poetry, Writing


The sound of Silence, to breathe, to exhale; finally

Lost today, feared by those, who in silence, must reflect and
listen to their inner voice and flee it’s true reflection of their existence.

Silence, lost to the world as a virtue, now considered a sign of deceit or ambivalence.

Our inner voice, desperate to be heard, screams through the fog of constant noise only to be ignored; finding its only path to the human mind during restful sleep or through the silence offered by the mute button.
Silence brings peace to the soul,
the mind, the ears; to life

Glorious Silence

poetry, Writing

It’s “Time” to fit in

America was once a Melting Pot
A stew of many lands
The contents many, but individual
The world reflected in a pan

This Pot contained the customs
Of each culture and it’s beliefs
But no matter how hard you stirred it
The Pots’ ingredients refused to mix

Each person seemed a foreigner
Yet together in this American land
Afraid to accept the culture
Of the person, living right next to them

Even I felt like a foreigner
Though here I was born and raised
So many different cultures
All struggling to find a place

The Melting Pot began boiling
As Time had lost all patience, at Humanities refusal to bend
So Time stepped in with a blender
And then poured the Pots’ contents in

What was once a Pot of colors
Of stubborn people who won’t mix in
Is now a stirred up mixture, of
One beautiful color, living harmoniously, in a pan.
Now no one seems a foreigner, no excuse to not fit in, for we all can exist equally, in this Melting Pot of this land.

poetry, Writing

The Mountain is Not The Problem.

A River comes upon a Mountain. Either go over, through or around me; As a Mountain I do not care. The River cares not either, and continues on it way.

The Wind blows through a valley and comes upon a Mountain. Either go over, through or around me; As a Mountain I do not care. The Wind, like the River doesn’t care either, and continues on it’s way.

A Tiger comes upon a Mountain. Either go over, through or around me; As a Mountain I do not care. The Tiger then hurries up the Mountain, as great prey may be hidden there.

A Man comes upon a Mountain. Either go over, through or around me; As a Mountain I do not care. The Man, who sees the mountain as an obstacle, stops, and then ponders the unfairness of life, for the mountain has become a problem that is now blocking his path.

The Mountain watches with amusement, this man who curses the Mountain, complaining loudly, unwilling to yield his way.

While nearby, the Tiger watches patiently, for she knows she will eat quite well, later this very day.

Only Man sees the Mountain as an obstacle, a problem in his way. In Life, either go over, through or around; As the Mountain does not care.

 Man IS his very own obstacle, making excuses, while demanding that life must be fair. But the Brave embrace the Mountain, and are thankful it is there.

poetry, Writing

Even The Soul Needs Sunshine 🌞

The soul of a man awoke in a rage, so angry at the clouds and the way they behaved.

They refused to yield warmth or share any light, and would steal slowly from this Muse, many joys of this life.

His human charge toiled, from morning to night, completely unaware of this internal fight. Born to this land, he knew of no other and held no grudges for the behavior of the weather.

The soul then prayed, to Zeus on high, for permission to leave and escape from this life, to again feel the sun and basque in its rays, to be free of this cold and earthly place.

Zeus pondered the query, quite sadly surprised. Your question unkind and I hope you’re not proud, for without you he’d perish and be buried deep in the ground; all this because you don’t like the way, that the clouds block the sun, many times each day.

Then leave him behind, with spite the soul cried out, as the man could care less if we ever see light.

I’m bored with this charge, please find a new muse, perhaps one who’s more patient in this cloud filled world. I could then be free of this earthly bond, and live here on Olympus of which I’m quite fond.

In fury Zeus rose, for he was not amused. You two are as one, so this man, you won’t lose! And to the awful question that you foolishly pose; Without hesitation, my answer is no!

A respite you want, maybe the sea you would choose, but life is not easy for a heavenly muse. He is your charge and that’s what’s to be, you will not come to Olympus and you will not live near me!

Zeus stormed away, his lightning in hand. Who is this soul who would make such a demand! He paused for a moment, as his anger abates and returns to the soul, who kneeling, still waits. He whispers the following and then walks away, for his patience is waning and he has many to see, later today.

The soul, now ashamed, repeats what he’s heard, “Do council him wisely and teach him what’s right, for only together will you find the true path to light.” The soul then returns to suffer his fate, finding his charge, fast asleep on a cold cloudy night.


Opinions, Writing

Yielding To Love; The Battle Within

 Of dreaded fear, I desperately struggle in trusting my timid heart not to betray, when asked to have faith in the greatest of joys, that is love.

