If I could pull together all of the moments of my life. I would pick out the best ones and put them together. I would see how I fell in love with my wife and watch children grow and love. I would celebrate birthdays every day and walk only into the good times. There would be no sorrow, only joy. If I could live a dream this is how it would be.

What is the point of trying to be fair. What of the point, why should I even care? What is the point of trying to live life? What is the point of trying to do right? When all others are passing you by, why even bother asking why? You struggle just to get by, you hope for better, but is it a lie? Your told if you work hard, you too can get your part. What is the point of obeying the law, what is the point of anything at all. For all comes to death at the end of the way, so I ask you what is the point anyway?

Up rough hills and over mountains I have climbed. Through dry hot deserts and deep valleys I have walked. My body is worn and I am tired. I see only more road ahead of me. So I will stop for a while and wait on someone to pass by and hopefully they will carry on my journey for me.

A cackling laugh and horrendous screech with a vitriolic scowl that could freeze a river to a standstill. Knives sharpened to stab you in the back, with her husband who will give your ***** a whack. A child that was a one off, at men she does often scoff. No feeling of love except for herself, compassion is something to be kept on a shelf. Oh how rich I have become is her mantra, if you want so help then let me get some money to my foundation, and then we can have foreign relations. Shaking and shivering coughing for an hour, but don't mention it or things will get sour. What a wondrous disaster  to say the least, not once but twice did she suffer defeat. First to the smooth speeches of an upstart rogue, when the highest office was hers to take. Then a second humiliation at the hands of another ***** grabbing male. Oh could it be her husband 2.0, crying all night this can't be so. The glass celling did not break, it can' be right this has to be a mistake. At the end of the day into the forest it did retreat, perhaps this is the last we will hear of the Hilda beast?

I give my blood I surrender it freely. I offer that life that is with in me. I do not judge whom should receive this gift, I leave that to the fates to choose for they are wiser than me. I only know that I must give that which was given to me. I must see that I can bring hope and return life to another. My gift does not judge, it does not discriminate, it is mine until I give it away. To another who is in greater need that I and it is my prayer that I can always give this gift of life and that I may never need to receive that which I have given away.

I cannot write, I cannot speak. I have lost my voice, I cannot find my words. I have no way to relate my feelings, my emotions have been drained away. I am a void of nothing, less than nothing inside. I can no longer think, I have no feeling I am numb. To hope is pointless and to fight is in vain as well as it is to do nothing, but I have nothing from which I can draw. No hate, no love only an empty space. Perhaps I will stay empty for a while and perhaps find some quiet peace.

All colors of people live under the same blue sky. Every different language sees the same sun and moon. Despite our different opinions, we share a common thread. We are born with nothing of our own and we take nothing with us when we leave. Our existence is finite. We live and we dream. Each of us has our own dream, but we all dream just the same. We love and hope. We hurt and hunger all in common. Beyond our petty squabbles and our ideals of what is a right way to live, we each have one heart with which to love. These are the things that join us and makes us stronger. It is in this that we should seek to celebrate each other, for as humans on the same planet, we are one.

Behind a looking glass I stare back at myself. From behind the veil of another world I peer back at my own soul. Behind the reflection that I see before me, lies the truth of what I really am. Behind the mirror that reflects what I want others to see, is a truth that I am too scared to reveal.

The streets laugh at me as I struggle to climb out of the shadows. All around me people say just give in to the inevitable. I feel like I am suffocating sometimes. All over the neighborhood, I see people with broken spirits who are prisoners of forgotten dreams. They wander aimlessly as if they are just waiting for it all to end. It seems the harder that I try to climb the ladder towards the light, the more I get weighed down with all of the problems of the here and now. It is a daily struggle just to survive. Some people turn to playing with a ball in hopes of catching a shooting star out of the dreariness of this life. Others pick up a gun and some drugs and hope for the quick exit. Most get what they want, just not in the way they figured. Every time I get hit, I dig deeper into a book. To some it seems like a pointless waste of time, but I know it holds the key to what I want. It holds the key to my dream, the freedom I so desire, the freedom I believe in. If I can just hold on and get past one more month, one more day, one more moment, I can cross the bridge out of my unchosen place and climb all of the way out into the light, into the freedom I dream of.

