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.

©2010 Words the Windows to the Soul

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

©2008 Words the Windows to the Soul

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.

© 2008 Words the Windows to the Soul

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

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. 

© 2010 Words the Windows to the Soul

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...

© 2010  Words the Windows to the Soul 

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 

 

Inspired by Carrie
©2009 Words the Windows to the Soul

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.  

©2009 Words the Windows to the Soul 

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.......

© 2009 Words the Windows to the Soul 

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...

©Words the Windows to the Soul 2009

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…

Word's Battlefield

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

©Words the Windows to the Soul 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.

 

Words the windows to the Soul ©

All rights reserved M.A. Hansche © 2009

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.

©Words the Windows to the Soul 2009

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.

©Words the Windows to the Soul 2008 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.