Poetry

Author Title
Jessie Aaron And Paradise Awaits Gray Intent  
  Take Care 
Bobbi Curtis Happiness Self-Eulogy         
  If  
  Haiku  
Brenda Rich All my Relations Bigots Night Lover
  Void The Wish He is Real
  Fantasy Master Too Much
  Two Lives Artificial Spirits The Path 
  Hollow Point Shadow Pain the Gift  
  Why are Tears Clear?  Once upon a time   The Motionless Dance
Sedona The Whole
Legacy 
Dan Schmucker Hopes THAW 
  I See For My Friend Daniel
  God Makes a Holiday The Castle 
  Crashed into Walls  Is This It?
  Straining to See Relation Ships  
  Be Near  Are You Still Here? 
  10 September 2007  NEW!  
Arvy Feelings
  A Year Ago and After
  Down Memory Lane
  Only You
  Dream a Dream with Me   
  My Melody           
   
Christen Samuels

Dark Pathways Under my Feet

Reverend Ann-Marie Goldstein Change
  Tears of Joy      
  Who is the Man  
Elizabeth Feisst Multidimensional Poetry - http://www.freewebs.com/elizpoetry
  Purity of Heart and Mind     
  Embracing the Good            
Larry Victor The Pledge   
Dame Niamh Costello Solitaire
  Equinox
  Everything They Call a Hero
  The Harper's Smile
  RASHOMON
  The Warrior's Legacy     
Jen Wirth (aka Lily) An Unheard Cry  NEW!
  Feelings  NEW!
  Hope   NEW!
  IF    NEW!
  No Name   NEW!
  Rescue Me   NEW!
  Silent Cry   NEW!
  Beast Within    NEW!

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And Paradise Awaits
by Jesse T. Arron

He promised you the world.
He would always take care of you.
His life was your life;
For you he would give up his life.

He called you beautiful.
His hands caressed your face.
The tenderness of his touch
And the inner strength he exuded
Made you feel safe.

Then something changed.
Suddenly he called you stupid and ugly.
The caress turned to a stinging slap,
And his strength, now used against you,
Took your life.

He took care of you, alright.
He took away your world.

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_______________________________

Take Care
by Jesse Aaron

It waits for you.
It knows no time.
The fangs and claws
Reach and clamor
Knowing no limits.

The bridge between life and death
Is now complete.
Watch your soul
As you might watch you feet
On a broken path.

For the broken path is the
Life you led,
The one you thought
Was open to love.

Do you know with what you deal?
This is the light side of her nature.

She comes from the world of experience
Where compassion does not reside.

She walks the dark
And finds the depths.
She knows the bottom, the belly, the underneath.
She knows the slime, the dregs.
She sees what makes others close their eyes,
Back away and turn to run.

She stands her ground,
Waits out the inevitable,
And glares at the results she knew would come.

She holds no reigns, riding free,
Allowing others to do the same,
Letting them trip themselves,
Hanging themselves on their own ropes.

Watch your feet on the broken path.
Mend the way . . . your way.
Watch your soul.

Take care, for the demon lies within.
 

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Gray Intent
by Jesse Aaron

When the delicate mist from a diamond forest
Licks the luscious, purple petals of the lavender,
Bringing light sleep filled with honey whispers,
I swim in a sea of foolish dreams,
Singing from the delirious heat of the screams.

The juice, the green milk, of the thistle
Touches my lips and tongue,
And I drink from the lake beneath
The Tree of the Silver Wreath.

The black knife fits my hand.
It’s sheath stays at my side.

As Death’s dark desire kisses heartbeats goodbye,
I seek the Shadow of gray intent
And die in the arms of a lover.

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______________________________

 

Happiness

by Bobbi Curtis

Happiness is something bought.
We pay for it with our sadness.
Remember, all life is a balance.
When sadness comes in great quantity,
An amount of happiness comes to make an equality.
The trays of the balance can not be,
Are not cheated

I have paid my price of sorrow
And torture – not physical – just mental.
Now I can have my due of happiness –
Not physical – just mental.
I wonder if my happiness in one field
Can total the full tray of sorrow suffered,
But not avenged.

