Words the Windows to the Soul ©2010 2011 2012 2013: 2010

Wednesday, December 29, 2010

The Guard Standing

The Guard Standing

Empty, be the house when the children leave; as is the tree in winter which lay quiet. Matters not the reason why the leaves return; nor the house no longer empty. For once again the house filled, as are the trees in spring.

Hear me now these words I speak. The trees and all living things belong to Him. Yet those in this house fall under my protection, blessed by Him. Gifts given most precious for these are the children of my child. I watch them sleeping; those small angelic faces, lay peaceful in the quiet.

Once again the guard is standing; attempt no wrong here. Wish you peace, then it is His peace I give thee. Yet if harm be your desire, then leave this place of peace. For the horror that be the guard standing will greet you; and this greeting unrelenting you do not understand nor wish for, I swear it.

Think me to old, you are as a fool. Know you not of a father’s love be as the grandfather. Love given, without question; my life for theirs from heartbeat to heartbeat; the guard is stood.

Monday, December 27, 2010

Freedom's Hand

Freedom’s Hand

This place once lived in a far off land. Her screams of agony as her death approached; blinded by our own faults as what I love lay dieing. She fought the English over taxes. Battled we the French and the Red man over land. Brother against brother locked in war’s embrace, that no man should own another in this great land.

As the centuries pass she stood, silent without a sword. Just a light given freely to all those sought what the forefathers gave. In this land of liberty none judged by whom was thy father. For in this land thy actions spoke of what and who was the man standing free.

Still come they to chase their dreams, to this place where one could have his say. Right or wrong even if it offended, this liberty be part of her great light given. And if your ear be offended then listen not to the words spoken; but admire and protect that which be the freedom.

Still no promise of wealth or fame given; just the right to seek that which be thy wish. To worship as one without fear. A wife and family safe from that which would say not here. Freedom was the promise, safe from prying eyes. Now come these that seek to destroy that which I love. But here I stand to stop her death; even if my blood be spilled the cause was just. And her light shall burn ever brighter; and in this light you will see the gleaming sword of freedom’s hand.

Monday, December 20, 2010

Silent Mountain

Silent Mountain

Look I down from this frozen mountain, silent. Into the valley below the road that winds, quiet. Where be this place that man exists not; nor any sign of life. Yet all is at peace atop this frozen mountain. Winds be the music; the color of the cold. Would that life be so peaceful, as is this mountain. Can one help but see the beauty of the silence....

Inspired by Carrie

Harsh Wind

Harsh Wind

To protect the weak, men stand; like great oaks in the forest. Strong be the oak that stands against the harsh wind; so to these men that protect the weak. Be the difference man's choice; or be it the Almighty, in His mercy. These, which stand for those which have not the legs to fight; for what is their right, life. When evil sets man against his brother; people cry out, still some do not hear. Or be it they hear not the suffering of others. Man, his greed unquenchable, yet to others the bounty unseen. Be there a greater sadness when men war against each other. Be it that so few can stop the oppression of others; be this not the will of the Almighty. Then why do we still war against our brother. Still, we fight and die to protect those who can not stand. Oh cry out the sadness of the cruelty, and oppression of the weak. Yet all is as the Almighty wills it. So like the oak, we stand against the cruelty of the harsh wind; so that the weak shall one day stand...

© Words the Windows to the Soul 2010

Saturday, December 18, 2010

Spirit Lost

Spirit Lost

Weep I no longer for the young soldier. His blood stains the sand; like oil upon the water, yet I forget him not. How can one not weep at the sight of life gone, as his eyes no longer have the light. Did you see not his pain, nor his sorrow as the end came to him. Be it possible that man’s cruelty has hardened our hearts. Woe be to us that see not; nor feel that which be death real. Or be it that we too are dead in the soul. Be this why our minds and hearts be sick; that we see not, nor feel the death of a soul. Oh the anguish of a spirit lost. Still a young soldier is without life. I do weep for his loss; and for those who can not see; nor feel the pain of the spirit lost.

