when the body gave in to pain. The spirit was set at liberty and so it all began. At first the ground shook, and the temple was set asunder. Then in the darkness, a light shone bright as new day. All sins had been forgiven and the stone would be rolled away. In one singular instance, all the oppressed of sin were set free. When the chains fell away, because the lord loved a wretch like  me.