Look its over here, no its over there. The old bait and switch, a classic con. In politics that is all you get, a promise vaguely made then switched for something not even close to what they said. What do words really mean anyway. Talk and talk and talk some more until your so weary you forget where the ball is. Look its over here no its over there. The old shell game, a favorite of politicians everywhere.

Standing on the sideboards of a corral, looking down at death. Two thousand pounds of fury sits just six feet away. With what some call nerves of steel and others call insanity, a cowboy straddles a bull that they say can't be broken. Earning a name like Loco Rios or the Widow Maker, the bull snorts as the cowboy tightens up the leather strap into his glove. Taking a second look at the man holding the gate, the hand is lifted and the dust begins to fly. All of his senses ask why the hell he is here, while his heart races and his sense of adventure, says that his body is just along for the ride.

To heaven I plead asking for comfort. In misery I call out with lamentation. I see those who persecute me and take away my joy, I call to the watchers of the lord. In the hour of temptation, let heaven hear my pleas. In the night watch when fear comes to over take me, let the sentry be set about me that my peace shall not leave me. Oh lord set your angels to watch over me.

Hands reach out for a piece of the pie until the pie is gone. Many want but few contribute. Hard work has become a sin and demanding more is the in thing. Some are getting older and can no longer contribute to the ***. People who give nothing and those who have achieved nothing want their fair share even if it takes food out of another person mouth. Slowly the blood is drained from the turnip and not much is left but a husk. The clamoring does not cease as still more pile onto the gravy train. Then the train runs off of the track and a big heap of defeat is left. Still they cry more, give me my share without so much as a let me help out.  This cycle goes until one day the true outcome is revealed, those who pushed others to cry for what was not theirs have the needy bound in chains of ******* and now it is to late and the imagined want is real as gimme gimme gimme turns into the sound of the whip and oppression.

In the noise of the city or the still peace of a country night, the world becomes a different place. The day gives way to street lights or starry skies. The tensions of the world are eased a bit. People forget their cares and become someone else. Allowing others to see the other side of themselves.

If I were a book would you pick me up. Would you turn my pages gently with love? Perhaps you would thumb through my pages with wanton anticipation, as passion raced in your heart and your pulse quickened. You could grip me with terror and fear as the horrors of my words came alive in your soul. How ever you would hold me, I would be delighted and thrilled that you would want to read me and hold me close as you became lost in my pages, so that we could go on a journey together, where ever that journey might lead.

What ever you need, we have the fix. See your doctor and get it quick. A potion for this and a pill for that. Magic in a bottle, that is where it is at. Anxiety in your children, we can take that away. What ever happened to letting kids just run and play. Doses of tranquility in gel cap form. What used to be for the sick and old is now the daily norm. We have fallen victim to an epidemic of addiction. They just want to legally make us a drug nation.

The truth lies on the ground like broken pieces of glass. It cuts deeply into the feet of those who walk on it. Reality does not bend to our will or let us reshape it to our liking, it simply is and we must accept that we have to live in it. Emotions are complicated and turbulent like a storm at sea, they can toss you around one moment and you can find a calm patch the next where you will forget the turmoil that you just went through. All of us put on a different face that the one we truly have inside of ourselves. It is the rare soul that will be brave enough to show their truest self for all of the world to see.

Hear them bey as they lust for blood. Hear the sound of sabres rattle. Let slip the dogs of war and let carnage reign down. Fire falls from the sky and hot metal sears flesh. Guns rage and fire over the heads of unsuspecting victims. Cities burn and famine is let loose, the four riders of the apocalypse revel in the blood staining the ground. Restrain now the hounds and pull back their bridles. Hold fast the rampaging death and scourge that would be unleashed. Talk to one another and come to understand your brother, lest the dogs of war slip their leashes and rampage across the land.

Sitting under a moon lit sky, watching the Spanish Moss sway in the wind. Listening to crickets chirp and lighting bugs flash. The smell of honey suckle fills the air as the stars fill the heavens. Dogs can be  heard barking as they run through the woods some distance away. The smell of apple pie comes from the kitchen giving a reminder that supper is almost ready. The air begins to cool and the night settles in as the sound of a rocking chair creaks on an old wooden porch. Perfection is not achieved, but it comes mighty close. This is what can be found on just about any southern night.