 

If  

When evening comes
And I’m alone
I think of you – Yes . . .
As the stars and the moon shine bright,
I can’t really see them
Since you are my only light.
Without you I am like the
Sand, naked to the wind.

I need you . . . like the sand
Needs the sea . . . to cover
And protect me against a power
Too mighty for me to cope with alone.
When we’re together, your voice
Is music –
Talking, singing, laughing –
I don’t care.
I reach a finger to your hair
Then look deep into your eyes
As if to find an answer to the love we share.
But is there really an answer?
Although thoughts of you
Return to me as waves to the shore
I can’t fully understand anymore.

Somewhere . . . somehow we’ve
Lost something – a note of
Harmony to our lives, as if
Too many discords are
Twanging too loudly.
If we can get away . . .
If we can learn to not listen . . .
Then . . . we can . . .
        If
                If

 

HAIKU

By Bobbi Bartsch Curtis

In death there is peace.

At night comes the darkness.

Together -- Paradise.

 

The fires burn bright.

The birds came singing.

Why is there no kindness here?

 

 

 

Self-Eulogy
By Bobbi Curtis

Do not grieve for me when I go.
Remember that I lived an interesting life;
That I learned and grew and changed;
That I expanded my universe beyond my own skin;
And that my intent is that you do the same.
 

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________________________________

To all my relations
we are all connected

by Brenda Rich


It ripples from me whether I like it or not, I effect and am effected.
Is it good or is it bad? Can we truly control it?
Save the child...so he can kill thousands when he grows up
Create a vaccine...so the bacteria can evolve to become deadlier
Kill the evil wolf...so the deer can over populate and starve to death
Create more electronic innovations...so all living things can get cancer easier.
Kill the pests with chemicals...

so the animals can evolve into mutants that can't survive past birth.

Go out do good...to all my relations...we are all connected.
 

Bigots

On the Tabla Rasa it is etched
In the fertile soil it is cultivated
In the virgin clay it is meticulously formed and forged.
The self proclaimed artists know what they do

when they create these self propagating art forms
Because all know one is not born a bigot.
 

Void

In the beginning creation came from the void,

the darkness that contains all possibilities
Yet my darkness is nothing save

the suffocating insanity of apathetic lunacy

that if let loose would explode across the world in one quiet death…mine.
 

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The wish

To be who I wish to be ....would frighten people

To do what I wish to do....would hurt people

To think what I wish to think....would make me insane

What am I doing now?....I'm wishing.

 

Fantasy

Their hands my hands, touching

Their needs my needs, wanting

Their thirst my thirst, yearning

Woven words of worlds tangled within dreams of realities never to happen

What is it, this missing piece one hungers to claim?   Fantasy

 

Master

He has my body pinned beneath him

Filling me and draining me; Loving me and hating me;

raising me up and subjecting me.

The center of his world

The reason for him

The light to his dark

How can I not love him ...My Master.

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Two Lives

Two rooms...two lives, together but separate

Should I feel secure when I come in and you leave?

The bed is for two yet usually only sleeps one

The kisses are there

The hugs are there

But few and far between.

I know it is my fault as well.

Remember when a shoulder is offered to a head that is afraid,

it means so much more then endearing words that can be said in passing. 

 

Artificial Spirits

You see me through artificial spirits that cloud your eyes and your step

I can sense it before you tell me; it hurts

You tell me it's because I am too much to handle...I am overwhelming

Why can't you understand I want to be overwhelming

Not obscured...then forgotten. 

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Hollow Point

The point is hollow will it fulfill my dreams?

With a light pull it will start a chain reaction

That will release the kinetic energy into my brain

Will the end let me begin again?

 

Shadow

Release, cherish and become shadow

Dark, sublime, honest

Its not nightmares but normality that frightens me

Being blind with perfectly good eyes

Seeing plastic, being plastic, yearning for more plastic

Being real is to be shadow to me

Dark looking out towards...knowing. 

 

Night Lover

How can I explain that there is a need inside

that there is a desire, which burns what I cannot hide

            It is a call, a sending, a beckon for my romancer

I expose the flesh and wait for the answer

            Ah, to feel the ivory points of love part my skin,

from which the dance of immortality would begin

            Each impale me with the softness of silk,

and then he begins to suckle as if on mother’s milk.

