|Posted by email@example.com on February 6, 2020 at 2:05 AM||comments (0)|
The mere act of meeting a friend is simply to welcome a stranger to meet your thoughts.
|Posted by firstname.lastname@example.org on December 12, 2019 at 2:40 AM||comments (0)|
Will you lay your head on my shoulder?
Will you let me comfort you with my love?
Do you need a friend to have only an ear, or will a hand do?
Do you know how much another hand can do?
Some things unfold according to its time, and other things reveal in time.
Some words are better left inthe silence of the fog.
Sharing faith through an action rather than a word can make the world a better place.
Sharing space inthe present can bring hope to a wound that needs to heal.
Lay your head on my shoulder, and know it's not just you who needed a hand.
Lay your wonder and worry, and doubt, and together we will find a plan.
|Posted by email@example.com on October 9, 2019 at 10:05 PM||comments (0)|
In less that 12 hours, you would leave me.
They told me you left over 12 days ago but I refused to believe.
I wanted to hope.
I needed to hope.
I felt you.
Then I didn't.
Then I wasn't sure.
Amd then I pretended.
Pretended to be mad, sad, and alone; but I knew you were still here.
How dare they judge.
But they proved the truth.
You were never meant to walk this eart.
You merely passed thorugh this world using me to fly through.
With dried up tears, I say thank you.
With a deep breath, I cherish knowing you.
Your presence made footprints which will forever be on my heart.
Your absence created a shadow which will forever force me to find the sun.
|Posted by firstname.lastname@example.org on June 18, 2019 at 3:00 AM||comments (0)|
|Posted by email@example.com on September 9, 2018 at 8:10 PM||comments (0)|
In the house with seven doors, ther lies more than just a fmaily.
The lamp that once was lit by gas now has a cord. This lamp simply stands by a blue glass that was never used by me.
In the house with seven doors, Dr. Suess sits on the wall where the wallpaper says it all. With swirls and stars in warm colors of red, it reminds me of those that bled.
In the house with seven doors, there lies a staircase ever worn with love, its beauty stands to walk a path where once my grandparents stood.
In the house of seven doors, there lies the floor you did walk upon, without stopping you looked and touched all that was yours.
In the house of seven doors, a breath of joy remains, as truths are told and goodness unfolds sharing the code of a love that is so dear. the glass of old does stand to tell the stories of the old yet to unfold.
In the house of seven doors, there are brunettes that live to share the secrets of all the stairs on a street called Longview Street.
The house of seven doors shares the long view of life, and love so bright that all must share in order to shine their own light.
In the house of seven doors, all are welcome by the warmth of a cozy night to sit amoung the living that write the reasons to sing.
In the house of seven doors, there is a place for everything. Free to say, to go, to take what speaks your name. For within these walls you will see there is so much more for you and me.
The house of seven doors has a new garage, a place to hand your coat, and a butler to welcome you, reminding you of what you need to do,
The house of seven doors is very gald to meet you.
Michaelangel, Cora, Thomas, Rose, Frank, John, Rosa, Billy, Suzie, and The Capuanos.
The family tree has been kept and you ar ethe one that can see exactly who needs to sit when they pee.
In the April Rain, you must see its a place to grow and see where you are meant to be,
In the house of seven doors, wide eyes understand the songs to be set free.
For music or a screen, the words will be for those who hear...have no distress, just open a door and you will see that you are here to be free.
For in the end, it is not about them. Its about the key that was given to me. When its used, you will see that you never really needed any key from me.
A portal of light can be seen at night.
Open a door or look through the keyhole. Knock, turn the handle, you dont need the key,though its there as a metaphor for all to see.
For inthe house of seven doors, thirty five minutes is only a minute...and a tall man will wave to you that moment.
The piece to know is that every door is perfect just as you were made.
Shine Bright...Share words...many long to hear a voice not filled with fear.
Exhale, Breathe, Everything is alright.
|Posted by firstname.lastname@example.org on February 20, 2017 at 2:10 AM||comments (0)|
The train passes inthe middle of the night to share the visions of the days we would like to forget. My days are accounted for even those I forget because the Lord keeps watch over them as he proteccts and guides.
One day I locked my keys in my van, it was a simple act of forgetfulness, yet the day I left the post office on April 15, 1992 is a day I can never forget. That man at the light gave me a terrible fright. I thought of the vunerability so many women face. I drove safely home not knowing the fate of another young girl that looked like me that night.
She not only died, but her mystery remains a terrifying thought of who would do such a thing. The why, the who, the what ifs, flood so many. She was so beautiful, so young. It was so voilent, so public. Her life left a mark that no one can erase. The how she got there question simply began to justify there was a trace of someone, but who? And the why...is the question that's been in everyone's face.
Ignoring the rumors and finding the facts is simly something the officers faced and still today, the case remains unsolved. Cold. Doesn't anyone have a guess?
Wanting peace for the family, the town. Needing apiece for the case, I simply shed ink to a page to allow some sort of grace. AN answer could unfold for some, but not for all. The metaphors might just find their rightful place.
The truth I know is that Jesus was real. He is real. His story was shared so all might hear that when something terrible is near, Mother Mary can hear.
With a gift of a prayer, a spirit can share. Spirits do soar and often board a train in the middle of the night.
|Posted by email@example.com on January 9, 2017 at 6:55 PM||comments (1)|
|Posted by firstname.lastname@example.org on January 9, 2017 at 1:00 PM||comments (1)|
|Posted by email@example.com on January 6, 2017 at 7:00 PM||comments (0)|
|Posted by firstname.lastname@example.org on January 5, 2017 at 3:20 AM||comments (2)|