The world is full of glass houses and lies. The world is no longer a secret place. All of our secrets are out there for everyone to see. Decades can pass and we will end up on T.V. , a sound bite then it's out there for everyone to see. No way to defend ourselves, the words and actions speak for themselves. The walls of secrecy crumble and fall down around us, and we are left bare and exposed. Perhaps there is a better way, perhaps we should not keep it to ourselves. Let us all tell what we really think of others and ourselves. Let us no longer leave well enough alone. Turn to the nearest mirror and begin talking, let's all throw stones.

A concrete truck roars and groans, but I hear a dragon screaming. A woman dust out a rug from a balcony and I see a banner of a castle being flung out to declare the king has returned. People walk along aimlessly trapped in their inner city world, I see a market place filled with life and community. What others take as drab and ordinary, I see in extraordinary terms. I imagine what the life around me could really be.

Let my kindness shine through the haze of hopelessness. Let the simple deeds of humanity cast illumination on the shadows of despair. Let my soul be a beacon in the darkness to let the world know that hope is still here. Let me walk in humility, but be courageous in my deeds. Let me be a light and comfort to those who are still in need.

Drip, Drip, Drip the Crimson flows from my arm. A small nick a little cut and the blood goes into the sink. Sliding into the cool water, the Red is diluted in the clear cold water. I look in the mirror and my eyes are blood shot. I haven't slept in days, so a little cut with a Silver razor seems to help with the pain in my head. I look at the shiny key and wonder do I dare go a little farther this time, or should I take the medication and see if I can sleep a little while, or perhaps I should make the final cut and sleep forever this time?

The sun is setting and I am weary. The night is setting in and it is becoming cooler. I am not sure how long I can hold out, I can only kneel and pray. I cannot predict tomorrow, I can only hope for one more day. Perhaps something new will come to pass and things will really change. I will know until the sun comes up so I must hope for one more day. I lay silently looking at the shadows being cast by the street lights outside. I feel restless, but still I am hoping for a better way. Perhaps tomorrow I will receive my miracle, perhaps if I have just one more day.

Narrow minded people and centered unchanging points of view. Corrupt and fowl ideologies with no room for other opinions or change. Blindly following the ideals of a generation, because that is the way it has always been. Afraid of seeking answers for yourself, because of what you might find. Living with ignorance, because of the absence of other ideas. What kind of life would that be?

I look at my reflection and I see my own face, but I am not sure it is really me. I am told that I am one thing and I think that I am another. I sometimes wonder if this is all a dream. I wake up and my surroundings seem familiar, but I feel like I am out of place. Society says I should accept their norms, but what is normal for them doesn't feel right to me. I have heard all of the rhetoric and seen all of the fads. I only know that I am different, but I am not sure what that means. I am still trying to figure it out, but people won't let me be. It all is confusing me and I don't know who I really am.

Nations produce grain in abundance and turn their food in to gas . People in African countries starve and dies in the dust for want and lack. Ideological zealots rise up and use violence to force you to believe their way. In their wake they leave destruction and death, just so you will see things their way. Some people pollute their cities to obtain more material things. while others live with clear skies, but die in the heat and the rain. Many question the madness of ideals, where some have too much and others not enough. Perhaps if those who have great amounts, would share more with those who have nothing, the we could answer the question is there enough.

In between clefts of Granite deep in a misty mountain covered with Evergreens, clear water runs from the cracks in the earth. As snow capped peaks melt away and give up their frozen treasure that trickles down through ancient pathways worn out of the dark earth. The water sees the sunlight with a rapid flow cascading white and silver over rocks and ledges speeding down into beds of gravel and over boulders. The water rushes into  river that gives life to many things. Birds live on it and drink from it as fish swim under the swift cool current. Forest animals bathe in the cool water on a hot day and find food from the green grass growing along the banks where the river water flows. Amazing things come from the life giving water as it tells it's tale of a journey that it makes to return to the ocean from which it came.

