SUNDAY MORNING THUNDER STORM Storm clouds gather. The sound of thunder is distant, but I can feel its growing churn in the air. Restlessness grips me. The [tick] [tick] of the battery-operated clock lulls me into a passive state. The mark of time standing still in that instant. Outside the musty dirt-smell of the rain grows; dots of
The wind combs my hair. My radio blares the beat. Speeding through the black night, I want to fly free like the wind, Lose my cares, forget my woes. I dream of another me, Another time, another place, Without labels or boxed in. Not in a perfect world, That would not change me or make me grow, I need
“Out of doubt, out of dark to the day’s rising I came singing into the sun, sword unsheathing. To hope’s end I rode and to heart’s breaking:” Tolkien Fear is a powerful thing. It can make you move mountains, or allow you to hide beneath them, or bury you. I miss the ignorance of youth. I miss when everything was
The sterile fresh scent of carnations permeated the air. Reds, yellows, white, and red striped flowers danced starkly against the grayscale backdrop of my world. Feeling like I was in an old slow B-movie, I looked down at the lifeless body of my mother. I wanted to scream this can’t be real. She wouldn’t leave me. I might have
*Photo purchase from Big Stock Photo—Majestic sunset in the mountains landscape. Overcast sky before storm. Carpathian, Ukraine, Europe. Beauty world. by Leonid Tit By Juneta c 2009 My pillow is the cloud As I dip my feet in the sea of heaven I stand alone on the edge And stare into the forever blue .. .. My soul cries to unite Yet I
*Big Stock Photo by Belphnaque Originally Written 2003 REPOSTED SEPTEMBER 25. 2013 It is funny. This prayer is just as applicable today as it was the day I wrote it. Life is not linear, but an ever-revolving, growing, expanding-circle of change, good and bad, until the end. I don’t know how I became so lost in this old
Make me feel, but don’t consume me. Hold me close, while allowing me to roam free. Look inside and know me, without trying to change me. Touch me, but don’t critize me. Know my joy, but don’t try to cage it. Watch me fly and soar with me, But don’t clip my wings or try to control my course. Cradle