Only one more day, that is what is written on the wall. Everyday is one more day. The halls smell like bleach and the lights hum and buzz. A pail yellow shadow is cast by them. Its about as artificial as life can get, but then I was living in an illusion anyway. I keep looking at the sign, one more day it says. It is about all I get to read. Until I improve, I am restricted, I can't even see the news. The first week was the hardest, it was like going through hell. Withdrawal eats you up inside and saps all of your strength, not that you have any left anyway. I like to think I am getting stronger, but in truth I am not. I just want to get lost again so I don't have to face my life. Two weeks in and there is that dam sign. I am not sure if I can take it one more day.

Sitting here at 2 am I cannot sleep. The only sound is the ticking of the clock. In my mind I go over what went wrong. we were so happy then it won't all wrong. So moments turn into hours as I wait until daylight comes. In the night I am lost in anxiety watching the hours fade away.

Blue with in Blue like deep water from the ocean. A spirit like crashing waves, she will draw you in. The eyes are the window to the soul and into her eyes you will go, lost as a ship at sea. You will forget who you are and why you are here. All that you will know is that you cannot turn away for to do so would chance that she would disappear. So you look into her eyes and refuse to breath, hoping to capture the moment and make it last forever so that this feeling of love will never be lost.

When life falls apart and things seem at an end, pick up the fragments and begin to rebuild them. Glue them together with patients and kindness. Use love and hope to mend the seams. Pulling in a part here and smoothing out a wrinkle there until a picture begins to form. One piece at a time, life is made whole from broken pieces that were left lying around.

She was going from table to table passing out beers in a bar. I was feeling lost and empty with not much else to lose. She walked over to where I was in a short skirt and high heel shoes. She had on glittery makeup and lipstick as red as blood. She asked what my poison was and I said something strong. She swayed back over to me well the glass full a snake bite, as I tasted it I asked her name. She pointed to the tattoo on her neck and I knew I would never be the same. Sim is what it said

Under the starry night in a town square filled with music. By a raging bond fire on a secluded beach. In a quiet little club with low lights and soft Jazz. Where ever your heart desires, that is where I want to be. With you alone in an embrace, our two spirits entwined. This is where I want to dance with you and share our love divine.

When friends have forsaken us and loved ones have passed away. When age has crept up on us and we come to the close of the day. In still silence we will see our truest selves and wonder what we could have done. Then in that moment , we find reassurance from the only one that matters. When all things are gone and God is all that is left, that will be enough.

The host of the night sky shines down on creation. Some of them find a jealous reason to envy what they see. While others weep at the way life is squandered, between the two they disagree. Why should this go on, shouldn't we take their place. The question sparks an eternal battle that threatens to tear heaven out of it's place. So on goes the question, do things need to be allowed to go on, or should others become keepers of the earth, and start the world anew?

The frost covers the windows on several cars and ice covers the brown grass. The North wind whips and blows sending a chill down your spine. The days get shorter and the nights last a little bit longer each day. I am forced to wrap up in layers of clothing so I can stay warm. The good news is that people can no longer be sure who I am or what I really look like. The judgmental looks do not follow me as I walk down the street. People are forced to stay inside a lot and I can actually walk outside alone. I can finally clear my head of the clutter and suspicions and be completely empty. While I may freeze a bit, the idea of being free from the gaze and the opinions of others makes it worth while. So while many prefer the spring time or the summer sun, I find that winter is not so bad.

Mirrors reflect my illusions of myself as I walk down my primrose path. I see reflections of things as I would like them to be. A grand design is formed in my mind and I see magnificent achievements. I want to step through the mirror into the reflection of the illusion. I find that it is better than my own reality. In many ways I hide my shortcomings with false perceptions in order to avoid admitting the truth to myself. So I continue walking in my hall of mirrors and shutting doors to truth, as I live in the land that is favorable to my own liking, A world created by illusions in my mind.

A carpet of color adorns the open spaces. The lilies and tulips blossom by quiet streams, as wild flowers shimmer in the morning sun. The wind whips the seams of the tapestry that nature has woven and the pollen blows from it like golden flecks of a secret treasure. The flowers of the field are for a moment, but a unique beauty that can change the soul for a lifetime.

Look at the white water that runs over the jagged rocks, follow it through the rapids. See streaks of sliver dashing through the current and settling where the water stills and runs deep. Look into the pool and see the minnows swim about, that were moments ago in rapids up stream. Listen to the splash on the banks as Otters slide down muddy banks in play. Walk quietly on to a sand bar and watch a turtle laying her eggs. Search on a muddy bank and in the shallow pools for arrow heads that show signs of a civilization long forgotten. Watch a Golden Eagle sitting on the cleft of a high rocky face, looking into the water below for a large fish to feed its young. See the sun begin to set and hear the frogs as they croak and groan from the reeds. Such is river life for those who are willing to see it and admire the diversity of nature.