A pleasure that you have never known. A treasure that you could never find. A feeling of comfort and assurance that is mine to give. Devotion beyond understanding, with loyalty that is unquestionable. Such is the gift of my love.

Waves of color dark and Light, Ebbs and flows of humanity both wrong and right. Storm tossed regions filled with fear and fright, violence swells up and settles down like frothy waves against the rigid Shore. The people of the world formed their own ocean, flowing from Rivers into a sea of humanity. We mix and blend ourselves finding the way into one commonality. Like the ocean we toss and turn and swirl, having periods of calm and periods of ravage storm, but as the water that joins into the sea, we are joined one to another in humanities great ocean.

Putting on eye shadow then taking it off again. Changing the shades of my lips or the color on my cheeks. Too much base or not enough, to hide my blemishes. Longer eyelashes or shorter ones I cannot decide. Do I match the picture in the magazine, is that really me. I don't even look like myself. I can't eat that or I will get fat. Should I wear heels or flats? Does polish go with my dress or do I need a French manicure. I can't decide, its driving me mad. I want to be liked, I want to fit in. I stress so I want to eat, but then I have to throw up and I am hungry again. Is all of this worth it, can't I be the real me. All I want to be is beautiful.

Brooding over sorrow and lost love, a poet sits in a chair in a half lit room. A typewriter on a dusty desk, the writers block makes the writer wile away the hours. Going to wash up, a razor glistens in it's holder. What is the point, why not cut my wrist. All the while contemplating what it actually means. A former lover calls to let the poet know that a child exist from their consummation, the brooding soul says what do you want from me. If the poet were to try to raise the child, then it too would sit quietly and brood. Until one day perhaps it became a philosopher. Who would them berate poets, who sit around staring at blank pages while eyeing a razor blade. So it is perhaps better that a poet should not have offspring or shave that often, to prevent ending what could be an amazing life on both counts, if not for the depression and idle brooding that poets seem to enjoy so much and would likely pass on if they did not die at their own hand.

Yes hell is real, I have lived in for a while. The cartoon creatures of my torment live all around me. They have many forms, but all are there to steal my joy. Some are no more than floating heads I see on a video screen. They chatter on day and night with out every making a point. Others are shiny and bright but they are hollow inside. They glisten like a polished gem but when they open their gaping mouths, they **** in every good thing and leave you nothing in return. There are still others that are mumbling faceless creatures, buried in a black swamp that has on bottom. They lurk around waiting to see if you need something so that they can make you wait out the eternity. Yes there is a hell and it is called a bureaucracy.

On a rugged cross atop a barren hill, forsaken by all, in anguish he looked on. Crying out a battle cry that resounds through all time, all of creation was made aware that day that salvation had finally found a way. Completing the will of the one who sent him, an innocent man bore the sins of all. In three words, it is finished all was accomplished in accordance with the fathers will and God and man were joined together again.

My eyes are so heavy with sleep, but I fight to stay awake. If I fail then the nightmares will take me away. I am on the edge of sanity as I writhe in my bed. I look over the edge and I see the floor a thousand feet below me. The needle is near to me, but I don't want to reach for it, I dare not take that trip again. So I wrestle with my demons as my heart beats in my chest until I think it will burst. I am not sure how long I can fight this battle, I am so tired I just want to sleep. I roll over and come crashing down to the earth, I lie broken and ****** on the floor. I ache but at  least the pain revives me, yet the weariness comes quickly and I am losing the fight. So in one last vain attempt to resolve my crisis, I succumb to the fate that awaits me. Now all that I have left is one question, can I now really sleep?

Men and women come home from war with limbs missing. Their body parts lay in the dirt of some foreign land. American blood stains another person yard, and yet they keep standing for what is right. Our children can't pledge allegiance to our flag but burning it is okay. Our politicians open our borders but American children cannot go out into the city streets and play. Drugs and violence end innocent lives while politicians complain about civil rights, unless you try to mention God or own a gun then they say you have no rights.  Our leaders turn their backs on their own people while running down the land of the free. If the haters of our country had their way they would take all our freedoms away from you and me.