            The warmth escapes my body, the vibrations

stir form within he moves over me with tenderness,

I ask, how could this be sin?

            Love me I say to the dream of night and shadow,

pierce my heart with your eyes all a glow.

            My mind then heard his voice softly proclaim

you are my love as the night is in my vein.

            With that I let go of my earthly tether and

embraced my night lover for now and forever….

 

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He is Real

He is real to me…even if he can not exist. 

His form; pale, slim, muscular...haunts my mind

To be with him; close, loving…safe.

To talk to him; not with words…knowing

To exchange with him that which makes

me alive for that which is only in my mind

 

Imagination is his realm; it beckons to me

            Reality is harsh…to bright

There is a small line that separates them,

yet by a small line one can link them…forever

            He will come to me when I have the courage

to create that line; when crimson existence magnifies

both realms and within the light we will unite in the

darkness of ourselves.

 

TOO Much

I dream, they say too much

            I wish they say to things I can not have

            I hope they say of times that will not be

Yet, he is there…that is his place

            One of hope, wishes and dreams

How can I not go to him?  He motions to me with outstretched arms

            They say he is not real…he cannot be.

            Real…a word that haunts me

            Real…a word that is hard and cold

            Real…a word in which I am trapped

But he rescues me each night as the ethereal space of fantasy envelops me. 

 I dream with in his strong arms.  And at least each night as

I sleep in a state close to death, I can finally realize I am truly alive.

 

The Path

  Where are the sign posts marking the way

            I’ve been told to look for them…yet I never find those described.

            Do I really need them? Hasn’t this all been planned?

            How simple is it?  Or how hard…can it be?

            The path has been tread before – did I do this or was it come one before me?

            When was it new? I look back…

            Behind me the path is gone as it never existed, and before me it’s clear

            I stop

            The sign posts begin to appear in mass. Beckoning me forward. 

            All I can do is simply turn around and walk away.

 

Pain the Gift

            It's all around me

            I bring it...it's not mine

            but it comes to me...I attract it

            That is my gift

            Emotional and Spiritual pain are my specialties

            Physical pain only helps me focus

            Look forward to the ending of it

                    End me

            Take away your pain

                    Throw me away

            Take away my pain

                    Kill me.

         

       

Why are Tears Clear?
By Brenda Rich

No one can see your pain til it manifests in your eyes
No one can see your depression until it runs down your cheeks
No one can feel your sorrow til it drops to the ground
No one can walk your path, nor do you want them to
They have their own…

Is that why tears are clear?

 


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Once upon a time

by Brenda Rich

 

Once upon a time, you've heard it begin the tale

We listen intensely to the story unfold for it will never fail

...to disappoint.

 

For the book closes, the words stop, the movie ends and the credits roll

Then another day dawns where you fall.

 

To be happy is the goal, the dream of hope, the wish of a dream come true, the facade of

optimism used as a mask to just get though

Keep smiling for maybe just maybe it will become real.

 

Then you find that you know the truth for as you close your eyes for the final time, they will miss you for not more then a breath...and then their life goes on happily ever after.

 

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The Motionless Dance

by Brenda Rich

One dancer now alone

The music now quiet

No applause; only silence in stillness

Was there a dance at all?

Yes...in the heart

 

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___________________________

The Whole

By Sedona

I took a long, long walk.

I let the road guide me,

But then I wondered how it would feel to wander free.

 

I took a long, long walk.

I felt the breeze, the rain, the snow,

But then I wondered how it would feel to grow.

 

I took a long, long walk.

I let things happen instead of running the show,

But then I wondered what would happen if I let another take control.

 

I took a long, long walk.

I became tired and lay down to rest for just a bit,

But then I wondered what would happen if I made it all fit.

 

I took a long, long walk.

I realized that fulfillment came from doing it all.

I no longer wondered.  I saw the whole.

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Legacy

 

By Sedona

 

I’m not full of wisdom;

I’m full of questions.

Age does not make you smarter or wiser,

It makes you realize how little you know,

How much you want to learn,

And how little time you have left to learn it.

 

I’m not full of hopes and dreams;

I’m full of despair.

Age brings the knowledge of all you’ve missed –

Opportunities gone forever,

Possibilities never realized.