The gate swings open and the air rushes over you. I limp forward slowly and look around at the sky. I scratch at my beard that is now turning hues of Gray. I step outside and I am on my own. The grass still looks Green and the pavement still looks rough and dark. Other than that, the world has rushed by me. I have been in a time capsule that lags behind everything else. Behind walls of cement and wrought iron gates, I have lived a life under control. Every aspect of everyday planned out for me, from the time I eat until when I go to bed. Now after 30 years, I am on my own. One random act of violence took my freedom from me and now my freedom is what really scares me. The not knowing what I must do next is disheartening. I am not sure I can make it on the outside. Part of me is terrified and runs back to the iron gates, but another part wants to see what it is to be alive. So I will hobble forward, broken and worn down by doing all of my time. I must learn to live day to day. Life after 30 years behind bars is going to be a challenge, I hope that I can find the strength to move on.

In the news of the day, all that we see is misery. No stories of hope can be found. Let us take each day and do some good for another. Let our children see our kindness and not our distress. Walk in faith with discipline. Give kindness instead of retribution. See justice instead of vengeance. Show that there are other ways to live than hate and intolerance. Instill the lessons of acceptance and compassion. Bring forth children in a right way and they shall use it as a foundation to be a hope for tomorrow.

Crystal ****, Crack *******, all of it is like a bullet to the brain. Living by the law of the gun, making money on the run. Millions flow into the banks, the people don't ask where it comes from. They just take their cut and then they move on. The bodies lay cold in the street, a 9mm or a pipe it doesn't matter which. The victims are just as dead. Leaving parentless children looking to be fed. The street breeds them, it is the way they live. Handouts only go so far, they see what is on T.V. the clothes and the fancy cars. I once was the same, then I got caught up in the game. Slinging on a corner just to make the rent, now I got more money than 50 cent. Gold and jewels I buy by the car load. The finest hotels and beautiful women who will sell their soul. You cannot tell me what money can't buy, my only limit seems to be the sky. So now I am standing on my own building like Donald Trump, I look at the billionaire next door and say hey dog whas up. I see all of the little people down below, ******* on a pipe or shooting up blow. Built on the despair and protected by guns for hire, I sit as the king of a drug empire!

Battle though I have, the war is all but lost. I have guarded my heart for way too long. I have suffered many wounds but my defenses have held as long as they can bear it. Now you have found a way through the cracks in my armor At long last I am weary and long to rest in your arms. Take me gently and hold me close to you. I raise the white flag and succumb to your enticements, at last I surrender to love.

Can I do more, how can I give. What can I offer to help others to live. If I fore go a cup of coffee or miss one meal. Will the little sacrifice end my day or cause me to become ill. If I do more to care and make a greater effort to give. Perhaps I can help another person have one more day to live. Though my efforts might seem small, all rivers start out as drops of rain, then when bound with other drops they wash away mountains and form lakes and oceans. So with each act of selflessness, let my actions be as one drop of rain. That through each daily act of kindness, I might help another person live. In one years time may my deeds multiply. Until what I have done is a torrent of life giving hope that does great things and inspires others to ask can I do more?

Give me your wish and I will wrap it up with a bow. I will blow kisses on it and shake it 3 time for luck. I will place it under a tree and you can open it Christmas morning as a gift especially from me.

Holding the razor with a shaky hand. I look into the mirror and see the rings under my eyes. I push the powder this way then that. separating it out in even lengths. I lay the razor down and put the straw to my nose. I close one side so that I can get a strong inhale. I must do this each day, to wake up I need this to feel alive. Putting money up my nose in the form of white powder. I am always cutting the lines in order to just get by.

Rushing, rushing, running, always in a hurry. Making the most of the hours of the day. Imposing limits on our time, running our lives away. The seasons go unnoticed, our children grow in fits and starts. We compartmentalize precious moments all to complete a task. We scratch and claw for resources, thinking they will give us an advantage, only to come face to face with reality when we run out of time. Our children are grown and our business deals are done. We look at the age lines that we have accumulated and wonder where our time has gone. As we take stock of our own mortality, we realize that we are all ways behind. We come to understand that from the day we draw first breathe that we face our own death, which is our true dead line.

To be equal is to be at the same level. It is to have balance and to be on an even plain. A word cannot make you the same as something else or someone else. Often times you must earn your way to it. Not every person is equal in their gifts nor are they born into equal circumstances. The only true fact of equality is that we are all born naked and crying and that we all will pass away in death. For all other things, we must fervently work. We cannot be given equality in this life, it must be earned. The struggle is a life long one unless you become content, to accept that the only thing truly worth while is equal respect that allows each of us to achieve what we are capable of. In this we can leave the world a more balanced place than we found it.