Shackles around my ankles and my wrist. Iron bars on my windows and my doors. I made some mistakes now I am paying for them. My freedom was taken from me because they say I did not listen to the rules of society. I was born with a boot on my neck,  the only chance I was given I took it. Now what I am looking at doesn't phase me. They can't take away what drives me. I have a place that I live but they cannot see. I have memories of what I have accomplished. I see the cost but I have gained more than I have lost. I was born under the sign of oppression but I have learned their lessons. My family is what is important to me. That is why I have to make this dark journey. Every time I get discouraged, I simply withdraw into myself and I find new courage. They want me to despair, they took away the key to the door and they do not care. All I am to them is a number, my life they think it is theirs to plunder. I will not be denied my place. They sit in judgment but I write my own fate. I was given no choice, but with what I have gained my family and future now have a voice. I lifted myself out of poverty and became the man that I had to be. One day this nightmare will be over, then I will crossover to the other side. I will live life again but on  my terms. Until then I will keep going on this journey, I will hold fast to the dreams I keep hidden in me. I will live through the freedom that I keep inside of me.

The world is in transition. The old things are fading into nothingness. Chaos has arisen from restlessness as the old gives way to the new. The journey will not be an easy one as for the fearful do not transition into new ideas. In the death throws of what has been, the struggle will claim it's share. In the end however, the inevitable will come to fruition as new ideas take the place of the old. A new day will come and life will be better for those who will embrace new things and move forward into a new and enlightened world.

One nation prospers and another languishes. The people who run the show set up barriers to our understanding of each other. Some starve while others gorge themselves and become complacent. All the time behind the curtain the strings are pulled like a show full of marionettes. Resources are unevenly distributed, while one place sits on vast treasure but cannot get a slice of bread to eat. Others come in and devour the substance of the poor while complaining about paying for the people they impoverished. Despite the best efforts of many with good intentions, a selfish few create sorrow for the masses. They grow full like a tick while they starve the rest for their own selfish ends. If the people simply were to stop and really look, they would understand that there is plenty to go around and that a warm bed and good meal is all that they require and that is enough.

For nine months I hold you inside of me, then you leave and join me in the world. I hold you close and nurse you and wonder as I watch you grow. Small fingers and toes turn into hands and feet. First you crawl away, then you walk and finally you run. Like the wind you flee into your own world. You explore the newness of life and want to stand on your own two feet, yet for all your independence, there is a bond that cannot be broken. So though you think you are making your own place in the world, I am always a part of you. I know you as no one can and a part of your life will always be mine.

Before computers came along, before there was a telephone. Scribes sat over parchment and labored intently. With quill and Inkwell they lay down a foundation, preserving and sharing knowledge. In Scrolls and books they repeated and passed on things that were thought of importance. Records were kept and events were recorded for posterity, so that others might look back and see through the written word what others had seen. Many fought against this because they favored ignorance and darkness, but the written word still moved on. Even when it was called heresy and costs those who believed in it their lives, the dedication to the preservation and expansion of knowledge did not stop. So it is by the written word that we rose out of Darkness and remove the shackles of ignorance to step into the light of knowledge and understanding.

Darting about with bright colors and busy wings, you stop for a moment to consider a orchid and partake of it's nectar. Then you dart off as a wisp of air, then come back again. Here and there you go, about all things in a hurry. You stay a while until the cold north wind blows, then you fly away. So until spring returns and you come to sample flowers from my garden again, farewell Humming Bird, and be on your hurried way.

The air is dry and the grass crackles and burns in the summer heat. I gasp for air as the heat rises. I look for relief and pray for rain but still nothing comes. All I can do is stare at the dust and long for the cool of winter. This is  the life I was born to and what I must currently live.