For an America Soldier brought home to rest
©2010 Words the Windows to the Soul

No End

No End

I often wonder as the sunlight reaches. I see not the beauty; just the ending of the night. Why do I wake, only to remember those that surround me in the night. Would that my yesterdays forgotten; yet each night, the past plays that never ending story. Oh wish that I would see not the nights coming. I can not run, nor hide from those that seek my night. Each horror comes to greet me; like the pages of a book turning. One wonders what evil has been done. These that sit with me, in this story with no ending. Wonder not who or what I am, for the story be mine; and there is no end.

Thursday, December 16, 2010

His Mighty Light

His Mighty Light
The flower’s blossom wilts, when the frost brings the chill. In the mist of the morning the sun gives life back. The flower’s blossom lives again. When the darkness of the soul; as the coldness of despair brings chilling frost. The coming of the sun with the brilliant light will again bring life. Hear me now these words I give thee. Fear not sadness, nor the darkness of the soul. As the stars in the heavens; give way to the sun. So to the light with the power of the Almighty heals. This the blackest darkness can not hold; against that which be His Mighty Light...

Wednesday, December 15, 2010

Secrets

Secrets

Secrets, stories that none can hear; nor see that which be this ugliness. Yes the mind holds these in silence, in these which be the hallways of the mind. Seek no entrance here, for each holds their own horror in these secret hallways. Let not your eyes gaze upon that which lay hidden. For behind this door, be the cold touch and there be no escape. Hear now these words I give thee. Pass by this door, and hear not the voice calling. As these secrets wish them not; as the horror goes with them. Will you then lock them away in silence; wish not for these bitter hallways. You have been warned; yet you heard not the warning I gave to thee. Leave this place never to return. For now you have your stories that none can hear. Bitter hallways which now hold the ugliness; with their horror, secrets

Tuesday, December 14, 2010

Medal

Medal

What is this that causes a man to give his life such a violent end. To be trained in the art of war in defense of our nation. To protect others from those who would oppress them. Only to find death at his hand pulling. Oh tell me if you can why does this happen; what does he hear that causes him not to fear. Is it enough then to say then; that he cares for others more than he for himself.
So what is said of these men and women that harms' way is their choice, yet they wish to live. They seek not fame, money or glory, rather God, country, duty follow them. The music they hear most can not, for only the soul of a volunteer can hear these notes. Played on these strings which is the mighty heart.
Sad tis true when one such as they, pay with their life to save another. No pause have they, or thought of what will happen, nor what will not. No fear of what be left not done or what will come tomorrow. Their inner self speaks of danger, but that voice not heard.Many tears be shed on that flag which lay above this which is the mighty heart. Words be spoken of courage and valor, these great deeds by the few for the many. Yet is this enough to speak now of them, we pay our respect to parents and to perhaps their kids, we give this medal to these the fallen heroes. But yet the greatest gift was already given by those that gave up their lives that others shall live. To us was given their Medal of Honor and we forever will remember how they paid for us.

Dedicated to the men and women of armed forces of the United States of America

Darkness Hidden

Darkness Hidden

I came upon a man; so evident was his pain. Sun’s light had yet to bring life to the night. Yet his eyes held that darkness hidden; of the story not yet told. A bell that tolled only once ended his joy. His love gone as is the sound of the bell. What be this hellish place; in this darkness, where now his heart dwells; and his soul mourns. As we spoke his anger not yet quenched. Nothing could stem the burning hatred of the Almighty. Still be I silent, as he spoke. My soul cries out; for his tears long since dried. He spoke of wife of thirty years. The breaking of his heart; one could not mistake the pain. My soul weeps for one such as this. As for him, life be worthless; in that darkness hidden. Till the time comes
for the bell, to toll for him.