Sitting quietly by the seashore where fishing  boats go out before the dawn. Waves and cold wind wash on to a Jetty and make you feel alive. The summer brings new people, but they never choose to stay. When the leaves turn and winter comes, they quietly slip away. Time moves at it's own pace  and people change little in this place. Everyone seems to know everyone else . As the seasons come and go, Christmas is a special time, when family and friends gather together to celebrate unity. Hard work is called for to live, but compassion and caring make life worth while. Such are the joys and challenges of living in a small New England town.

Love is not a complicated thing, but to look at humanity you think it is. With all of the wars and hatred it seems that love doesn't exist. When in truth all it takes is the want to show a kindness and to listen to another person point of view. When people can learn to do this for one another then love will begin to shine through. So when someone tells you that love is difficult and hard to understand. Simple show them kindness and listen, then tell them this is how to love another and perhaps they will do the same.

The seams of society became frayed and undone. The people were confused and filled with inpatients. No one knows where the thread first came unraveled, but when the smoke cleared the face of the world had changes. Power was ripped from the hands of those who held it and overnight new leaders were born. Ideas that had been suppressed now came to the surface, along with earth shaking new ways of doing things. It all came crashing down as the old ways were wiped away and a new path to tomorrow was found.

Brother is now against sister. Friend is against friends. For so long we fought for equality, now it is all at an end. One life matters more than another as nothing makes any sense. Laws are flaunted and disregarded for anarchy. This has replaced civility and decency. Those who once were down with the struggle, now only look out for themselves. Their ideals have been compromised for gold and their morals have been placed on dusty shelves. Where are the color lines drawn that once were a blur. They have been redrawn by those who fought to erase them and the sacrifices of the past have been lost.

A sword and a shield, a gun and a knife, my might lies not in any of these things. The strength of my arms and the determination of my will, these things may fail me. The cornerstone of my might and the thing that gives me a foundation set as iron pillars lies in my ability to be of service to others and to give compassion and mercy. Anger, hate and vengeance are easy things to partake in. Loving while you are hated, praying for an enemy while you are reviled. These are testaments to my strength. To seek blood letting is only a last resort. To mend the wounds of those that are afflicted and to render mercy to those who are brought low but not by your hand. This is the mark of that which is my strength.

I once had a dream that I was in a large field. I was surrounded by Tulips and Daffodils. I tried to move my arms and legs but I had none that I could see. I could only look out over the field in the direction of the sun, slightly turned up to feel it's warmth. I began to contemplate what I had become, then I felt my petals and stems and roots going into the earth. At once an image of myself appeared. I had become a sunflower you see. With a wide Iris and petals of gold. I sat and followed the sun for hours untold. I was content with the warmth of it's rays. I was happy to spend my time there, many a lazy day. As time passed, I watched the others flowers fade, the sun began to set sooner each day. Then birds began to light on me and peck at my Iris. I was upset at first, but then I began to see, they simply wanted to eat out my seed. So one by one my seed went away, until there were none left in me. I awoke suddenly and thought about my dream. I imagined what I might find the next time I sleep. Perhaps one flower has become many and are in many far flung fields, between the Tulips and the Daffodils. I will wait patently until I sleep again, and wake as many sunflowers.

Closing out the ones we love, shutting off our emotions. Separating ourselves from our feelings. Putting up barriers to block out the hurt of things gone bad. Throwing ourselves behind barricades. Building up emotional walls that isolates us is an unhealthy thing. Only by dealing with our problems can we begin to work through them and move on from the pain and loss.

I look into your eyes and say no words at all. I hold your hand and feel the warmth of your touch. I hear you breathe and I forget the world around me. I am not sure how you can love someone so much. I want to freeze this moment and keep it in my heart forever. I want to let you know how deeply you are loved. I am just not sure what to say or how to express it when words are not enough.

When the sea rages and the night wind blows oh so cold. The master waits for you to come and call. On the water he walked to meet his disciples. In the hold of the ship he lay fast asleep. When they feared they would perish, their souls he did keep. He spoke to the wind and the raging storm. Then the sun did shine and there was a great calm. No matter what you are going through or how the tempest tosses you to and froe. Know that he is there in the storm with you.