Caught in a quagmire of turmoil, all I can think about is you. I cannot reign in the swirling that conflicts me. One moment I am empty of all feeling and in another moment I am filled with all of my emotions at once. I would hurl outward the inner most secrets that bind me inside, but when I try to forget and separate myself from that which confounds me, your memory comes rushing back. So I question my own sanity and languish with an unresolved argument. Not sure which is the real problem, I am left to be conflicted with the emotion of you.

Sparse rendering of things that you want to say. Ideas translated into pen on paper. Emotions can be rendered but not always. Sometimes speaking with no words is desired. To see the face of the person you wish to speak to, and to let them feel your emotions. Sometimes this is all that is necessary, no long prose is required, no great written script. Only the exchange of what is known but not spoken between two hearts and souls. For sometimes, words are not enough to communicate what you really feel.

The path I am on is filled with the shattered shards of dreams that cut into my feet like so many knives. I watch the sharp edges as they cut into my soul reminding me to walk carefully. Life is a delicate balance of give and take. If the pendulum swings too far one way, then things get broken and shattered. That is when you will find sharp pieces of lost love and dreams laying all around the path that you have chosen to walk.

If you want my respect , then you have to earn it! It's not going to be easy, but I promise that it's worth it. The things that I want money cannot buy. So if you want to earn my loyalty then you can't be shy. I don't have time for players not when it comes to this game. So you better know how to man up, when it comes time to play. If you can give me what I'm looking for, then you'll see what's next. It's going to be a lot of hard work, but if you're willing to put in the effort that's how you earn my respect.

A man once left a far away place and came to live among mortal men. He spent most of his life at hard labor then one day he became a teacher and a poet. He gained supernatural powers and did amazing things, only to be killed in the physical sense. Then three days after his death, he came back to life and told of his amazing journey. Forty days hence, he flew into the heavens not to be seen among men for a great while. He told of his return on a white horse that can fly and he will reward those who believe in him. This is the story I believe that will save my life.

People leave their war torn country in search of a better life. Like Locust they migrate from there to here. Under the shadow of laws that are meant to keep order, yet are ignored in the name of profit. Many are innocent, but some are vile. Discerning between sometimes takes a while. Once the people have been sifted in and put in their little box, then it is back from where you came or into a cell with you. All hope is dashed for a while, until someone with more reason comes along. Then the cycle begins again, the shadow of the law is ignored for a while and a perpetual cycle revolves with no clear answer to the question of what exactly is right?

Jasmine fills the air as rough cobble stones freeze bare feet. Giggles become contagious like some mysterious spell cast over a gaggle of girls. Ivy covers walls and Spanish moss hangs from trees. Mystery and history blend as the air is thick with the morning mist. Dew wets the earth and makes your hair frizzy and stand on end. The sound of distant music twangs from a park bench as someone tunes a banjo. Life moves in two directions as time seems to stand still then jump backwards. Old cemeteries mark the landscape between million dollar homes. The accent of the local flavors mix it all together like a brisk Mint Julep. A distant whistle blast from a ship that should be in the past as it sails on a river where children dip cane poles in the water hoping to catch a catfish. A portrait is painted of life in a vibrant yet unchanging Louisiana town.

Through the flat panes of glass, I see the world as it goes by. I view the people passing on their daily lives. I watch the reflections from both near and far. I see the leaves change on the trees and the flowers bloom in their due season. I watch children play and see the sunset and the moon rise. I watch young  couples stroll down the street and old couples slowly wander by. If you stop for just a brief moment, it is amazing what you can see through a few dusty panes of glass, if you only take the time.