For a Man I met today
© 2010 Words The Windows to the Soul

Saturday, December 11, 2010

Liberty

Liberty

Rise I from my slumber; thankful for the liberty I enjoy. Safe, protected by that which be the freedom of this great nation. Oh America how great be thy heart; that others may touch it but for a moment, longing. This heart that protects all with one word, Liberty; yet be there many who wish it harm. Still, they come wishing; even but for a short time, to embrace that which we enjoy. Be this idea threatened, by those who would rule with fear and oppression. No, for what lay in their path be a lion sleeping. Fools know you not what you seek be worth; nor of where your path leads. Hear these words I give thee, come not against that which is held by the great heart. For to do so would wake the lion; which be the freedom of that protection; the great heart which be, Liberty...

Freedom

Freedom
What word be this that the will of man be like iron. This word, which be embraced. Yet to those that would fear it; wish to destroy that which is held dear. Fools do they not know of the iron that protects the beauty of this single word. Still time and again those that seek to destroy, fail. Why then do they wish it, only to destroy that which be held so tightly; that none can break it. Yet they still come; seeking that word with its beauty real. For they lack the liberty to do as they wish. They may not speak; for fear they stand silent. In this their country the word whispered but never spoken. How can one speak of justice that lives in fear; for this word protects them not. From sea to sea they come seeking to embrace but a single word. That one word whispered or shouted means the same to all. To choose who and what we shall; to pray as one wishes, to laugh or cry; be ours to rejoice for this one word, Freedom...

Friday, December 10, 2010

Lies

Lies

It is said the cruel blow of death be most painful; yet then be a lie like death. Be it trust broken, worse than death; as the mind remembers all. These lies spoken, like arrows; when the mark is hit. Yet within be the answer, some wish it not while others embrace it. For what lay within, more power than any arrow....

For Cathy

© 2010 Words the Windows to the Soul

Reflections

Reflections

Wonder do I when sadness be unseen. Yet if the sadness hidden; will I know joy. Be this possible, that one must feel the sting of sadness; to feel anything at all. Be this mercy shown, or be it just the pain we must endure. Wish you not the pain, sadly it be a part of that which is called life. Be the question then of life and what be the true meaning of it. As down life's path we walk each day; we approach that which will come. Though we wish it not; comes death to all. Truly then be the path taken, that we make our choice. You wish not to make a choice; yet in life choice be like death, we must come upon that which we wish not. Still be this force that sustains that which be our life. Oh joyous be the laughter; and the beauty of wondrous sights be seen. Would the chance be worthy of the beauty; yet ever present be that which be unseen. You say to me you will not wish this path; then truly yours belongs true sadness...

Wednesday, December 8, 2010

Start New

Start New

Drink not of this cup my friends; my solemn prayer for thee. Should you find this path that I now take. For this path be filled with pain. I will be leaving everything I hold dear behind. What is this plan, must this be His will; to be driven into that desert, alone. Oh weep I not if swift death comes. Yet this be not the reason of the sorrow. My mind is filled with words; yet the answer eludes. Where is this place that I be bound. Woe unto those that must walk with me, alone. For in this desert begins a start new. The unknown brings its loneliness; as it was the past is now the new day. The danger real, yet fear I not to feel; ask not of the warning but heed it. As the new sun comes and kills the stars, so to the start new. Still I must walk into this which be unknown; for what lay behind is dead. Therein lay the sorrow of what was and that which will be the start new...

Lion's Roar

When death looks at you there be but two choices, as the lion roars. Put to death that which would be the lion; or become the food of the hunter, as the lion roars. Like the wind as it howls its warning of that which be the coming of the storm I will kill this lion but be this act terrible, as I may also die. The wind and the lion be different yet they are the same; what be it they seek. Yet both are free to do what they will; " The lion knows where home is, the wind never will." Be we as the lion; or be it as the wind that goes on forever with no home. Yet the wind with with the fury bring the desolation; as the earth has become as the sand. The lion finds nothing to silence the pain of hunger. The wind hears not the plea, it's endless journey where the lion finds its end, the Lion's Roar now silent; so to the quite, of the wind....