Hanging from a single thread like a spider from a strand of web, I dangle at the end of fates cruel hand. Blown about in the wind, twisting from end to end, I bounce up and down. Pulling on the single strand, I realize how mortal I am as I feel the line grow taught around me. I must be careful that my thread doesn't break, I take care to not tempt fate, but the cruelty of destiny taunts me. I want to climb the line, but fear takes hold of me, what if the strand breaks then where will I be? So I dangle just a little bit more, as I carefully try to climb the cord and I can only hope that the fates are with me.

Look at the sky and see how blue it is. See how it lives in harmony with all of the other colors that exist. The clouds are white, silver, black and grey. They all exist in harmony. See a sunset or a sunrise, the sky can be orange, gold or even red. What a wonder to see no contention between the different hues. So if we can take a lesson from the sky under which we all live, it is that different colors of things or people can live in harmony if they only try.

Oh the roads I could have traveled and the things I could have done. What wonders I could have seen following the setting sun. How many women I could have known and what pleasures untold I could have enjoyed. The tales I would have been able to tell to any who would read about them. Yet in a moment, I found my heart captured by true love. All of the wild adventures melted away and the sun set without me to follow it. Under a bright moon surrounded by a thousand stars to bear witness, that is when I said yes to love and yes to spending my life with you.

Paper cuts, sun burn, permits and delays. Freezing in the winter and getting wet in a down pour. Spring showers so I can capture the image of a few flowers. Dust in my eyes, sand and pebbles in my shoes. Bug bites and multiple shots to get over what ever they think I may have. Critics and gallery openings where my work sits in the back of the room. If I am next to the snack table, perhaps then I will at least get a mention along with the finger food. Such is the life of an artist, trying to become well known. Often starving and seldom fed, except when there are left overs. A paint brush, canvas and a camera are some of the tools of my trade. It is my hope that good fortune will find me before my suffering debt is fully paid.

Shades of Phantoms haunt my days. I see strange things. I look in the mirror and I am not myself. I see a crown and armor yet I feel less than mortal. The world shifts around me as I walk, everything is skewed. The faces of the people that pass me are contorted, I see them for what they really are. There are no pleasantries among them, each one holds a monster inside. I see their Dark Inner secrets that they cover with a facade. Is the world an illusion or am I simply living out my delusions? Who can really say what is real anymore?

A wisp of air, a thing that keeps us breathing. A most precious thing, or a myth of religious sect and children's tales? Where is that thing that cannot be defined, but yet is talked about into the eternity. Oh where lays the soul?

I wait on the seasons to change, I long for the coming of spring. I see the plants hold fast through the winter and grow in the short sunless days. Despite all that I know to be real, it seems kind of strange. That despite the order of the seasons, the harvest comes in the spring. Wheat grows in all seasons, it survives through the winter cold. When all other things are turning green, it becomes golden and must be taken in. So I will wait through the long dark winters and rejoice at the coming of spring. I will rest in the comfort that my labors will bring abundance, as the harvest comes in the spring.

In order to become wise, you must first admit that you know nothing. Then go and stare at a mountain and learn from it. Through the ages it sits quietly and only makes a sound now and then, often it just watches and listens rather than speak. Next you must go to the ocean and select a single grain of sand. Look at it intently until you understand. The single crystal that you hold in your fingers was once part of the mountain that is now so far away. Now repeat the journey from the mountain, to the sea, stopping to help others and learn from them as you go. Then you will be truly wise you see.

Turn my skin into an inferno, make me sweat at your touch. Light my passions by taunting me, withhold from me that which I desire so much. Use your imagination and devise ways to make me feel ****** pain. Cause me to writhe beneath you as I long for you to give me release. Make me burn with passions heat until you hear me beg.

Where is the Sun, where has the light gone. I haven't seen it at all in many days. I walk around under a dark cloud wanting to feel it's warmth again, but I am so tired I just sit in the dark. All I see is rain and dark skies. I am always cold and never feel like myself. If only the sun would shine, I might gain my strength back. Where is the sun, I miss it so.

Under the shade of Spanish moss and deep inside the bayou, something crawled out and shook off the dirt and grime. It sat upon a rock and looked at the sun. It was long green and scaly, but no one knew quite what it was. It just yawned and lay flat. For hours it sat idly then a local politician passed by, the thing jumped quickly and gobbled him up. With a full belly it slithered back into the murky bayou, never to be seen again.

