Always a New Day

It's a new day, it's always a new day. Whatsoever shall I do today. Love, laugh, live, lounge, labor, let it be, lust, look, lie, lose, laud, lift,

Coming My Way

Once upon a time I wound up in a windmill. It was a tall wind mill that whooshed every time a blade went by as I peered out the window, out the window taking in the deep golden aura of the sun as it set off in the distance sinking into a golden ocean of shimmering water teeming with thousands and thousands of tiny fish swimming around for their lives as schools of giant predator fish swam up from the depths to forage for their nightly meal in the hopes of satiating their hunger. It was hunger that they could not control, barely even knew it was there, just driven by a non-feeling compulsion to swim for the surface for no conscious reason, just swim with gaping open mouths to take in whatever might come their way. Some times life seems like I'm just going along with whatever comes may way.

I Am But a Child

I am but a child
A child with much too learn.
A child that refuses to learn.

A child that knows the answers.
A child that doesn't understand.

A child that is nothing without God.
A child that is everything with God.

A child forever more and again.
A child just wanting to be a child.

A child forever in need of mercy.
A child in longing for forgiveness.

A child in peace at home with God,
safe within the love of God.

I am but a child.

Daze

There was a boy, a very pretty boy who saw nothing but that was in his head. It danced; it played; it never went around so much as in a daze. The daze was high; the daze was low. It went 'round and 'round about so much it spun around his head. It was such a pretty sight, that very pretty little boy. The daze was him, and they were one. The daze is all and all are one. We're such a very pretty thing, all of us in all our heads. We're never alone; we always have the ones we love. They're in our heads; we keep them there. They guide our thoughts along our paths. The paths we choose are never bound by those we love. They guide us in our thoughts but we can choose to go our way. The way is ours to guide and turn; it's there for us to find our daze, the daze that's all we have our own. The daze is who we are, it's what we are for all in all.

The Boy and the Volcano

There was a boy looking up at a cone shaped mountain. It was an old volcano and I don't know if he knew what that was or what it meant. The room was dark as he looked out through the high up dirty window, looking dark more so because of the bright sunny day outside. He wanted to climb up to see what was on top. But, he was supposed to stay in his room. All that was inside was his toy soldiers. He'd long grown tired of them because in the real world they could only portend death and destruction, ruined and bloodied lives for ever shattered and never to be put back the same again. He missed his mother, but he didn't know why. All he knew is that he was empty inside. The men had come and taken her away screaming and kicking. He couldn't understand why she was so frantic. He was numb at the time and didn't understand what was happening, that more than anything she could not stand the pain inside her caused by the prospect of being separated and unable to protect him. Still, that volcano loomed outside. It hadn't erupted in decades, maybe even centuries; no one could remember anymore. No one even ever imagined that it would ever erupt. It's stoic appearance never changing; it would not be right for it to erupt. But, erupt it did. With such a vengeance just like the vengeance of war. It was indignant at being forgotten, at never being feared again. It wanted, no deserved, to have the respect of the town people. It had looked over them for centuries, never allowing any bad fate to become of them. Yet, they had no thanks, no appreciation for its stewardship. The boy never saw it coming just like he never saw the men coming to take his mother away. It was all a dream from which he would never awake. It was as if he was never born. Except his mother, still alive in a far away land would never know the emptiness inside her could never be made whole again because her baby could never come home to her. She never lost hope until that fateful night when she screamed "Bloody Murder!" at the top of her lungs and her heart burst from the agonizing pain of her separation from her only son, her only child begotten by a man she had despised all her life. She was so tormented by the deep love she had for her son in conflict knowing he was the prodigy of everything she saw as evil in her universe. She so longed for escape and it had not come through all the years until the pain was so intense it ripped her heart to shreds. She left in such an agonized and unbearable fit that any memory of her would evoke such pain as to bring deep, deep melancholy. So, this is the story of the boy looking up at the volcano. If there is a moral here, I don't know what it is. If there is any insight or enlightenment to be had, it can only come from your heart for the heart which wrote this story may have insight and enlightenment for its bearer, but only your heart contains what is meant for you.

I Found Me a Drug

I found me a drug
that feels like a hug.
It feels very nice
like no other vice.

It helps me survive
through each single day.
There's no other thing
that can find me my way.

Why Does It Hurt?

Why does it hurt?
It didn't used to hurt.
I forgot that it hurt.
Now I remember it hurt.

Now that it hurts
I can face that hurt.
If I can face that hurt
There'll be no more hurt.

So, how do I face that hurt?
Do I tell somebody my hurt?
Does somebody know that I hurt?
Just someone there when I hurt.

Someone who'll hear my hurt.
Someone who'll know I hurt.
Someone who'll care that I hurt.
Someone who will release my hurt

This Very Weight

How does it feel to need to heal
if the feeling is real
but the truth won't reveal.

It's a lost and lonely thought
that I didn't do as I should ought.
I'm thinking that so maybe not.
But my mind with anguish is so fraught.

I certainly did not mean to hurt
And if I did is no real cert.
I'm sort of feeling like some dirt.
But knowing not is disconcert.

I guess I'll have to sit and wait
The pressure is so very great,
To have the record set on straight,
And have it lift this very weight.

My Gift

When I think of you I belong.When I think of you nothing is wrong.
When I think of you everything is right.
When I think of you the sun shines bright,
Even if only in my heart,
Even if we are apart.
You are my gift of love
That comes from heaven above.