 

However, the chance still exists

To make a difference,

To teach the young and the dreamers

To never let their dreams blow away.

 

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_________________________

Hopes
 

DAN SCHMUCKER
August 27, 2004


I have such hopes and dreams.
I long for that companionship that is marked

by tenderness of touch and closeness in Heart and Soul.
I envision places to build and evils to fight.
This realm of castles and dragons has been mine since youth.
Are they all of my making?

God Knows.

I have such hopes and dreams.
I yearn for nearness as opposed to proximity.
The caresses of Love rather than the brushing with indifference.
The fulfilling of Soul, rather than the filling of time.
I picture a bonding of Heart and Mind that would make

the dying world crave the Essence of it.
Is it fantasy?
Or Creator-spawned dream?

God Knows.

That is where I need to leave it.
I am determined in this quest.
I do not want to settle for the counterfeit a
For the image.
For the fraud that robs the Heart,
Makes the weeping seem endless,
The trickery to seem acceptable,
And the deterioration unrecognizable.

God Knows.

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I see

DAN SCHMUCKER
12/23/2004

When the day dawns,

And I am not wanting to get out of bed

When I am rummaging through my gradually heightening

Senses like a summer garage sale hit by marauders...

When I am plodding toward the coffee maker

I see you in the sunrise.

I see the array of color and awe that holds my eyes

Until I am again reminded

There IS beauty to be embraced.

I see you in the sunrise.

 

During the day

When the ugliness of the world around me

Invades my space and time,

I see your picture, tucked away for times like this...

You have invaded where the darkness had crept,

And I can breathe in more deeply

the goodness that cannot be crushed...

I see you inside my smile.

You roam freely in my heart

And rise when I need you.

And in the midst of backed up traffic,

Snarling faces...

Harried and hurried expressions, I see you.

And I smile, from the inside out.

 

At the day's end,

When I am tired and wearied by the day's scolding,

At those times I really want to see you.

And then I find you.

I see you in the sunset.

I see you at that time when the Creator

Paints the horizon in color and glorious reminders

There IS beauty.

There IS hope.

There IS promise.

 

I love you.

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GOD MAKES A HOLIDAY

By Dan Schmucker

2005

We are in the Holiday season, with its myriad of symbols, and an avalanche of retail commercialism. Retail competition heightens and the marketing of the season seems to supersede the real and deeper meanings. We are pitched beer, wine, whiskey, vodka, and champagne on the surface, and methamphetamines, cocaine and marijuana in the shadows to celebrate the times of note. We clink the bottles and glasses, but the connections are usually not much deeper than the bottom of the container. We are urged to buy clothing and games, toys and vehicles . . . dare I forget diamonds? During the holiday season, we are subjected to sale upon sale, often of merchandise we really have to convince ourselves is worth buying. We watch and hear stories of living nutcrackers, snowmen who come to life, elves and flying reindeer.

It is easy to become cynical in the morass of messages. The desires we have of family unity, true love, close friendships, loving children, and hearts of joy with thanksgiving are very real. The discordance we experience in our everyday lives when placed next to our dream network can nudge us toward sarcasm. People are selfish – we see that daily driving on our way to work, and while getting in lines at stores. Our kids want more even after they have just received more. We become disillusioned after opening the boxes and finding there were only material objects inside, not the happiness and contentment we had hoped for . . . the wrapping and ribbons, bows and glitter are carted to the trash or the hearth, the box to the dump, and our hopes held in reserve.

Where your heart is, there will your treasure be also.

While it may not always take some effort to obtain True gifts, doesn't it require more than the superficial to realize the treasure? There is the need for our descention to deeper levels of honesty. The need for our minds to re-consider what is really important, what really matters and for what we are settling. A frightening need to evaluate who we are, how we are, where we have been, and where we are headed should become apparent. The Door to that place is daunting, intimidating. Only the brave will enter. But bravery is the taking of action despite fear, not the absence of it. It is in this scenario, where the shadows grow loud, and our deepest and darkest fears lurk nearby like a panther near a cattle bin, that we must decide to fight rather than continue to run.

Perhaps the Answer is not so obscure. Maybe Help is not so distant.