For you must have faith to trust that your heart will recognize it’s true soulmate, even amidst the chaos, and not wander aimlessly in the dark forest of fear and insecurity.

But you must first yield to your heart, assuaging trust, having faith that true love exists, though always to remain unseen.

Those who dame fortune has smiled upon, must then trust in the faith of another, to be tender with their willing, yet fragile heart.

Hoping that having faith in your heart, at loving the one you most desire, builds trust in that sacred virtue, which can always be felt but never touched.

For in the end, the heart must possess the faith to trust in what remains unseen, as a faithless heart will never trust in that which it cannot visually see or physically grasp.

As such are the mysteries of faith and trust in matters of the heart.


Opinions, Writing

The sun, Only Fools Believe…


We once believed in the sun, believed it to be devine. A god, if you will. But it was foolish to believe in the sun, to worship the sun.

Though it’s ancient presence brings comfort and peace to those who seek the warmth of its glow.

To our world, it brings life.

Hope seems to live within its light, reminding us that each morning begins a new day.

It’s glorious rise bringing illumination to our path, as evil withdraws to the shadows, hiding until darkness returns.

And those without vision can easily feel it’s presence. Those who believe in nothing, need only step outside.

On cloudy days, we long for it’s return. Our soul withers without it’s fiery glow.

To believe in the sun’s rise, requires very little faith. The sun asks us for nothing, requires nothing and desires nothing. It is beyond mans’ control, influence and will. It does not bargain, forgive and cannot be bought; it simply exists; simply.

But we do not “believe” in the sun. We “believe” in what we cannot see, touch or physically feel. We believe in the words and writings of man. We believe in faith, in God, The Son, and a promise that if we continue to believe and if we obey, we will go the heaven and look down upon the sun.

We once believed in the sun. But that was too simple.




Opinions, Writing

Constantine and the Priests

This story is old, yet few know the tale, of the divinity of Christ and the day it began.

Read to the end and surprised you may be for few know the way in which it all came to be.


The Emperor heard stories, of a prophet long gone, his followers still present, and their numbers quite strong.

He summoned the priests for he was curious to see, who still followed this man from Nazareth and Galilee.

An audience was had, and the Emperor did learn that the priests of this man, were cause for concern. The Emperor, a pagan, many gods he believed, but these priests followed one, which they divided into three.

The priests warned the Emperor, the Roman, Constantine, that he must no longer be a pagan, and get baptized in the sea.

Constantine was no fool and the future you see, included these priests and what they believed it to be. But the religions were many and what each chose to believe, he left to the citizen, to decide how to be.

The priests were not pleased, only one God need there be. All symbols of others must be thrown in the sea. All people must change, for our numbers are great, or your rule as the Emperor, will suffer ill fate.

Constantine listened carefully, as great Emperor’s do, and saw the advantage in one religion over two. He could control these priests and watch what they do, while they keep the people in line, for fear of heavenly ruin.

A gathering was needed, and he called all to meet, in a city called Nicaea, which is down near the sea.

He invited all religions, to come seek accord, to agree on one thing; the one written word.

Gathered here by one, a mighty Emperor was he, but the priests took control and said now what will be. They spoke of one book, one religion to be, and of one God who was also divided into three. They warned all the others of heresy and hate, for they must now all agree on the rules of their new faith.

A Prophet no more, his divinity now known, Jesus and the trinity; Father, Son, Holy Ghost. The day he arose, now holy indeed, the date of his birth, now celebrated with glee. Sixty-six writings, now law, for those who believe, and hell and damnation for all who don’t agree.

He must protect pagan souls, from hell’s fury you see, by converting his religion to what the priests say it shall be. His motives not pure, but for the greater need, no longer a pagan was Constantine thought to be.

With his kingdom at risk and not a god to be seen, pragmatic he was and must continue to be. The Emperor agreed and many suffered that day, for if they differed in belief, they were then driven away.

Heresy was charged upon those godless few, who offered their thoughts about different religious views.

To the hills they did flee, the “heretics” en mass, all those who disagreed, with the priests decided path.

Their writings erased, but their faith still intact, they were forced deep in the caves, where they hid from the past. Their future now sealed, they wrote in the dark and buried their writings in large clay covered pots.

The priests were quite pleased, and all formed a pact, they would spread to world, this new religion as fact. All people would follow or suffer their fate as their prophet became the son of God, on that very date.

Constantine won the battle, though the priests couldn’t see, thought to be Christian, but a pagan remained he. His throne remained strong, and he did as he pleased, for he reined in those priests, a truly difficult task, indeed.