Quote Taken from the movie "The Wind and the Lion"

Wednesday, December 1, 2010

Sky's Fire

Faces in a fire lit sky; one wonders does the face see me. Or be it just the cloud filled fire lit sky. As I gaze up the face that I see; wonder do I forever in this the warmth; what it is that looks down upon me. Be this just a phantom, that has hidden amongst the clouds. Or be it that the colors as the sun dies; that brings the warmth. Oh cry out the beauty; of what my eyes beheld, in this fiery blaze. Can you not see the colors of the camp fire's burning; ablaze in this which be a fire lit sky. Flames ever higher to touch the face which sees only me...

Inspired by Carrie

Fate

Fate

As I look to the past I wonder was my life worthy of its blessings.

Was the test passed, or be it just a failing grade was earned.

Had fate played the cruelest of jokes, the illusion of life’s happiness. Oh what price was paid for this test taken.

Future clouds now my present; as my steps unsure ever forward.

Yet have I not paid the toll on this path misleading.

How be it then my past is here that I must look again into that which was earned. Or be the illusion again my test to pass.

Still wonder I if any of my deeds worthy; was any difference made by that which was my life’s test. Or be it just a dream, life’s illusion; the cruel joke of fate

Snow of December

December’s snow falls upon us in the quiet. Matters not be it day or night; the magic of that which be the snow. The tree's leaves white with new fallen snow; weighs heavy upon the branches. The hush, silence, not even the wind dares to disturb. The fireplace crackles with last year’s oak. Yet through the window is the picture waiting. As pleasant be the fire so to is this picture that we see. Off in our dream, like the falling of the snow with the fire to warm us. But what of the dance of the snow flakes as they fall, that we see in our mind. Be it then we are asleep and this be a dream. Or can it be that the beauty of the moment has taken us where our feet can not go. That snow fall in December its magic transformed, as are the burdened branches. As two lovers lay by the fire that dances with the snow.

Inspired by Kuskulana

Tuesday, November 30, 2010

Vengeance Brings

The fire that is vengeance burns, brightly; yet to the soul the darkness comes. As that which consumes all leaves nothing to light the soul. Yet we seek that which brings pain to the heart; with a soul in darkness. Our mind feels the heart's pain; still we look for that which we shall see only in the mind. Oh great the sadness, and loss of life be this to much to bear. The memories of what was; shall not be seen, nor remembered; for that which brightly burns. Let the tears of remembrance kill vengeance' fire; that once again your soul shall see. So too with hearts pain; like the coming of the sun warmth, healing. Still sadness yes, but the memories shall forever be yours; again in the fields running; only here the joy is felt by the mind not troubled by heart's pain. Lush be these green fields where again you run in that which be the sun's light. Never again to know the heat that vengeance brings...

For Chip

LIfe

Life

Anger's rage kills not quickly; the death is slow and painful as life be consumed by the anger which fuels the rage. Fool not yourself; anger left, will turn to that which kills. One must act to turn anger outward; thus the fuel can not burn. If I could but learn one thing; would this not make riches pale. Oh to have this awesome power, be this wealth more precious than gold. Yet how can I find something that I can not see; for my eyes blinded by anger. So to with all man; oh will we never see life without anger. Is this really life, be there nothing else; or be death the only answer. I will tell thee this set free your anger; thus the fuel shall burn no longer. Then you will see the wealth that has always been more precious than gold; for now your eyes see without anger, Life.....

Tuesday, November 23, 2010

True Wisdom

True Wisdom

As early morn brings the light, so that our eyes might see. Sit I here and wonder be knowledge present; or be it that we lack the understanding of that which be morning’s light. How will wisdom present itself to us, lacking that which be knowledge. How can I just, a simple man feel another's pain; or have the wisdom to see their anguish. As the sun looks to their soul, be not then my shame to feel not that which is real. For stand I in the brightness for this early morn; and I see, feel, and hear that which be the hunger. This thirst of these the helpless: whose hunger, cries unheard. Be it day or the darkness of night. What kind of man would I be with the knowledge; yet not to share it. Yes one could avoid the pain, made deaf and sightless by my own fear, and turn away. Hear now these words I give thee. Should you turn knowledge unused and heed not the pain; nor the cries of the helpless, this be your shame. You shall never know of thy failure; nor will you ever possess true wisdom…