Place a rose in your hair, so that crimson can shine against the gold. Say yes to my heart's desire, withhold not that which I want from you . Let your true nature come to fruition as I stand lost in a memory. My eyes have captured a vision, a remembrance and yet it is so real. I hold out my hands to seek your embrace, my fingertips tremble for fear that you are a mere shade of what was. The Rays of the Sun outline your form, a goddess descending from Olympus, an angel that is Walked Out Of Heaven. My heart has lost its rhythm and I am smitten. I feel your breath as your lips touch mine. I can no longer think, I can only exist in the moment. I can only be what you will let me, as my being is overcome with your forbidden Delights.

Threading the lines of a poem and blending the images of a story, the writer weaves the fabric of imagination into the manuscript. In speech or written word, the magic is cast as the audience becomes enthralled with the passion and intensity that the author puts into the tale. The whole is a tapestry of words created by the person who puts their soul into their story.

Children cry and lay in fear as bullets **** over head. Bombs burst and create a sea of red from dismembered bodies. People cut each other down over abundant resources because of selfishness and greed. While the war rages on and the world is burning, many a powerful person sits afar off and says what a shame as they turn off their T.V.'s and go quietly to bed with the misery of others not of any concern, and yet all the things on a global scale will eventually come back to our own homes.

Laying down upon petals so soft, fragrant and alluring. Lost in the sublime contentment of luxury and bliss, forgetting all of my cares. Awaiting the one who loves me, my betroth, my beloved. Aching to explore passion on a bed of seduction. Enticing nothing but love and happiness in a place of beauty and peace. Wrapped in each others arms as my lover finds me, content to surrender while sleeping on a bed of Roses.

The internet is down and wifi doesn't work. My phones battery died 10 seconds before I left work. I can't snap chat what I am about to eat. I am panicking because I can't read my tweets. The lights just went out and I am sitting in the dark, what did people do when they were miles apart? I feel so unconnected, it just isn't fair. If I don't post on Pinterest will anyone even care. There is no TV to watch, not even the Vine's. How can I now pass the time? It feels like torture, please let it end. Oh only if I could get on face book again. Thus is the state of the modern world you see. We have created this mess in our society. So when reality finally comes to call, just sit back and quietly laugh as you watch the snowflakes fall apart.

The battles have been hard fought. We have been handed defeat. At every turn we show our frustration. We can't see how the fight can be won. That which our mortal minds will not realize, is that the war is already won. The fight had a culmination about 2000 years ago. On a lonely barren hill top, our captain was lain low. With what for any other man would be a mortal wound. Against all immorality and wickedness, he would prevail very soon. As he gave up his last breath, he returned to his heavenly home. From there he commands his armies, sitting on his eternal throne. He said I will return to give the victory to those who will believe. So we wait on Christ return, our victorious and eternal king.

Words scrawled on a suicide note, written on a tear stained paper. The last mentions of a lonely and ignored soul. Laying in agony, ridiculed and misunderstood. The words were so simple, yet they would tear your heart into. The limp body laying beside the paper and pen, lifeless and blue. Only wanting to be acknowledged, only wanting to feel loved. The poor tortured soul now rest with the angels above. What could be so heart wrenching that could be written on a single piece of paper you see. With ever tear stained word, all that was said is please don't forget me.

As new seeds of hope are planted and new flowers bloom. Let the minds of our children be the fertile ground of change. Let the horrors of war and want be lessons learned and not repetitive actions that are an endless cycle of grief. Let us be the purveyors of wisdom and lets us teach discipline and kindness with a firm but nurturing hand. Let our children grow up and become the rule and not the exception. Let new ideas drive our world forward and enjoin cultures from the old divides. Let vines grow across ideologies and let knowledge create opportunities. From the old waste lands of hatred and distrust, let new friendships emerge and grow. Let the next generation give hope and let there be a new tomorrow, better than our yesterday.

Shards of the pieces of broken lives lay along a rugged path. Lost hopes and tear stained dreams lay forgotten. The world walks by them and gives it no thought. Prayers go up but there seems to be no answer, but if you look closely and follow the path you will see where all of the misery ends, up on a hill called Calvary, on an old rugged tree. Where the son of God was crucified for you and I, that we may be free from sin and gain eternal life.

