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Unbroken Vows

Vows were broken, Love, by an unplanned death.

Promises that were spoken by the living breath.

Vows softly spoken in the listener’s ears

Linger on after death, bringing forth anguished tears.

 

Neither mountains high nor rivers wide

Can stop or contain them, and they still abide.

Later, you’ll bring them as you wing your way

And join my spirit, awaiting on the other side.

 

Marvel not then upon this small wonder,

For what God joins together, nothing puts asunder.

Though you live on if I pass first,

Find peace and joy, my love.

My spirit patiently awaits you

While angels sing above.

 

Our spirits will again reunite on that golden strand,

In that timeless Shangri-la, never to part again.

Think not that it’s over, that death brings the end,

For the spirit lives forever and ever, even then.

 

Finish your journey.

Walk your path, following destiny’s pull.

Shine your light on friend and foe.

Live life to the full.

 

I loved you then; I love you now

As when I gave the ring

To seal the vow made long ago.

Oh, Death, where is thy sting?

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We Are All Authors

We are all authors.

Life is the beginning.

Death is the ending.

We each write the chapters in between.

God bless your journeys!

The Things I Missed

During all my hurried chase for wealth,

I sacrificed my youth and spoiled my health.

Two young lovers sharing a kiss…

Just one of the many things I missed.

 

So many things yet to do, so much I want to say.

The mirror reflects my wrinkled face, and hair turned whitish-grey.

I don’t remember smelling land after a cleansing rain

Or offering soothing words of comfort to those suffering alone in pain.

 

Did I notice children’s faces looking skyward in delight

As they held on tightly to their multi-colored kites?

Did I collect a seashell from a white beach sand,

And did I get to travel to a distant land?

 

Did I pluck daisy petals or ever smell a rose

Or even try to ice skate after the lakes all froze?

There’s so many things I could add to my lengthy lists,

Containing all the many things I apparently missed.

 

My race is run, my fortune won —

A hollow victory it would seem

For I missed out on simple things,

It is time I can’t redeem.

 

Of my own choice, I rolled the dice

To pursue my wealth

And paid the price.

In the quest, I lost the best when I lost my health.

 

Recording my sad litany

Reveals a truth which I cannot hide:

For though I have wealth, I’ll die a pauper’s death

With all  my music still inside!

 

Just a reminder to remember to raise your awareness to your experiences – each and every day.

God’s blessings upon your journey!

He Lives!

He walked among us over rocky pathways

Many long years ago.

The message He brought was the one He taught

To free us and let us know.

 

Numbered among transgressors,

Beaten and scorned with shame.

He shouldered false accusations bravely

And never placed the blame.

 

Not happy with His suffering,

They sentenced Him to death.

They nailed Him to a cross

To draw His last earthly breath.

 

He was buried in a sepulcher

Which was hewn in stone.

Women prepared His body for eternal rest

And left Him all alone.

 

Just as the prophecy had foretold,

The stone was rolled aside:

Three days later, our Savior arose

To ascend and forever to abide.

 

The ultimate sacrifice for our sins –

A price we could not pay –

Was paid in full by our Savior.

Each year, we celebrate this act on each Easter Day.

 

Happy Easter, Everyone!

W. Foster Welborn

Old Warrior

Born of the people,
Learning to live off the land.
As a boy, he learned a warrior’s ways
And grew to be a man.

Strong Bow hunted Tatanka, the buffalo,
With both bow and lance.
He guided his horse among the headlong rush,
Killing meat to feed the people when he got a chance.

He had wooed and won a pretty maiden’s hand,
Who became his wife.
They lived and loved while moving freely on the land,
Following a nomad’s life.

He danced with fellow warriors,
Circling the fire around.
War drums beat the rhythm,
And many moccasined feet beat tattoos on the ground.

That was when he was young and powerful,
A mighty warrior to behold.
He was fast and furious back then, many moons ago.
Now he was gray and old.

Strong Bow sat on his aging war horse atop a hill.
His shoulders slumped forward with his head hung down.
Cold winds blew around him,
Making the only sound.

The old warrior’s face smiled lamely.
It was a good day to die,
And soon his spirit would depart,
Taking wings to fly.

Cold wind knifed through his buckskins
Into his old body both weak and frail.
Strong Bow closed his eyes and softly sang his death song,
Having reached the end of his trail.

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(Note: The above poem is a result of my thoughts that were evoked by this artwork.)

Yin and Yang

How far up before down,
Funny person but not a clown.
Where is half-way or middle?
When does a violin become a fiddle?

Energy forces flow in together, then separate,
Moving slowly, then accelerate.
Young then old, cold then hot,
Push or pull, is or is not.

Glass half empty or half full?
It’s a toy, or is it a tool?
Flamboyant and open, then indiscreet,
Hard then soft, sour then sweet.