Freedom's Cost

Freedom’s Cost

What be this place where no sound be heard. In the distance a single bugle sounds its call. Yet, tears that fall like rain drops; play their own notes. Be this the notes of the sadness of the lost. You ask what sound is this that brings the sadness. This be the sound of courage lost in defense of others. The cost of liberty was paid again; with blood the only payment. This price paid again by the few; so that the many know not of fear. Yet their freedom is given without cost to those who wear not the uniform. Freedom only exists, when those both men and women are willing to stand the wall. These special few that heed their country’s call; and yes their life forfeit if it must. To those that have given this payment. I offer this tribute; you shall be remembered as long as one lives to tell the story of

freedom’s cost.

Saturday, November 20, 2010

Mighty Ship

Missing in action, presumed lost, whereabouts unknown the dispatch read. Such was the fate of this mighty ship which was built for war. As all that served in her ready for that which she was built. And of her brave crew all rest with her in the quiet and the silence of the seas floor her final resting place unknown. Be this of little comfort to the families of those loved ones gone missing with this mighty ship as the dispatch read. The great sadness that followed the death of this mighty ship for none left to tell the story. Still the sadness was theirs to mourn the missing and the loss of this mighty ship of war. Her size did not make her strong. Nor did many fear her guns. But the men with steel in their hearts new of their fast, light cruiser would battle any ship that dared to cross her bow. Yet the skill of her captain and the courage of her men proved her worthy in battle after battle she was a mighty ship. Then on that fateful day when under the cover of darkness, like a thief whose face covered with false colors did approach. Both ships opened fire at each others hearts with courage apparent. As the mighty ship made for home damaged bow to stern, her brave crew tried to save her but her wounds mortal. Now her men share her fate resting in the quiet and the silence of the depths. They that mourned now to can rest as that hallowed sea floor has been found. And like a fine book the cover can now be closed. For the story is known and the ending shall not be forgotten.

Dedicated to this mighty ship and her crew H.M.A.S. Sydney II

The Fog

The Fog
Find I these things of the mind, not easy to describe. The war rages again; this drug induced sleep and the fog that it leaves. This foe formidable with this which be the spell cast. Like the weather changing the clouds; so to these moods change in this fog. How does one explain how this war exists; when sleep only comes with that which brings the fog. If the mind could be emptied of all thought; wonder do I would we dream. Then if dreams be not there; how do we even know we slept at all. Yet I must endure this, would that I did not; nor others that share my fate. With these spells cast what be the choices then. I wonder what choice made the spells cast or that of the fog…

Monday, November 8, 2010

Flower's Beauty

Wonder do I when comes the time to surrender. Be it when the mind and body weakened;that the flower's beauty no longer seen.

How can we walk on when the strength of the sun;and the heat it brings be against us. Yet we feel not the warmth;

just the heat of pain with each step.

Do I not thirst for the life giving water;

only to find the sand of a desert.

Minds fraught with uncertainty lacks the knowledge;

Desert Palms yet we no longer see shade and comfort,

only the hot sand that must be crossed.

So to the flower's beauty not seen;

for our eyes blinded, defeated.

This force that brings all against me,

be my end that it seeks.

My soul cries out to what was,

seeking that which be now weak;

that was once strong.

Seek you the shade and the life giving water;

for there be that once again you shall find

flower's beauty, victory...

Friday, November 5, 2010

Star's Heart

Star's Heart

Wonder do I gaze upon the night's sky. Be it to see the gift of the light given. Or be it that the beauty rare; be the same as rage. Is any thought given to that of the star and of what be the star's heart. Yet in an instant the star streaks across the heavens, in the blackness and is gone. As if the rage has taken the light, as the star's heart feels the sting of death.