Oh hey diddly diddly The Merry Song refrains. Echoing through the Tall Oaks where once merry-men did abound. Now Ivy Vines dangle over branches it has creeped up from the ground. Foot paths that were worn in the weathering Heights of Mighty trees have been covered over by Spring foliage and Blossoms that gives sweet perfume or perhaps there is another reason that Footprints can't be seen. Mayhaps a lighter step has come to the wooded Dale that dips quietly Through The Meadows and brakes not a blade of grass. The poor whisper of a phantom the dances in the Morning Mist. A Keen Eye and a sure Arrow quietly abound. Lo there comes yon rich Merchant having bags Laden with gain. The Spoils of his trade, when he already has too much. The twang of a single string like unto a minstrels mandolin, then the sound of coins upon the ground. Away runs the steed of the weathly and tonight the poor will eat. Light afoot comes the archer and her band of merry maidens to sweep away their prize. Then off is a golden haired archer who now bears her father's name. Let it be known to all of Sherwood that Robin hood strikes again.

The world looks right through me or doesn't see me at all. I disappear easily into the background. It is not that I do not try, I just cast a faint shadow. I want to be part of life, but all I do is blend in. When you hear static in a room, perhaps it is me trying to speak. I am simply drowned out by all of the things around me. For all of my efforts, I am but a shade of an existence.

Born an imperfect creature, I will achieve perfection. Made but flawed by sin, I will be made whole. In the flesh I shall be weak, but through his spirit I will be strong. In myself I shall accomplish nothing, but through God I shall obtain all things, for I am imperfect, but he shall take away my imperfections.

Peering through a looking glass awaiting the stars and planets to come into focus. Sitting under the pail blue moon watching for a sign. Tracking the movement of Venus with Jupiter ascending. Looking for the perfect set of conditions. In a moment the time has come, to plead to the heavens and make my petition known. Under the celestial alignment that best focuses the powers to do the most good.

Not everyday will be a good one and not every person is a friend. There will be potholes in the road you travel and things will not always go your way. Some days there will be clouds and rain, but not all cloudy days are bad and sometimes rain is a good thing Life will test our resolve through all of these things, there is no pass or fail just a multiple choice test. We must sometimes take test over, until we get the answer right. It takes some longer than others, but in the end we all must pass for ourselves.

Let the night shades fall and let the stars peer through the curtain of the heavens. Come to me my beloved and hold me in your arms. Take from me my strength and give back to me your desires. Embrace me and become entangled with me upon your bed. Let the sheets cover us as we embrace and know love. Let me get lost in you and forget the night that surrounds us. Let the sweat of passion pour out of our souls as we know love and rapture beyond the flesh. Intertwine your fingers with mine as we give life to each other. Let me get lost in you and let your love be my refuge. Between your breast let me find comfort and be satisfied. Let not time take away the feeling that we share for the few stolen moments that we can know love. Let the night pass not away too quickly, let me love you until the morning comes.

Dressed in frills with bodices and lace, covered in jewels and fine linens. Courtiers mingle and know there place as a grand charade beings. Polite in their tone with knives in their sleeves, each one sharp as a vipers fang. Walking a fine line of political intrigue, ever careful of who they offend. Taking care to mark their own place, offering compliments to betters and being weary of those who court their favor, for betrayal is one gossip away. All is pretense and theater as the hierarchy occasionally changes  on a political whim. In favor one second and returned to utter seclusion the next, one can never tell which way the royal interest will go. All is illusion and part fantasy as the reality of courtier life is played out in a constant chess game of pawns and royal players as life unfolds in the Kings Court.

Standing in the street face to face with my brother, another person who I did not know. Holding the upper hand with my finger on the trigger. Trying to make it the only way I know, the split second made the difference for the rest of my life. One movement and then pop, the sound of thunder and lightning issuing from my clenched fist, holding taught around the grip of the gun. Like a slow motion sliver streak, the bullet hit it's mark. Tearing into the person who under the skin is my human brother. Down he fell into the gutter, another lost soul claimed as a victim of the drug trade. I hesitated for a moment, then grabbed what was mine and ran. Never looking back, only seeing the thing on T.V. ! Again and again it was played out until it became surreal. Trembling I sat in the dark like a rat trapped in a cage. The images of the look on his face frozen in my mind. The grainy images of the surveillance camera did not tell the whole tale. Details were left out so that the story that they wanted to tell could be written. A split second later and the tables would have been turned, my brother who was desperate had a gun too. If he had been quicker, then I would have been laying in the street. With no clues as to who did the deed, all they can say is it is another tragedy. What they do not know is who did this terrible thing. What they cannot realize is that all things have changed. A gun a split second and one shot changed it all for me and for the guy that is my brother under skin, who wanted to do to me what I had to do to him.