Life, birth, death cycles careen,
Inward then outward, but not in between.
Swirling and blending as they enter,
Trying to blend, striving to center.

Life’s energy forces turn and blend,
Like tides going out or coming in.
Focusing and searching for tranquillity
So balance will descend.

Bells will ring if they’re rang.
You’ve conquered Lao Tzu’s Tao, which is Yin and Yang,
Turmoil fades like a dying wind.
Calmness now becomes your friend.

Namaste.*

*The highest and best in me salutes the highest and best in you.

Note: In Chinese philosophy, yin and yang (also, yin-yang or yin yang) describes how apparently opposite or contrary forces are actually complementary, interconnected, and interdependent in the natural world, and how they give rise to each other as they interrelate to one another. Yin and yang can be thought of as complementary (rather than opposing) forces that interact to form a dynamic system in which the whole is greater than the assembled parts. Everything has both yin and yang aspects, which some call polarity.

 

Life

There are two things more certain than paying taxes: Life and Death.

We all die, but too few of us really live!

Africa

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:

I hear the cry of Africa,

See her saddened plight —

Lackluster eyes, no hope or dreams,

Watch day and night.

 

Listless resignation,

Men gaze o’er vast parched plains,

Useless to plant in dried-out earth,

Waiting for blessed rains.

 

People far past anguish,

No more tears to shed,

No food, no clothes,

Hard earth for a bed.

 

Hunger pains diminished,

No longer feeling pain,

Too little food, too late,

And no one to blame.

 

I hear the cries of Africa,

Mourning on the winds,

In wake of death,

Starving hands reach quietly for their friends.

 

Haunting face of children

As hunger stalks this land.

No quarter given, and death lurks

For both beast and man.

 

Women stand bewildered,

Eying their helpless brood,

Wasting away, to laugh no more

For simple lack of food.

 

I hear the cry of Africa,

Wafting o’er the dry blasted sand,

People of proud heritage,

But what future in this drought-stricken land?

Ghost Town

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:

They deserted the old town.

He understood why.

He watched them leave

With watery, jaundiced eye.

 

They had suffered and struggled,

On the hungry side of hope.

When the gold wasn’t found,

They sort of run out of rope.

 

A stubborn streak in him

Rose up to the fore.

He knew he’d stay behind

And try once more.

 

The rest had departed,

Long since gone,

And now he was left to his fate,

Up here all alone —

 

Alone with his fear and hope,

Left to follow his dream.

Searching for yellow gold,

Instant get-rich scheme.

 

Gold for his yellow-haired sweetheart,

Sweet Josie DuPree.

Gold to fulfill their dreams,

Turn them into reality.

 

On the edge of starvation

Gave much food for thought.

He’s search and surely find

What the others had sought.

 

The wind moaned an eerie song

Among broken rock and barren stone.

Rugged cliffs rose toward the skies,

Awesome beauty straining his eyes.

 

The wind among towering peaks

Blue cold and strong.

Blue skies turned dull grey.

He knew it wouldn’t be long

 

Before you could see each

Exhaled, frosty breath,

Where slight mistakes in judgment

Could bring instant death.

 

He’d handled it before,

And he’d handle it again.

Once he struck it rich,

Why he’d throw caution to the wind.

 

He’d scoff at the quitters

While he ordered up good gin,

After all he counted himself

A man among men.

 

Slogging through old snowdrifts

And sleet mixed with rain,

He worked the rock daily,

Muscles aching in pain.

 

Digging and searching,

Each day anew,

While breaking rock and shoveling

Endless rhythm, working his chew.

 

He cussed his own stubbornness,

Then cussed the mine.

He cussed at the mountains,

And the gold he couldn’t find.

 

No one ever saw him,

Yet swore he never came down.

They say he’s still up there,

Digging and poking around —

 

Among blown-down, weathered beams,

Strewn over frozen ground,

Searching for yellow gold

Where wind makes a weird sound.

 

They say, if you’ll listen carefully

When the wind is just right,

You can hear his hammer ring out,

Striking rock day and night.

 

If you’re ever up there,

Just knocking around,

You’ll feel a chill or hear

Strange, eerie sounds.

 

Remember,

You’re not alone

In the old Ghost Town

Final Metamorphosis

This poem comes from Autumn Leaves:

I’m soaring now,

All is well.

As I glance down

On a worn-out shell.

I hear moans and crying.

What’s it all about?

Everyone wants to weep,

Yet I wish to shout.

Inside, looking out,

Now I’m outside looking in.

Bright, fresh beginning,

Freedom without end.

No more headaches

Or pain exist here.

Fresh new world,

Full of laughter and cheer.

Over the old earthly cocoon

You weep and moan,

But transfiguration is complete —

The butterfly has flown.

Spirit form unfettered,

At last completely free,

So why all the sorrow?

At last, “I am free!”

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