I sit amazed as I wonder; did I not once give a thought to that which be the heart. One would suppose that some would have seen; alas no, what was seen was the light given. Could none see that the light hid the heart. Great is the pity than none saw that which was lay hidden; the white hot rage as the star whose heart never seen.

The anger, that which was the rage; be this then the light be just the blackness hidden. Then that which was the heart gave once more to all. Never so bright was this light, across the night sky that brilliance seen but for an instant; and then the blackness. Yet how could one understand without knowing; the pain and the rage that was the star's heart.

Tuesday, October 26, 2010

Gentle Hand

Gentle Hand

Be it possible to know love without first feeling the breaking of a heart. How do I describe this pain of heart's destruction; without the hand gentle which brings the hope. Can I explain that which like magic, vanishes with the breaking. How then to explain love, to those yet to feel the pain. Without hope, save the hand gentle, healing. Oh would that I would give to you a gift such as this. The gentle hand that heals; a softness that even demons fear. Fate thou art most cruel left to wander without knowing; will I find a hand such as this, again. Yet I do remember the touch of your hand, as the demons fled; in the darkness when you brought the light. Hear these words I give thee, should you meet one such as this, then indeed you are blessed. For your heart will know the touch; and wander you no more. For you have found love, and the touch real; as is the gentle hand.

Friday, October 22, 2010

Corners

Corners

In the dark corners of my mind, where darkness lives
there is no light. Seek me not from these small places; darkened corners and forgotten evil.
Speak not lest ye see what is hidden in that corner behind the door. Ugliness needs no light to live. Yet if behind the closed door; that which is the beast can cause no harm.
So wake me not from this sleep, for in this time his door is open, the terrors come to what end I know not.
My tormented sleep, I wonder not why or how he roams so easily In my dreams he does dwell; but in the light he lies buried, behind those doors; the darkened corners

Thursday, October 21, 2010

The Toast

The Toast

Glasses full raised to long dead buddy's. We speak loudly of courage and honor and sometimes the fear. When all to remember is what is here. The field of battle; true thoughts hidden. Of a nightmare born of hell as the story unfolds.
Those that live past the hell of battle wait for our turn to hear the rattle. We live in our hopes for our wives and children, that they see no more of this hellish dream.
The price was paid by many with blood, oh so many young faces no wife or children, for their gift you see was the reason.
Worthy our hope for the price that was paid, only time will tell of the choice was made.
And yet we sit again with our glasses full. Another salute to a folded flag comes due.
Our tears flow upon that folded flag to say goodbye to another comrade.

My Boy

My Boy

Softly resting in these arms surrounding; feel the strength of their protection. Be at peace, for there is none to harm you save the Almighty. Yes I know and feel the pain, your eyes speak to those which can hear you. Sleep now my friend, and fear not for I shall not leave you; nor you I, for to lose you would be more than I could bear and the Almighty will not allow this hideous affliction to take our embrace away. Your love for me and mine for you, with the smile of your eyes is all I need; to bring that which be the hope of life. Still some will sing your death song with loud voices; yet my voice will be silent. Still you will hear my heart as I do yours and here we shall find each other. So fear not my boy, as the fight engaged and you will never be alone…

For Tracy
© 2010 Words the Windows to the Soul

Friday, October 15, 2010

Beauty Beyond

Beauty Beyond

Come, let us walk a while in this the forest of my soul. Your hand in mine; like leaves in springtime with their gentle touch. Eyes that see a soul; with beauty beyond that which be the forest. Be it possible that the forest loves; or be the sight knows the soul which be the emerald green each branch known. The days pass into the years; still the tree stands; as does our hands like the branches.

Our eyes touch, as does the sun upon the forest. Life giving light to that which is the forest. So to our eyes to the very depth of each branch. Light's brilliance upon every leaf; so to our eyes, the soul hides nothing from our light. Dare we to intrude on such happiness, or cause this light to dim. Be we then as the branch that falls; helpless with none to hold that which was held.