Tepid is the soul that has no adventure. Languishing is the life that knows no love. Empty is the person who cannot find a passion. Dark is the life that will not let another person in. People need not  be hateful to express their desires and beliefs. When a person has no grit about them, life is just bland and you just exist. So take not the easy path, but challenge yourself each and every day. For if salt has no savor, then what good is it anyway?

After three days of sorrow, the clouds rolled away. The new day had come and the air was quiet and still. Then the earth was shattered by  a violent quake as all of creation stood in witness. The door to hell was opened and death was cast away. It was a new morning for salvation when Christ rose from the grave.

I'm a Holly Bush right beside my stairs, a small Brown has built it's best. Each time I go out or come in the bird will run away. I can see it and it can see me. How peculiar I thought it was that the bird would run away. Then today I saw that it's young had hatched and it acted differently. When I came out to be on my way, I looked at the fragile nest. But the bird didn't run away, instead it came off of the meet an firmly stops it"s ground. In whay ever language a Brown bird speaks, I was given a dressing down. A stern warning by a new mother that I should not stand around. So after my Schilling by the little bird, I smiled and was on my way, admiring the courage of that little bird, that said go on your way.

I sit in my rocking chair and look out the window, I see the Seasons changing around me. My world has gotten smaller, now that age has taken hold. Once I could go where I would, now I am restricted. If it's too hot or if it's too cold, my joints seem to bother me and my energy quickly flows away. My grandchildren used to visit often, but now they seldom come. When they were younger I could see the world through their eyes as I would sit and listen to the stories for hours, but those happenings were in days gone by. So now I wait on people to come, strangers that I do not know. They talk to me kindly, but they are only paid to be here. Those whom I cherished, have lives of their own to live. I hold no animosity toward them, for I know that this is just how it is. I look out the window frequently, wondering when I will see death coming to call. So far he hasn't paid me a visit, but perhaps it won't be that long. As the world around me closes in, it becomes harder for me to get around. I'm left only to look at the things around my room and to listen for Quiet Sounds. It won't be long now I think, when that which I once feared will come and set me free. It is my belief and Hope that when the veil is pulled back, that there will be a new door for me to walk through. For the world is getting even tighter around me and it can't push me much further in. I long to see a quiet end, and for a brand new journey to begin.

Sitting a sacred circle chanting and meditating as the fire roars before me. Waiting for the moon to reach it's apex so the light will shine full upon me. I let my mind escape the bonds of my mortal form and I rise to the heavens. I dance on moonbeams and ride the wild wind. As I become a shadow and shade, I delve into secret places and listen to forbidden tales of how the earth was before mans time. I revel in the night gliding effortlessly through the shimmering silver starlight. I circle the moon as it fades slowly from it's apex and I am forced to return to my mortal form. In a weary state I fall to sleep and dream of the time when I can take a spirit flight once again.

Oh Lillies Frost White that sway gently in the Wind. They Mark a place of rest that beckons others to join them. Beneath an endless sky in a land where there is eternal day and sorrow is forgotten as all tears have gone away. The Parting was with great sorrow, but it is only for a little while. For by a Crystal River, I will soon stand and again see you smile. So hold fast and run your race, for the morning will come soon and in the peace that is called heaven will be joined again my friend

They say with age comes wisdom, but in fact with Wisdom, comes confusion. What I thought I knew I do not know and what was real is now surreal. Time didn't move fast enough when I was young, but now that I am old, it is a precious commodity. Though I have read many books, others opinions now seem less important than my own. If I could impart lessons, I would want to teach only myself. I am not sure what I am supposed to have learned through a lifetime of study, but I am sure it is not what I wanted to understand. The world was a lot simpler when the sky was blue, water was wet and the sun was warm. Now that I have gained knowledge, the more I know the less I understand of what it all means.

Beauty is in the eye of the beholder. What is treasure to one is trash to another. What is precious to one has no meaning to another. Life imitates Art or does Art imitate life. What one creates another seeks to destroy. Our Art is part of who we are, but one cultures perspective can be offensive to another. All things have beauty if someone is willing to see it. The true Art comes from what we perceive through the lens of our own understanding or what we are willing to study through the perspective of another.