I climbed an ancient mountain up to the snowy peaks. I ascended to where you can touch the sky. In the frigid cold and the radiant blinding sun I looked around for paradise but found nothing but empty barren ground. In frustration I yelled at the sky then heard a faint echo and then the crack of thunder all around. I stumbled and fell to the ground as sheets of ice slid down around me and tumbled down the mountain side. In a snowy haze I regained my senses and stood on sure ground where the ice had been now was bare frozen earth. I had come to the heights of heaven looking for answers, but all I found was cold and an empty sky. Then I turned around and in a blinding moment, I saw a sheet of ice like a mirror, in it I saw my reflection staring back at me. It then came to me that my journey had not been in vain. While I had ascended in search of ancient heroes in another worldly home, instead I saw the truth about myself and who I really am. The heroes of old were not in truth Gods, but more than what people thought they could be.

Silver and White are found in the froth of the waves. I melt into the water and let myself be washed away. I disappear and break against a rock on some distant shore. The sand absorbs me and pulls me down into it's dark depths. I look at mysteries through the prism of each smoky grain and slowly the ocean calls me back. Swish goes the froth as it finds  me, back into the cold depths I plunge. I feel a thousand living things run through me. As I become the water and the water becomes me.

I have born the cross given me. I have walked a straight and narrow way. Often I have faltered, but I have pressed on. Now  age and years have found me. My body grows weak and my spirit wanders. I long for rest but little can be found. The weight of life's burdens weighs on my brow. I have lifted many a fellow traveler from the wayside, but now I long to see the journeys end. The battles have been fought with kindness and not the edge of a sword. The enemy makes it seem so easy to give in, but I know that to abandon one lost soul is not an option. I must save as many as I can. Through kindness and courage, I press on. Each day more difficult than the next. I grow weary of the journey, but it is my path alone to walk. Perhaps over the next hill I will find my rest.

Nations in turmoil, war drags us backwards. One ideology cannot live with another. Blood is shed in order to make a point, famine rages across the land as the helpless and hopeless die. In the throws of birth, the old age passes and the new one comes. From darkness comes enlightenment and a hope for a better tomorrow. As we crawl forward fighting for every inch of ground, time waits for no one as the old struggles give way to the new . In an age to come what will we find, the only thing that is certain is that all things are uncertain. The hope will be in our children, that the old relics of the past will fade and that they will inherit a better sense of self than we hold. In this knowledge may flourish and leave the hatred and malice of the last age behind, giving birth to a better tomorrow than the one before. This must be the outcome if we truly hope to survive.

The written is not always seen, sometimes the life of the person who believes what they have read is the only book that others will ever see. If my life reflects the things I believe, then I am his word. To show kindness but be firm in my convictions is to show Christ mercy and courage. To be resolute and not deviate even under extreme persecution is to show your faith. To walk on in courage and good cheer even when you appear to be alone, is to show the peace that surpasses all understanding. By doing these things, I am his word.

On a path straight and true, I walk each day. Often I carry burdens and find fallen souls along the way. There are often temptations of a quicker way to go, but I know what end lies down a different road. So I will labor onward in the narrow way. Each footstep is toward a sure victory at the end of the day. In the masters path I will follow all the way, praying for his strength and guidance while walking the narrow way.

Bitterness leaves a bad taste in your mouth. Darkness blinds your sight. Destroying another's life does not gather friends. Fear is not conducive to peace. Living in a world of vitriol only closes you off from growing. It is not an easy thing to live a life of hate!

What ever your adversity, know that there are others that stand with you. Who ever is oppressing you, know that there are those who fight along your side. Where ever you go, know that helping hands are always waiting to lift you up. So give the battle cry of unity and hold one another as the enemy comes against us. Let those of us in humanities army who dare to care for our fellow person be a wall upon which despair will crash like an empty wave. Let our standard be a unifying symbol and let us live in peace with each other. We will not falter and we will not despair, as we raise the standard high as one people, for we are human kind.