Decades have passed all has been protected; walking as we have as the tree stands. Yet now that which gave life no longer shines. The leaves no longer cling to their branches; as they fall, twisted and brown. So to the soul without the eyes that see which be the beauty beyond.

Thursday, October 14, 2010

Promised Peace

Promised Peace

Sit I here and wonder; of this place in darkness, still. This cold endless where I wander, quiet. Yet be this just a story of that which is life; or be it dream filled sleep. Flicker does the candle without wind; so to the place in still darkness. Ends winter's sun as on my journey I walk. To where I know not; nor matters it not at all. If this be reality, then am I lost. Yet should this be a dream; then wish I no one to see it. For in this cold, darkened place there is not life; as I wonder where is this promised peace...

The Eagle's Valley

The Eagle’s Valley

Aloft, with wings flowing, almost without effort; soars above that which be his kingdom the valley of the eagle. Lush, with green, the streams with their hues, match the sky. Yet sailing on the mighty wind be this fearless flight of the hunter. Evil lingers not, nor driven by greed; for he seeks that feeds his hunger. As does man, meat on the table is what this hunter provides. Yet unlike man the eagle does not seek pleasure from this the hunted creature. He just seeks that which can feed those who lay under his sharp eye. Man need not fear this king on winged flight. For seeks he not anything from man, nor any of man’s possessions. Yet this is his green valley and the sky in which with wings flowing he protects; as does man all those under his watchful eye. But beware the screech that is his voice, for warning given. You may enter this his kingdom; stay your hand from causing harm to those under his watchful gaze. Wish you not to see him angered, his talons mighty then turned against you. As are his mighty wings; so take care lest his talons find you as does his wings to the air. For you are a guest in the valley of the eagle

Wednesday, October 13, 2010

Forest Green

Forest Green

Oh what beauty is seen as we walk among the forest green. Every step I take, matters not which path I walk. From the mighty oak tree does stand as the guardian of the forest. Regal almost as if a king; that stands above his court. The weeping willow to her beauty apparent, tell all who come to see her to take their rest in the shade provided. And bids you to listen to the songs from the winds as they pass. From the towering red woods, that reach the sky. Can you not see the beauty set before thee in this which be the forest green. Oh cry out what sadness, that even one should miss that which is provided by the Masters’ hand.

Jackets and Shoes

Jacket and Shoes

Great madness has chilled the mind; in the emptiness of this which be mind’s void. Knowing not who or what nor where I am. My mind sees not anything, nor does it understand. Lonely and alone in this hellish place; as the mind chills and becomes a mind voided. Yet, to reach out with a simple act of kindness; brings light to the void most cold. Does this not speak of man at his best; to give help to one another. How be it then more acts of kindness not given. These with the void which is the mind, can you not see the gift. Matters not at all the gift given; for the gift that brings the light be more precious than gold. The simple act of kindness, without measure; even if be it just a jacket and shoes.

Inspired by Duckie.......

Friday, October 8, 2010

Garden

Garden

Once, there was a garden. Not a drawing, just the blue print of my mind. So grand was this garden, one’s eye would be lost in the beauty that lay there. Flowers placed one by one, the color so brilliant; the sun be blinded. Each stone in its place, sparkle as the stars. As the sun’s light falls, the flowers dim that which be the stones. So to the heavens with their stars glowing for in this light all is seen. Be these stones the real garden then, with the flowers marking what lay there. Or be it that the stones; mark the sadness of the past. If this be so, then the beauty lay with the stone. What purpose then for the flowers. Or be they just a reminder of what lay with the stone...

Monday, October 4, 2010

Just A Man

Just A Man

I stand here and wonder; as I gaze back to those which where the spring and summer of my life. Autumn was not what I expected, yet as my winter approaches; I think about the choices I made. Did my deeds and the way I lived my life; earn the right to be numbered among men. Or be they just empty memories of a life not lived. Was I strong of heart or did fear cast it’s shadow upon me. As I look forward to that which will not be stopped. Will it be enough; be it said that the weak need not fear me. Or was my strength that which was given by the Almighty used wrongly. One can hope and pray that when winter comes for me I shall be ready. For here stands just a man, wondering…

Sunday, October 3, 2010

Word's Battlefield

Bleeding soul be the battle that we face,

this battlefield be real; of this be there no doubt.