Climbing steps to a darkened roof top, I open a door in to the chilly night air I step out on to tar gravel that slides beneath my feet. I walk out into the darkness and move towards the edge of the man made mountain that towers  high above the streets below. I feel the wind blow into my face as it rushes up the side of the glass and steel. I look out on to the land scape and see visions of wonder. Thousands upon thousands of lights shine up brightly from the streets below. Each one like a star radiating their cold light up towards the tops of mans monuments. I stand in silence as I watch the lights form lines running this way and that. I follow them with my eyes, admiring their symmetry. As if they were a map going to some distant place, they light up the road ways and side walks. For a little while I get lost in the beauty and serenity of the view of the city. It helps me escape the grit and toil that lies just beneath the surface of artificial beauty that we have created to hide our true selves.

I look down at the blank paper and wish the pen to write. In frustration I lay my head in my hands. Slowly I fade into sleep only to be awakened by the sound of music. I turn around to see a man playing a lyre as another paces back and forth. Puzzled for a moment ,I look around the room. From one corner I see people who are vaguely familiar. My eyes return to the person Playing the music and suddenly I know it is David, while pacing next to him I see Aerostotil. Over at a simple wooden, table I recognize Shakespear chatting with a brash fellow I know to be Mark Twain. In confusion I stumble into Lord Byron, who is reading work just written by Dickenson, she sits in a chair idly brooding waiting for him to declare what he thinks. In a Mad Dash of confusion I quickly turn around, and I fall as the house of Usher's and come crashing to the ground. A well-dressed gentleman offers me a hand and picks me up, he has a dark and piercing stare. I ask where I am, and Mister Poe quietly declares, you're in the poet's room. You have found your way here, I asked him how and he says I'm truly not sure. He says this is a place where people come to share ideas and to watch one another's work. I say that I was frustrated and could not will my pen to write. He laughs rather smugly with an impish Delight. He said that is not the purpose of writing, he says you cannot will it to flow. He says look around you and tell me what you see. I said I see great writers, but he said they can be just as frustrated as you. He said Each one can tell a story, and he said that something that you must learn to do. So the room again to fade into a fuzzy Hayes. I woke up from my slumber and look down at the blank and dismal page. It suddenly dawned on me, but I must look around. For if I want to tell a story, then it must be found. So I got it for my table and took a walk outside. There I took a really good look at the World Grand and wide. I didn't set off on a journey with the lessons that I've learned. A story can't be forced, it must be earned. So when I return to my desk, with paper and Pen in Hand. I shall no longer be so frustrated for now I understand.

What would you do if suddenly, you had to give up your perfect life? What would you do if you had to throw it all away? If God called on you to follow him and leave it all behind, would you really say. Would you make excuses as those invited to the bridegrooms dinner? Would you say to my family I must go and say goodbye? Would you be able to tell God the truth, or would you hang your head and lie? If he said follow me, and leave it all behind. What would you really say?

The land of the free and the home of the brave has been transformed into the place of the scared and hateful. Our children have been stripped of their ability to determine  right from wrong. Parents have been replaced by the television. Most now have to work two jobs just to pay their bills. The government said you do not need a father, now young men treat women like property and ******. Get rich quick or die trying has replaced do unto others as you would have done unto you. The politicians we thought would lead us, have just robbed us blind. They make lofty promises that they cannot keep and keeps us in the dark by design. There is no prosperity, the younger generation wants to be taken care of. The latest phone application has replaced the want for social interaction and hard work is so yesterday. When the greatest generation is gone, will they really be missed? Perhaps this country is better off disassembling and starting over again. When all of our troops have come back and the foreign aid is gone. When nothing else is free and you are left to your own devices, will people really wonder where America has gone?

Twang goes the Banjo down the hollow. The whine of the Harmonica can be heard across the ridges and through the tall lonesome Pines. A Bow Fiddle sings next to a rushing river that comes cold out of the rocks of a mountainside. From the Ozarks through the Catskills back into the Great Smokey Mountains, the sound of a simple but difficult life can be heard in the tears and joy of mountain music.

Crime runs rampant in the streets and our schools are failing, but who is to blame. Corruption festers in the halls of power and we tune it out, but what can we do? The news is distorted and the truth is shaped to fit the narrative of who is telling it, but what is really happening. The whole is crumbling but they say we are rebuilding. Streets are filled with cracks and sidewalks have homeless people sleeping on them, who do we call to fix this. Perhaps if everyone looked in a mirror for longer than the time it takes to comb our hair and put on makeup, then we would see who is really to blame.