Immersed in the stew of images and stories is one from centuries ago, when hope was dimmed to a smoldering wick in times of oppressive Darkness. The renderings of the event still abound, but the depictions have long since divorced the Reality. At times it seems to have been buried in cliché, but the story is far from trite.

Luke 2 (New King James Version)

New King James Version (NKJV)

Copyright © 1982 by

Luke 2

1 And it came to pass in those days that a decree went out from Caesar Augustus that all the world should be registered. 2 This census first took place while Quirinius was governing Syria. 3 So all went to be registered, everyone to his own city.4 Joseph also went up from Galilee, out of the city of Nazareth, into Judea, to the city of David, which is called Bethlehem, because he was of the house and lineage of David, 5 to be registered with Mary, his betrothed wife,[a] who was with child. 6 So it was, that while they were there, the days were completed for her to be delivered. 7 And she brought forth her firstborn Son, and wrapped Him in swaddling cloths, and laid Him in a manger, because there was no room for them in the inn.

8 Now there were in the same country shepherds living out in the fields, keeping watch over their flock by night. 9 And behold,[b] an angel of the Lord stood before them, and the glory of the Lord shone around them, and they were greatly afraid. 10 Then the angel said to them, “Do not be afraid, for behold, I bring you good tidings of great joy which will be to all people. 11 For there is born to you this day in the city of David a Savior, who is Christ the Lord. 12 And this will be the sign to you: You will find a Babe wrapped in swaddling cloths, lying in a manger.” 13 And suddenly there was with the angel a multitude of the heavenly host praising God and saying:
14 “ Glory to God in the highest,
And on earth peace, goodwill toward men!”[

cf1c]15 So it was, when the angels had gone away from them into heaven, that the shepherds said to one another, “Let us now go to Bethlehem and see this thing that has come to pass, which the Lord has made known to us.” 16 And they came with haste and found Mary and Joseph, and the Babe lying in a manger. 17 Now when they had seen Him, they made widely[d] known the saying which was told them concerning this Child. 18 And all those who heard it marveled at those things which were told them by the shepherds. 19 But Mary kept all these things and pondered them in her heart. 20 Then the shepherds returned, glorifying and praising God for all the things that they had heard and seen, as it was told them.

"The True Light which enlightens every man was coming into the world."  wrote John.

There are some provocative thoughts here if we dare to look. Biblical writers clearly taught that nothing happens by accident. Nothing. Jesus, in the accounts of the writers of the Bible, is clearly depicted as Immortal God wrapped in human flesh. His arrival, birth place, events in his life, and even how He would die were predicted in over three hundred separate and specific prophesies, and over a period of centuries. Jesus, the Co-Creator of the Universe, is born in a manger – not the Jerusalem Hilton. That surely would not have been the choice of a birthplace for kings of that or any other era. He was born in a manger, a feeding trough for farm animals! We should not pass by Luke's description of the baby's clothing, either – swaddling cloth was also used for burial . . . The context of that statement is often lost in the urban perspective. After all, we have mostly moved away from the countryside and entered the cities long ago.

This is where it takes us – to a place few dare to tread, fewer stay to reel in what is shown us, and a sparse remnant commits to heart. Dare we go where the shepherds, who had long ago become outcasts (they had even lost their right to vote) went?

If this story is true, and bear in mind it has NEVER been disproven, IF this story is True, a remarkable thing has happened. Since there are no accidents, the Creator chose to be wrapped in flesh like one of us. He chose to be born to a teen-age girl in a small town in the Middle East where war wages still, and to have a construction worker as His stepfather. At the time of His birth, He was wrapped in cloth commonly used for burials, and then placed in an animal feeding trough. He was visited and adored by outcasts. None of this was by accident. Let that seep into the pores of our weathered skins and into the deserts of our hearts where we can be refreshed – none of this was an accident.

Here we can drink in deeply. The Creator is showing all generations, including ours, that He is not here for the perfect people. Not for the ones who believe they have no needs, no brokenness, no damaged and brittle lives, no broken hearts . . . He came for us. He starts in a place of filth, much like our hearts, which have become hardened and calloused by our wars. There was no room for Him when He was needed so badly, and the message is so clear for you and me. There was no room in the finest of places. That means you and I can afford to drop the pretenses, lower the masks, sweep away some of the rubble in our embittered hearts, and allow Him in – to birth Light in us, so that we can truly become enlightened, to teach us how to be loved and how to love, to show us how to be forgiven, as well as how to forgive.

