Would it be, I could fly
through the night air
and race through the clouds.
There is no freedom, when in a plane.
You are flying, but it isn't the same.
Become the magic, you say you are.
Fly to the Moon and be a star,
for it is your new destiny
and you are what you will see.

A square of paint,
Glass half full
of many thoughts,
about feelings for you.

An imperfect smile,
was on her face.
A subtle hint
of a future embrace.
A wonderous moment,
of time and place,
to meet once again
and begin the chase.
A chase or pursuit,
ending in an embrace.

Down in the depths
of the forest tall,
lie the shadows,
amongst the trees.
Sunshine never covering
nor coming, in between,
the rocky crevasse,
were the moss will bleed,
the moisture from the ground
which remains to all, unseen.

Gone the long nights,
soon the short days,
as day light will be
ours to soon praise.
From whence came love
and a lost love, too,
as the words in my head,
begin the fondest adieu.
I love you more than
words allow me to say
as the shortness of life
passes one more day.
To see you again,
before our time is gone,
is like a drizzle of rain,
and life will continue on.

Please tell me your story
while I tell you mine,
for the thought of your smile
will be those, so divine.

When I think of my father,
Who passed on long ago,
I strive to remember
The tone of his voice,
its cadence, its timbre,
To connect with his soul.

But it pains me to say
That his voice is no more,
No more in my mind.
So, I wonder anew,
Will I ever remember?
Or will the sadness ensue?

A sunny day,
a slight breeze,
a quiet spot,
amongst the trees.
A greater place,
for the day to seize.

Does life we know,
leave with a rush,
or go it's way
as wind and dust?

A fish out of water,
not close to the Sea,
not what I asked for,
it is what it will be,
to work hard for family,
in this The land of the Free.

There is nothing like
writing poetry and prose,
to describe all the beauty,
as seen in a Rose.

Moisture wets the lid of my eye,
as I resist the urge to not cry.
Seeing her before me, a smiling face,
with all of her beauty and natural grace.
I must keep her close; close to me,
for my need is her safety I must see.
Long have I loved you; every day
is a new one and I will say
I love you in my own way.

Friendship is good,
as it sets the stage,
for good friends to
talk and who may engage,
becoming another phase in life.
Full of love, jealousy, turn the page,
for friends can become lovers
and love can become rage.

All thoughts of worry.
All thoughts of dread,
Now keep running through
my white haired head.
There they will stay
until it's judgement day

There are reasons,
are there not,
for our behavior,
we have sought?
How we treat
Sisters and Brothers,
not how we
treat each other.
There's no love,
only the sorrow
when praying for
a new tomorrow.
Stand thee tall.
Do not borrow,
life is short
and will end
in the darkness
and the wind.

In a church which is furnish'd with mullion and gable,
With altar and reredos, with gargoyle and groin,
The penitents' dresses are sealskin and sable,
The odour of sanctity's eau-de-Cologne.
But only could Lucifer, flying from Hades,
Gaze down on this crowd with its panniers and paints,
He would say, as he look'd at the lords and the ladies,
"Oh, where is All-Sinners', if this is All-Saints'?"

Edmund Yates (1831 - 1894) British journalist, novelist and dramatist. Born in Edinburgh. In 1854 he published his first book "My Haunts and their Frequenters", after which followed a succession of novels and plays.Yates was perhaps best known as proprietor and editor, under the pen-name of "Atlas", of The World Society newspaper.

If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream, and not make dreams your master;
If you can think, and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two imposters just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools;

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with kings, nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And, which is more, you'll be a Man, my son!

Joseph Rudyard Kipling (1865 – 1936) English journalist, short-story writer, poet, and novelist. He was born in India, which inspired much of his work. His works of fiction include  "The Man Who Would be King" and the "Jungle Book"/ His Poems include "Mandalay", "The Gods of the Copybook Headings", "Gunga Din"and "If...."

Black is the night.
No clouds in sight,
just the dim rays
from a half moon light

Bring forth the noise.
Bring forth the sound,
of wind chimes at night
with the cry of an Owl.

It is no longer a day.
It is too early for night
as the first stars appear,
bringing us a Twilight.

Whence came you,
oh, forgotten one.
Is it true you were,
the eldest Son
of one who was
from the very best.
The largest Star,
living in the West?
Tell me now,
will you please,
for I am in prayer,
down on my knees.