The sun drops lower,
but have you not any fear.
It shall rise again.

Waves are rolling in,
inching closer to my feet,
crawling up the sand.

Why, after everything you do,
leave everything askew?

Is there a place for everyone here,
in a world so spacious, so vast?
Lies are told. Rumors spread. People sneer.
Must her future be determined by her past?
She questions her existence.
Desperately, she searches for someone to trust.
She falls to her knees, and prays with might.
No more does she want to look at her reflection with disgust.
Troubles left and right, and her head is spinning.
Emotions fill her, overwhelming her being.
Can anyone relieve her from all her sinning?
There's got to be a light, she's just not seeing.
You see, even though she feels like she's dwindling,
there's a flame of hope who the Man up above is kindling.

The rain has finally ceased, leaving none untouched and dry.
Your eyes fall upon a flower, so still, so innocent.
Crooked and bent from the undying wind,
you, its savior from its relentless master.
Plucking it from its roots, you caress the twisted stem.
Uneven is the surface, thanks to its defense of prickly thorns.
Following the shape, winding like a staircase, your fingers make their way to the top.
O, rose, show me an ounce of your majesty!
The aroma captivates your senses.
All hairs stand on end.
So delicate are the petals - spinning, twirling, all t'wards el centro.
How gentle her creator must be!
Weighed down by drops of dew, the petals droop lower.
Even so, each radiates brilliance beyond compare.
In closer you look, so curious and caring.
In it you find no scientific discovery, yet such an incomparable treasure.
In your hands, you hold enlightenment.
As this rose was trampled on the ground,
so are you reminded of One, who did the same for you.

It took him years
to build the strength
to one day venture back

The house, so still
so cold, so ghostly
dressed in solemn black

He could not see
past his childhood of hurt
to find forgiveness in his heart

His only feeling - resentment -
The memories too close
The affection too distant

As he sits across the way
fidgeting, picking at the grass
He ponders his own life

Was he stepping out? Rising above?
Or falling into the deep ruts
of his wayward parents?

Now. his being satisfied,
He was ready to go back
and make his house - a home.

The house seems still, quiet, empty.
Dawn breaks and her feet hit the cold wooden floor.
The aroma of coffee swirls through the air, meeting the cool breeze,
while the birds are singing the song of a new day.

Morning presses on.
Discontentment creeps in slyly through the door.
There's always some chore that finds itself unavoidable.
She mustn't sit in solemn despair.

Flipping through the channels over and over.
Dusting the shelves time and again.
Reading, writing, baking.
None the cure for the unrest of a widow.

Lunch prepared for two, but present, only one.
Picking and nibbling, but nothing seems to satisfy.
She starts the dishes to pass the time.
Bubbles forming, suds splashing.

She can't resist.
There's no escape.
Her mind lands on his precious reminiscence.
As melancholy as it seems, she knows there is hope to be found.

Still, the afternoon seems to have no end.
She finds herself aimlessly wandering.
Memories resurface with every glance.
Shutting her eyes seems to be no help.

She finds her day drawing to a close.
Her heart impossible to mend.
For she cannot be whole without her other half.
This is the burden she unwillingly carries.

A lonely game of solitaire awaits.
Companionship long over due.
Nothing seems to fill the void.
But life beats on.