If I

If I could unearth the reason I'd hide it again
Scattered leaves resemble the end of season

If I could wash away past memories I'd still recall
Rain pounds the roof echoing in the present

If I could awaken my senses as a rooster in morn I'd fall back asleep again
Heavy clouds displace the sun resulting in confusion

Hidden sun, rainy day, scattered leaves
confusion, present, and past memories

DIVINE INTERVENTION

Haughty heads held high by stiffly arranged bodies
While salty laughter lends to a bitter taste

A black sheep quietly positions himself alone
Pride and Hate do not drip from his lips

He forces a cordial laugh that stumbles out
His peers suspiciously eye his astute reactions

In his mind he pictures a quiet, vacant scene
The greediest of them all leans over to his ear

“I see you squirming child, you better watch yourself”
Ice- cold words freeze the boys position into place

Now or never, no later your only chance is now
A deep breath only produces recycled smoke filled lungs

The boys eyes rapidly dart from the door to the crowded table
Silently, he pleads with His Father up in Heaven

Strength, not of his own carries him off of the old wooden stool
The boy whispers a sincere prayer of deep devotion to Him above

A simple prayer was heard by the Greatest of them all

The Tragic Man Deficiency-An Intimate Dialogue of a Typical 20 year old Girl

The Tragic Man Deficiency

A few items of business need to be set straight before I begin this book. No, I am not a raving feminist. I whole-heartedly believe in the sanction of marriage. Also, I do not hate the male species. Every night before I go to bed I do not write in my journal, “I hate men!” Men can be great. Sadly, “can” is the MIA word for the day. Excuse me, for the century.

Respect. Aretha Franklin hit this epidemic right on the head back in 1967. I believe that this problem has escalated to a mere tragedy. Back in the seventies a song came out, “Where have all the flowers gone?” Referring to the men who went off to war at Vietnam. The current day version would go, “Where have all the real men gone?”

Alright, I will stop complaining and now give evidence to support my hypothesis, which is: All real men, balls and all, should be placed on the animal extinct list.

Love is What You Make It

Love is unexpected
Yet, Love can be unsure
Love is won by peace
Yet, Love can be mistaken
Love is what you make it

Love is found in hope
Yet, Love can cause suffering
Love is a summer’s night
Yet, Love can lose its’ way
Love is what you make it

Love is not coincidence
Yet, Love can lose its’ spark
Love is service without guile
Yet, Love can be transparent
Love is what you make it

Love is full of patience
Yet, Love can be one sided
Love is real and true
Yet, Love can be wasted
Love is what you make it

If Love is found, keep it
If Love is shown, give back
If Love remains, stay strong
Love is what you make it

Create

I love to write. It became a passion when I was 12. My grandma gave me my great grandmother's poems and original music. That was the very day, I decided, that I wanted to write.

My senior year in high school was extremely tiring and difficult. Many times loneliness was my only comfort. So I wrote. Don't worry, I have lots of friends now. ;-) (I really do though, i couldn't ask for better people in my life)

As my AP history teacher would be blabbing about some feminist movement and how Helen Keller was actually a communist, I would write.

Songs, poems, grateful lists....

Now, I am 20 and I discovered a new passion. I took a risky decision and completely changed my major, for the approx. 5th time. Don't Judge me...:)

I discovered that through writing you can influence a whole society.

I may never make it that deep into history, but I hope my writing, someday, will change someone's circumstance. From reporting the news on a non-bias level (hard for me to do) to hopefully increasing the awareness of a new product or company, to writing poetry to the ones I love, I want to touch through the written word.

So here it is-A blog to record my writings, be it good or bad. You are allowed to decide that for your own. A writer must never compose for money or fame. if done so, the truth of the words are harmed making them useless to everyone.

The pen is only as deep as the writer-

The Beginning

Every morning we have the choice to make it a good day or a bad day.

There is a hymn that has helped us view life in a better way. It is called "Count Your Blessings".

When upon life’s billows you are tempest tossed,
When you are discouraged, thinking all is lost,
Count your many blessings, name them one by one,
And it will surprise you what the Lord hath done.

Count your blessings, name them one by one,
Count your blessings, see what God hath done!
Count your blessings, name them one by one,
And it will surprise you what the Lord hath done.

Are you ever burdened with a load of care?
Does the cross seem heavy you are called to bear?
Count your many blessings, every doubt will fly,
And you will keep singing as the days go by.

When you look at others with their lands and gold,
Think that Christ has promised you His wealth untold;
Count your many blessings. Wealth can never buy
Your reward in heaven, nor your home on high.

So, amid the conflict whether great or small,
Do not be disheartened, God is over all;
Count your many blessings, angels will attend,
Help and comfort give you to your journey’s end.