As the words come as bullets that brings the blood

Oh fools can you see not the pain; to a light most brilliant.

Saw you not the damage, that which this battlefield brings.

Fought with words most cruel; ,passions' fire all be extinguished.

For what be the need of passion;to the spirit that lay darkened.

Cry out the pain, the wounded soul now empty.

in this darkness where the light dimmed;

on this the battlefield of words

Saturday, October 2, 2010

Beaches

Beaches

I walk along this endless beach without care or want. For what I need is that which be next to me, walking. On this beach the waves kiss the sand. As is the touch of her soft hand against my brow ever present, as are the waves.

On this beach we sometimes for hours not a word do we speak.
Just our thoughts together, hands not needed, for it was our hearts that touched. Her whispers like waves of emotion, yet the sand be as it was not spoken, not even a grain of sand be moved by her touch gentle.

It be not the words that cause the step to quicken just be the thought of her, on the sand with me walking. Be this not enough to stop, to pause this pace quickened. Yet the walk shall not end nor do I walk on without her.

As the years pass nothing stands, as we move forward on this beach. Though some have tried to cause the sand to move away and part these hands. They know not of what we shared or our walk together. For they saw not the power, or what lay hidden by her hand against my brow.

For inside me without her gentle hand, what lay there buried.
One should not wish to see or feel this which be
the darkness without end.

Arms Most Cold

Arms Most Cold

Forsaken in this abyss surrounding.

Her spirit wounded, as in the darkness alone

She embraced those arms most cold.

Life with the beauty now forever hidden,

As the light breaches not the depth of this abyss chosen.

Weep I not for the life extinguished

Yet for those who saw not her wounded spirit

Rage I that not even one did hear her plea

Would I that her cries and pleading

Reached my ear, still the deed be done.

So I weep for that which now to her belongs alone.

Forever to embrace those arms most cold.

Morning Mist

Morning mist breaks the grasp of which my nightmare holds, but like a hand extended to save a drowning man comes the mist my morning hours. Ashen faces in this dream well hidden, speak no words only motions, in this darkness which is my sleep. Coldness surrounds me as fear takes its hold, for I know not these faceless words not heard. Yet their hands are like expressions of what I can not see as if to say all is well, come with me. Outstretched arms call to me with out word or sound, I fight to touch those arms outstretched for reach out I touch them not. I can not feel what is this place is it really there. The arms seem to hold me, yet can not feel their touch. Is it not against my will, then why have they not released me. Oh cry out fear, they will not hear, nor will they release me. Where is this place why am I here to behold that which is my sleep. In this place where no touch or sound is heard yet I can not leave, who are these that try to speak and no faces do I see. And why if I wish to leave am I held, yet have no will to leave The ashen faces seem not a care to have, my fear is great and their gaze to escape is there none to save me. Then comes again the morning mist that frees my mind once more. Then what has really happened will I wake to the dream for what was given. Shall I ever know what was or is real. Yet soon my sleep will come again and what will my dreams find this night will I the truth find at last, a way out given, or will I return to this, my eternal prison.

Friday, October 1, 2010

Bright New World

What be this bright new world; like a eagle learning to fly. Or be it like a child in the forest; not knowing which path be his own. Yet I will learn to walk, perhaps to fly in this bright new world. Confusion, as I know not the language; nor how to use the tools given. Still the eagle knows not how to use his wings until the first flight. And the child be like the eagle until he learns to read the signs. So here I am on the first day of the journey; wonder do I will a hand appear, a guide, or perhaps a teacher. Time as it passes will be my answer. Be this then my welcome to you to my window; which are the words the windows to the soul.