Two homes were built to keep families safe and warm. Eighty years  before a man planted an Acorn in the ground. The seed sprouted and shot up to the sky and grew to its full size. Then it was hewn down and built two houses that are now called home. A single grain of corn was planted in the earth and one plant grew and produced in abundance. The ears were harvested and saved and replanted the following year, acres of corn came up and bushels were brought in. The grain was sent to another land where people were in want. The hundreds were fed and were saved. A person gave someone two dollars that allowed them to get on a bus. The bus took them to their home. A family waited for their loved one who  returned safely and was able to care for them for another day. The smallest thing can do the miraculous.

Like ants we scurry around and think we truly matter. We build sand castles and believe we can achieve immortality. In truth like children on a seashore we labor in vain. The waves from the ocean of time sweep away what we have built. No matter our perception, our existence in this world is finite. What we leave behind little but memories of our ghost. In the end we complete our short journey, while eons pass the world turns and the cosmos changes, and yet we exist for only a second and wonder that we even matter at the end of it all.

The doors are always open and all are welcome here, there is no cost to join, but not everything is free. Come in and we will pray for you, just stop by the collection plate. If you have no money, oh that is ok we don't mind the wait. Credit cards are welcome, we take all kinds of them here, post dated checks will be fine, we are all friends here. We do not pass judgment on you, that is not our place, at least not in public or to your face. So come in and feel at home or at least that is what we will say, until you move on or look the other way.

I pull and tear at the shroud that wraps me. Claw and gouge at it until it breaks open. Like a cocoon that keeps a Butterfly, I tear at the shell that binds me. I am too constricted and my wings cannot find the sun. I want to feel the warmth of a new thing and become something other than I am supposed to be. So I struggle to shed my skin that has kept me closed up for too long. I want to know other people and to be as they are. I want to express myself and let my ideas flow, but none of this can happen unless I am willing to fight and grow beyond my own skin.

Oh Yellow ball of fur that purrs while laying on my kitchen floor. Oh annoying kitty that leaves fur everywhere. Oh ***** that plays with those annoying ***** with bells in them at 2 in the morning. I would get rid of you, but alas my girlfriend loves you so. Thus I must endure your presence, oh ***** so that the other one may be happy. Yet perhaps I can get rid of your ***** which you love to play with so much.

Ships fly to distant stars as DNA strands twist in the wind. Cities rise on Red desert plains, as two moons rise in a Green sky. No one is without their senses and taking flight is as easy as speaking the word and off you go. Animals can speak to us and we no longer need to do them harm. The air is clear as it was on the first day. Oh what imagination can create, if only we can translate the miracles into our reality.

I go into my mind to escape the bland world around me. I fade in to the crawl space of my inner self. Falling into nooks and crannies of the deepest reaches of my soul, I look in the shadows to find secrets that I have kept even from myself. The demons that I do not want to face. The unholy pleasures that I dare not imagine. In these moments I lose my inhibitions and put out the light that exist in the soul. I swim in the ink black sea of what I dare not become. The version of myself that longs for the dark places where I no longer care what I have done.

I consider all things as I ponder my life, I see  my mistakes and acknowledge them as my own. I accept my sins and rejoice in my triumphs. I am thankful for my blessings and grateful that I could give to others. In all things I am human. I am imperfect though I seek perfection. I a path that I believe will lead to my end goal and I must walk it with all of my faults. I can be the best and worst of my kind, but always I am unique yet joined to all other humans like who suffer the same things in one common bond of humanity that can make us great or tear us apart. This is what it means to be human to me.

I look outside to see if there are clouds. I wait until the sky is dark and the wind is blowing swift. I listen for the distant thunder to know the time is right. I step out into the cold breeze and wait until the drops begin to fall. Then only when it rains do I cry because you are gone. Only when it rains so no one can see my tears. Only when it rains so the cold can numb my pain. It is the time I can forget you  and feel whole again. It is when I can feel sorrow for what is lost, only when it rains.

I lie down now for I am tired. My journey is nearly at an end. I did not accomplish all that I would have liked, but perhaps it was enough. I ask you to go on after me, do not give me a second thought. Just carry on the work I started. Please dream for me, what I could not have imagined for myself.