Thinking of You

No strangers are your eyes and mine
Intently , as we gaze into their streams
When the mind's wings o'erspread
our spirit world of dreams.

Moody Blues: I Know You're Out There Somewhere

I know you are out there somewhere.
Are you a particle
from an exploding
sad star in
a far away galaxy.
Are you the mist
that rises above
the highest treetops,
or the gleam from
the cresent moon?
Perhaps it's you
riding atop a shooting star
or one tear falling
in a raging river.
My voice tells me
you are lost between worlds,
a soul bound
by waves rushing
to a desolate shore.
Are you hiding
in a city
under the sea?
Or hidden quietly
in the forest.
You will hear my voice.
And come to me
as an exploding star.
For love is eternal
and will not be denied.
You will hear my voice.
I will find you,
somehow.

The Calling

I hear the calling, so softly, but with certainty. My soul will glide like a wind driven cloud and when I get to my destination, you will be standing there waiting for me.

The Veil

Darkness and light
from their secret embrace
sends their smiles
with promises
of new life.
The earth trembles
hearing the verses of lies.
Not the cloak
nor sprinklers dry
imposing limp litanies
that drape impotent
as a lifeless thunderbolt
will make a difference.
As wild dances dance
and choruses swell
the veil lifts
to the gates of hell.


Like a whirlwind
he spews his breath
this unstoppable
chariot of fire

Writing Candida- The Making of A Princess

The poems and short stories I have written, including a mystery novel, flowed with ease. This novel is bittersweet with every sentence because of the immeasurable amount of energy I put into writing it.Let me explain.

The conscious and unconscious are mindful energy planes that we all possess. The only difference being the level in which we use them. Candida had questions about her contribution to life. She knows there are more things to be discovered, more truth, and more power in a soul that needs to be set free.

The same energy Candida feels, I feel as I attempt to convey some reason-ability to her story. There are always unanswered questions in hope and faith but in silent steps, one can unveil a thriving will that comes to light. Candida does this in a most powerful sway of realizing the truth of her desires and demands.

What is difficult in writing the story is being able to vividly describe her projected thoughts and will. The passion is so strong that it makes the soul tremble or become totally exhausted in feeling her plight.

The novel is moving at a slow pace but a distinctive pace, one of endurance of the cries of the soul.

Free Photos Angels Fairies Mermaids Gothic Photos Glitter Graphics
http://www.free-foto-animation-digital-images.blogspot.com/

The Dancer

The Dancer
The night I slept, I awoke in a dream
And there you stood, this lovely beam
Casting your poise, your beauty fair
As music dances in midnight’s air.
You are the song of the Troubadour,
The lute and gay tambour
loved of yore.
You dance the mazy dance of old
With your flowing robe laced with gold
And your gay attire and jeweled hair
Brush by me the odors sweet,
Where in a dream I came
To kneel and breathe love’s ardent flame
That lays burning beneath your feet.

Celine Dion - The Power Of Love

A power that never vanishes or scatters in the never ending realm of eternity

Madden Joseph

Madden Joseph

Could we new charms to age impart?
And fashion with a cunning art
the human face.
As you clothe the soul with light,
And make the glorious spirits bright,
with thy heavenly grace,
From mother’s womb
Lay curled in rest
you awaken in that hour
like the bloom on the flower,
exposing its luminous crest.

Dawn

when to my darkened room the flushing East
comes with her comrade sharply-clawed, the Dream,
she wakens me by a bright avenging scheme,
an angel in plume, not the besotted beast.
deep vaults of inaccessible azure there,
before the dreamer sick with many a spasm,
open, abysmal as a beckoning chasm.
thus, deity, all pure clear light and air,
over the fog’s reeking track
— brighter and lovelier yet, thane image flies
in fluttering rays before my widening eyes.
the sun has turned the candles' flame to black;
even so, victorious always, thou art one
— resplendent spirit! — with the eternal sun!

Life

Life


Born first and then thrust
into a world so short the years we live
and we ask; is life, which tho does give,
were life indeed?
With all our sorrows that fall so fast
our happiest hour is when at last
our souls are freed.

Through life and all its tears,
let it not end in bitter doubts and fears,
or dark despair.
Amongst life, so many toils appear,
and he who lingers longest here
knows most of care.

“My only wish is that the people I touch will still feel me when I’m gone.”

A Summer Lost

I sat amongst the earth’s garniture
in a sober sadness.
Once green, laden across her breast;
now coated with ash-crimsoned vest,
summer has left her vale of tears.
I know her heart is without stain
and she reminds me of warmer days
when summer vine in her beauty clings
to the mellow blush of day.
Like passions springing from the dust,
they fade and die.
Under the swaying barren boughs
are tears and a broken heart,
when came the parting hour.
Summer is lost.

Coming Home

The rhythmic swaying and the singing of iron on iron woke me. I rubbed my eyes as I leaned to look out the window. I wiped the fog from the window and sat so close that I felt the cold glass on my nose. Snow had fallen, covering all the land as far as I could see and the evening gave way to the gray silken veil that masked the trees as we sped by. The tracks seemed so lonely lying there as we passed, not seeing where we had been and barely able to see ahead. A dim yellow light on the nose of the train was the most we could hope for guidance. Like hope, a blush of crimson rushed through the folds of gray clouds and cast a rosy light that stained the snow ahead.
My heart warmed. I was heading home for the first time in three years.

Pretending

I could pretend you’re still here,
me listening to the beat
of your heart while you sleep.
Inhale the scent of your body
As I lay next to you,
pretending.

I could pretend hearing your voice,
Telling me that you love me,
Catch your eyes in the mirror
Flirting with me while I watch
As you dress and I sit
pretending.

I could pretend holding you,
Embracing your hurt away,
Drying your tears with a kiss,
Sweep your hair from your face
As you look at me,
pretending.

I could pretend and not live the truth
The truth is you were temporary;
like signature in the sand
erased by ocean's tide,
or autumn wind that carried you away
like golden leaves in flight.

I could lend pretending for faith
on whose wings your soul
has risen beyond the sky
And waiting patiently
my selfish heart beats
pretending.

Death Stalks

Death Stalks Me
By
Robert Austin Meacham

The old man sat motionless in his rocker. His gnarled fingers and stilted legs prevents the old man from moving, except for the slight motion of the rocker as his head drops toward his lap. Sitting wide on grimacing face, his pale blue eyes glared at the chamber floor with the perception of his haunting. With cunning speed, a thick darkness shrieked the echo that stalked him. Even in mortal terror, the old man could only groan. As the night waned, he summoned the acuteness of his senses he would need to confront death’s coming. Swiftly, his head snapped back and the cold wind of death rushed through his eyes, piercing them and shattering them into thousand pieces. He panicked at the end and his thoughts grayed before they extinguished all together.

Come Visit Me

Come visit me in the cold depths
Where darkness is my bed
Come visit me where sounds are still
And silence fills my head.

Come visit me where chained I'm slave
a prisoner forced to lie.
Come visit me in this lonely grave
resting here to die.