Photo by Matheus Bertelli
Her tiny toddler body lays wrapped against mine.
Her breathing is God singing, His Love her sigh.
No guile no malice no doubt or fear.
Her precious hands show me God is near.
She whispers my name as she falls asleep.
Never a sweeter word has been spoken to me.
My heart could burst open when I smell her sweet head.
If there is a treasure on earth more than this I choose this song instead.
Photo by Miri
Standing on the highest sand dune people moved back and forth on the ground below. She no longer has their youthfulness of an unlined face but she knew she finally possessed the joy of ageless Grace. The pilgrimage called her to this beautiful place. The wind and the sun an old friend on her face.
Now she is the shell seeker in the wide brimmed hat, as a child playing in the sun she’d laughed at people like that. She remembers younger days when she grew weary but now the days of peace are what linger here. Emotions don’t obey the rules they are the heartbeat in being human. Like waves reaching the shore emotions can be kept for a moment but are better when given away.
The shell seeker’ s eye remains clear and adept while watching the children play. She knows that life is not going back but more of giving it away. The Truth is, life consists in learning and loving well with Grace underneath God’s sun. To remain whole in the midst of life’s ups and downs, to surrender all secrets and lies is anointing oil to the soul. To shed insincerity and live in the present, the waves echo behind her now compelling her to go on.
Photo by cottonbro
I don’t know why they call it Good Friday
Beaten, naked and hung upon a tree.
No one to love you, not even God
A rejection never to be known by me.
Devastating penalty that Goodness might be.
It should be called ” the love note from God” day…
Photo by GEORGE DESIPRIS
I stare out my window
Like a sea wife staring out the horizon
Time moving ever so slow
I have always felt set apart
Looking outside of dreams into the indigo haze
Time capturing the beats of my heart
This is what faith is
The hope of what can’t always be seen
Time cannot define where he is
Photo by abednego ago
The drums of lies beating through the night city swells.
The lies touting of a merry Hell.
Hardened in heart pursuing only self, dancing to the tune of gaining wealth.
When day dawns over the city’s night all will be blinded by the Holy Light.
The drums are lying, darkness takes your life.
For Hell can’t be merry and is not the tale of fairies!
Jolted from my Daydream deluged by the sudden high tide,
I slammed into rapid -fire streams of doubt and fear inside.
Memories, like clouds hide the light, wreathed in glass beads of blue.
I swallow all my viscous dread and put my faith and trust in you.
Cassidy or the Sundance Kid;
the master manipulator or
the quiet deadly one instead?
One in it for himself
the other needs the thrill.
One is the master mind
The other taking what he will.
I have known all kinds of men
and time has shown me well.
A man is either Cassidy or the Sundance Kid
as time will surely tell.
Photo by Luck Galindo
…I can feel you there beyond the stars
so I peer and try to peek beyond the pale
every night they do not fail to shine
each name and orbit you gave in detail
and I know you can see me beneath their light
Oh how I long to see your face tonight…
I am the girl in the dream, the girl in the hour glass.
I am every blue on the color wheel.
I rise on a great floating bubble that a child just blew out of a plastic jar of soap.
The bubble is Robin-egg blue and I am continually moving toward you.
I am the girl in the dream, the girl clasping turquoise ribbons attached to the moon.
My skin looks quicksilver blue like the Moon.
My heart is an open door that is deep blue like a navy school uniform blazer.
I turn the glacier blue door knob and I am permanently moving toward you.
I am the girl in the dream, the girl who is every blue on the color wheel.
I am soaring up toward the baby powder-blue stars, the blue-gray fog is lifted.
My blue-gray eyes finally see you and my Faith has been made sight.
Photo by Rakicevic Nenad
The Angels have not grown older.
I always see them over my shoulder;
gentle, yet piercing mighty eyes.
Always checking the road maps and signs.
I have grown much older;
my dreams like nets all thrown.
Some I’ve known have wished me well;
a couple of them said “go to hell.”
Words, just words without caring.
Words, just words both wrong and right.
Still, I journey on toward His Holy Light.
Still, the Angels lie down beside me each night…
I journey on.