Soft and cuddly they bounce around. Purring like hyper active motors they chase each other down. They will lay on their backs and play with their own tails. Cute and mischievous and always curious. Kittens are fluffy bits of love, that will keep you laughing all of the day long.

Tyranny is seductive until the puppet masters reveal themselves. Freedom seems difficult, but being responsible for your own actions is better than chains. Any who would have others make their decisions do not deserve freedom and should not be surprised when they are enslaved. Freedom requires sacrifice, freedom must be earned and protected. For freedom is a precious commodity it is often purchased at a high price, but while it may not be easy, it is well worth the cost.

Cities lay desolate and all they do is lay blame each other. Children use guns to resolve their problems then watch the destroyed lives. Some go to the grave and others go to jail. Each experiences a form of death, but who really cares. Politicians sit on ivory perches and intellectuals say how bad they feel, but all their platitudes will not feed a hungry child. We work ourselves into an early grave for a few scraps of paper only to have it taken away in the end. No one knows where the wealth goes, it vanishes into the either sphere. What is the answer, today it is more rage. Where has love gone to and why was it replaced by hate? In life there exist a void that human understanding cannot fill. Until we put down our selfish ways and start seeing another's pain, then noting is going to change.

What is the secret I asked a wise man. He said you must find that answer for yourself. I asked him where I might find the answer and he said go on a journey and you shall find what you seek. I asked where I should start and he gave me a map, I followed the map and it lead me to a place where there was a great need. The people welcomed me and I told them I was on a journey, they asked me if I could stay a little while. I helped them to build and recover and days turned into months, then years passed. I woke up one day and said I must be on my way, with sadness they said farewell. I opened up the  map and saw the line lead to a river, there I hoped I would find my way. Upon arriving I saw clear cool water and I went to bend down and get a drink. In the reflection, I saw the wise man looking at me, but it wasn't the wise man, it was me. I had become aged and gray but now I understood. I finished staring at my reflection and returned to the village in the way. I found many people welcomed me and I found love and a family. Then when my hair had faded to the color of snow, I returned to the place where the wise man had been and sat down. Then  young wanderer came to me and asked me sir what is the secret of life. I reached into my bag and handed him a map and said follow this and you will find what you seek.

The foundation of the body is ignored most of all, until we are in pain and cannot walk. To be the feet of something is to be not highly regarded, but is to be of great importance. If not for the foot, there would be no where to kneel at the cross. If not for the foot, we would not have mountains to climb. If not for the feet, we could walk no where, nor could we carry the burdens for others. So when you take a close look at the whole of the body, the feet are of great importance indeed.

The wreath is hung upon my door. The tree is all lit up. The cookies are baking in the oven not much more that can be done. No one comes to call, my door bell doesn't ring. I am sitting alone again among so many shiny things. There are no Carols to be sung, there is no reason you see. I just sit quietly and look out the frosted window as the world passes by me. I don't mind being alone, I have lots of things to pass my time. So many books to read, surveys to be done online. My family is somehow to busy, they have their own lives to live. So I just sit here quietly with so much love to give. I will endure one more holiday by myself. Then I will fold everything up and put my memories neatly on the shelf. I have one lone present underneath my shiny tree, it is to me from me, I can't wait to open it you see. So here I sit alone, another season passes for me. I will be alone for Christmas, but that is all right you see.

Oh my head, oh I am bitten. There is a serpent in the bottle I drank from last night. The red wine and the tequila did not mix well. How wonderful the party was, then the sun came up. Now a serpent is coiled around my brain. I feel it squeeze and bite every time I try to think. Oh how the snake in the bottle is biting me, I should learn not to mix those drinks.

Paper bills, metal coins, things stamped in silver and gold. All the currency of the realm. Things that some trade their virtue to obtain or give their souls to possess. While wealth is a tool for good or ill, often it is the undoing of many a wise person and foolish alike. Can wealth add one day to your life or can it give true happiness? If you stand upon piles of gold, then how many lives can you buy for a few coins? If shared rightly, there can be great benefit to the betterment of many lives. If kept hoarded in dark vaults away from prying eyes, very little is there that your money can buy.

Come walk with me and hold my hand, take a journey with me and we can come to understand, all of life's mysteries. Come walk with me and I will show you love. I will show you happiness that only comes from heaven above. I will listen intently to all you have to say and take time to let you know, that you are important to me each and everyday . Come walk with me in the sun and in the rain. Hold me close through happiness and pain. Take this walk with me through out our lives and we can help each other discover what makes the journey worth while.