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.


poetry, Writing

The Traveler’s End (Borrowed from Travelinggump.com)

The Traveler’s End
O’ weary traveler, aged and too weak, lies resting in the grass and soon falls asleep.

He dreams of past travels, his path lies ahead, but is blocked by an Angel, who’s voice speaks of dread.

He opens his eyes, his journey complete, for he has seen his fate and soon starts to weep.

Resting nearby, She’s saddened to see, that the traveler has learned, what is now to be.

His adventures have ended and time will not wait, for St. Peter is standing, holding open the gate.

Heaven hath decreed and called out his name, She learns that Death’s been sent, to take him away.

Though the hourglass has spoken as no sand remains, the soul of the traveler, owns her heart just the same.

She cries out to heaven, for here he must stay, but the Angels refused, crossed their arms and looked away.

As Death drew near, aware of her plight, he cautions her gently, not to resist Heavens might.

Softly she spoke, as that is her way and begged Death to leave, without much delay.

Death paused for moment, unsure what to say, then bows to her warmly and leaves, on his way.

But Heaven was watching and reminded him his task and also that pleasing Mother Nature, is not what was asked.

Now the traveler was at peace and all that remained, was for Death to guide him back, to that Heavenly domain.

Impatience was growing, within the Celestial reign and Death was reminded, to look once again.

Death peered into the darkness, but no traveler was seen, as She had blinded his eyes, by a deft use of rain.

He had others to tend and soon he was gone, as many souls still need passage, to the land lying beyond.

She went to the traveler and protected him from sight, as the angels were curious where he had gone to that night.

Mother nature is strong and incredibly wise, She keeps what she wants, from all prying eyes.

Though never thought fickle or a thief in the night, Mother Nature surprised Heaven, by cunning and might.

The Angels then wisely, after searching all night, chose to not turn this folly, into a Celestial fight.

What virtue has he, to earn such a right, to be hidden from Heaven at this very time?

He was gentle to her, our Mother you see, kind with her home, as true traveler’s should be. He basked in her beauty and never once did stray, always “smelling the roses” as he traveled each day.

In sunlight they wander, though the Angels do stare, Mother Nature and the traveler, walk the earth, hand in hand.

As twilight comes and the sun yields to night, their two souls join as one, turning darkness to light.

He now sleeps within her bosom, eternally at home, resting ‘neath his name, carved in white marbled stone.