What a Gift.

A Holiday that can be embraced in the midst of battle.

A Hope that can be tightly held in the darkest of nights.

What a Gift.

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______________________________

THAW

Dan Schmucker

January 13, 2007

In this cold, when ice has wrapped itself around my truck
And I fumble with the keys to gain entrance...
My breath clouds, and swirls as thoughts of getting warm-
Thoughts of escaping the cold become more pronounced

Sometimes it seems like it must be my heart that is so cold...
Frozen in the world around me.
It is the Remnant that perseveres.
It is the Faith that Love ultimately wins, and refuses to let me remain frozen,
Chilled and immobile that allows me to endure.
It is the spark that keeps the fire's hopes alive.
The smoldering wick that refuses to die out.
The smile that finds its way to the surface, despite the depth it had to rise from.

Inside my truck, once the engine is started,
Even after the heater gets turned on,  it is cold air that emerges.
The controls are set for heat.
The indicators all point to heat.
Icy air is still the product.
It is as if the knowledge and instruction are insufficient to produce the desired effect.

In the vehicle of my existence,
It takes some time...
Maturity
Experience
Commitment
Patience

It reminds me
Even my heart can be thawed.

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______________________________

For My Friend Daniel

Saturday, January 27, 2007
Dan Schmucker


You've gone Home.
I know it was Time for you to go, but my heart battles the idea.

Your absence has prompted me to search memory for your places in my life.
Sorting through the passages, I see happier days - hallmarked by laughter and shared Hopes.
I see joking about ourselves and our foibles in Life.

There are the times we confronted strife and helped each other shoulder burdens.

I remember when you were battered - fighting your personal demons.
I recall your trials and the agony you carried as you crawled away from the wreckage of your history.
You not only crawled away - you learned how to Kneel...
and I saw your Maker raise you up into a
Man.

You helped me move.
I remember the rental truck we were using to transport the belongings of my son and I, dying out in the desert, far from where other humans dwell - so many times that we wanted to make Historical Landmark signs for each place it went out, and we had to get it running again. That truck's problems turned a typically two hour drive into a whole day's adventure. We talked about putting notches in the door handle for every dying episode, like the notches on the handle of a gunfighter's pistol.
And we still laughed.

Somewhere, in the hallways of time, your demons returned.
Divorce split your heart... the bottle spilled into your thinking...drugs swallowed your peace
Your laughter was absorbed in sorrow...And you Left.

You called me.
You called me and said you were all right, but your voice was submerged in a bottle.
You asked me to Pray for and with you.
Another call, and you were in heart-ache
Plans made
Prayers prayed
Hopes and dreams rekindled
A future mapped...

(I am wishing you had deported those demons.)
(I am wishing I had heard you better.)
(I am sorry I was not more for you.)
(I am regretting I did not dive deeper when I saw turmoil in your Seas.)

Now the day of your death has scarred my heart... like the notches on the handle of the gunfighter's pistol.
We will meet again, friend - after the fight is ended, the smoke cleared, the battles over.
I Kneel.

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______________________________

The Castle

by Dan Schmucker


While I was off in the distance, I heard your cries.
I could hear the tears that fell from your face as they struck  the indifference of concrete and the calloused existence of where you are.
I could sense them cascade down your face and glisten on your cheeks- in the little light that remains in your world.

When I came near, I could see the lantern glowing.
High, in a Tower, where no one could reach you, I caught sight of you as you moved past the windows.

That castle is formidable. It can repress most assaults.
It can discourage assailants of your heart.
It also keeps at bay those who wish you no harm.

Now in your castle, you think you are safely nestled from the storms
protected from the pain that comes with the risks of Love.
But this fortress you erected to keep you from the cold,
Has become a prison.
The daunting walls designed to hold you safe, keeps Love away as well.
The moat swarms with Fear- dreaded shadowy creatures who inhabit the past.
You will not dare to let down the draw-bridge.
Now you are the prisoner of your experience.
You have become the inmate and the jailer.
You have become the Warden... who won't let the captive free.

