Archive | October 2012

The Winding Path

Grass Pathway

Grass Pathway (Photo credit: shaire productions)

The pathways of our lives
curve along each mile,
finding bumps and detours
we continue changing speeds
we know a destination
that meanders here and there,
for we press on
until there comes that time when we blurt out,
“We are finally there!”
Only to find that drive is within us
to carry us farther and farther,
even after our footsteps end,
that legacy is left for our children
and the winding pathway continues,
forever, in lives we touched,
its winding pathway never ends.

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The Old Empty House.

The Old House

The Old House (Photo credit: spratmackrel)

Atop the hill sits the old empty house,

Weathered by time, the deep silence

is broken by the brushing barren branches

that reach out to the abandoned home.

I close my eyes and imagine life within,

when children were once lived and played.

The hard life of the family in sorrow and joy,

stood as one beneath the roof above.

Strength left with them, its legacy to carry

packed with each memory, never to leave.

The empty house’s foundation stands like a rock.

Lines by Linda

Autumn Sunset

God opens his gallery,

Showing warm hues of red, orange, and yellow

that float above the horizon at dusk,

It calls me out to drive to wherever

its majestic and beauty shine from,

Each mile after mile,

I revel in this moment to behold

true beauty that lights my soul.

then autumn’s sunset turns into night.

 

 

 

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Autumn’s Sunset

English: Sunset at Porto Covo, west coast of P...

English: Sunset at Porto Covo, west coast of Portugal (Photo credit: Wikipedia)

Autumn Sunset

God opens his gallery,

Showing warm hues of red, orange, and yellow

that float above the horizon at dusk,

It calls me out to drive to wherever

its majestic and beauty shine from,

Each mile after mile,

I revel in this moment to behold

true beauty that lights my soul.

then autumn’s sunset turns into night.

 

 

 

The Old Broom

Lines by Linda

One tattered broom still remains

that I shall always hold in my hands.

Coming from the old tattered factory

where hard-working men and women.

Labored with pride with the sweat of their brow

In an instant forever forgotten in firy flames.

Only the tattered shell of the building

remains in my mind to always remember and see

That  this broom holds a key to great people

Always embedded in my life always to stay,

For with my broom, memories can never be

swept away. They are angel dusted mementos.

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The Old Broom

broom

broom (Photo credit: Schnittke)

One tattered broom still remains

that I shall always hold in my hands.

Coming from the old tattered factory

where hard-working men and women.

Labored with pride with the sweat of their brow

In an instant forever forgotten in firy flames.

Only the tattered shell of the building

remains in my mind to always remember and see

That  this broom holds a key to great people

Always embedded in my life always to stay,

For with my broom, memories can never be

swept away. They are angel dusted mementos.

Little Angels Again

The heinous, horrid shell of hideous horror
calls on families abroad from sea to sea
to seize the captor and let our children free.
Who are these who take away the joy
of children so dear? To live a life carefree
Guardian angels walk with each child, we pray,
Do not let the captors walk innocently away.
We unite and hold our children in a world as one.
Spare us our children, who are truly loved
Forever in our hearts, we hold their hands.
Rid the world of abductors and killers,
Who wants our children living in fear?
Be with Jessica’s family and friends
Let there be peace for little angels, again.