When you were younger, you Believed.
You knew... Hope lasts, Truth triumphs, Love never fails.
You were alive.

Then you embraced those who were not ready to love. Not willing to live in Truth.
Those you chose to be heroes, defenders of the realm, got drunk on their own desires, and were unavailable when the dragon and the demons assaulted the heart you had so freely offered.

I know you retain hope for a future time sequestered in your Soul,
but locked in the dungeon, encased in memories of losses...
and for now you dance with fools.
And now you dance with fools

I hope you will one day you exit the fortress-
those walls that have removed you from the world of Hope, where Love takes risks,
as Love always will, and where fear cringes at the sight of Truth.
Come into the Light, where the dragon slayer, the demon hunter, True King offers refuge and sanctuary.
Let yourself bask in the Love that your agony has eroded.
Set the prisoner free.

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Crashed Into The Walls

By Dan Schmucker

I find myself driving through these canyons
The road behind me gets harder to see
Flying down these roads; chewing up these miles
Sometimes the drive could make you crazy

So many twists; so many turns
There are
So many twists; so many turns

There are barriers of concrete
Guardrails made of steel
Reflectors on the roadside
Just in case I feel
Like running off the road
Like running off the road

And here I am rolling down these canyons
Where hopes and fears are etched upon the walls
There are signs where others have departed
You can see the place where each one took their fall

There are skid marks on the concrete
There are dents inside the steel
So many twists, so many turns
Things I don’t want to feel

If I allowed myself to listen
If I allowed myself to hear
The voices calling from the canyon
Where others struck the barriers
And crashed into the walls, and crashed into the walls
Crashed Into The Walls

I am driving through these canyons,
I am rolling down these halls
The road has scars to show
Where others crashed into the walls

The sky is growing darker
As the shadows take their place
My mind begins to wander
And now I see your face
And now I see your face

I turn on the headlights
Sometimes it’s hard to see
The places that you turn
And where you ought to be

So many twists; so many turns
There are
So many twists; so many turns

There are barriers of concrete
Guardrails made of steel
Reflectors on the roadside
Just in case I feel
Like running off the road

Where others crashed into the walls
Where others crashed into the walls

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Is this it?

by Dan Schmucker

April 8, 2007

 

Is this it?

Is this what we allowed ourselves to be reduced to?

Muted indifference instead of genuine involvement?

Rote communication instead of interest?

Habituated touch instead of intimacy?

 

Whatever made us think Fire needs no fuel?

What contemptuous mind set told us Love needs no connection to a Source?

 

We have become like a crow with only one wing, who’s forgotten its destination.

Wishful thinking and day-dreaming is not enough to keep us on shaky feet.

Couldn't we feel the drifting?

Couldn't we hear the sounds of separation?

Now we stare in the coals of what should be fire

When the shadows have grown loud.

 

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Straining to See

by Dan Schmucker

 

25 April 2007

 

I am straining to see

Tears well up in my eyes, and I fight to keep them from tumbling over the walls

When I close my eyes, I think they will spill out, and I will be exposed.

My throat has that sensation …

That if I start to speak, the words will strike the place in my heart that is valiantly trying to restrain the tears, and my voice will crack.

My thoughts are alternately freezing - affording me the chance to hold back one minute, and then running, dancing about in my head, and tottering tenuously on the precipice the next.

Time stretches.

The moment seems to be in an eerie suspension.

Did you say something?

I watch your lips move and hear sounds corresponding to the movement…

The processing inside takes what seems to be excruciatingly slow

I know I am expected to reply

But my heart is not in it.

My eyes dart away…

The sensation in my throat rises to the base of my mouth, and I swallow hard, hoping to send it back, away from the region where words and worse may escape.

I manage to raise my eyes.

I look at you, directly into your eyes.

This time I will not yield.

The silence, which has commanded an audience, has taken Character.

The God Who molded me will surely pour Grace into me, and I will be renewed.

I will stand in His Grace.

I will trust in His mercy

I will not yield, but to Him

I am straining to see…

 

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Relation – Ships

by Dan Schmucker

 

30 April 2007

 

Even the word’s composition sparks visions.

We are like ships, housing our Souls as we navigate about an ocean of time and space.