Web Hosting by Netfirms | Free Domain Names by Netfirms

 
 

 
 
 

Cry With Me
"What is wrong with me, papa?
Such pain in my heart;
What is this sting in my eyes?"

"You are crying, my child.
The purity of your soul
Rises from within."

Tears parting from her softened spirit
Trickle down moistened cheeks
In a stream of salty drops.

"But papa, I am not sad
Nor am I in pain.
Why do I cry?"

Tiny, brown eyes gaze
Upward, hoping for an answer,
Looking for truth in her father's eyes.

"We have been apart far too long,
Looking to the stars
For each other's dreams.

Each moment away tears a fissure
In our souls and creates a tiny pain
Waiting to escape.

Sometimes little hurts
May go unnoticed
Until we hold one another again."

"Is this sadness,
Papa,
Or is it joy?"

"We are together,
Precious daughter.
Let your tears wash

Past sadness from your heart.
Be filled now,
As I am, with joy."

Three drops matter most--
One for past, one for present,
One shed for all of heart's hopes.

"Don't apologise
For your tears, little girl;
Each is a treasure to me.

Here are my arms,
A place for you to hide.
My shoulder is yours

To rest your head.
Dry your tears on my shirt;
I will carry them for you."

Looking up into her father's eyes,
"Why do you cry now, papa?"
"I missed you too, child."

Being There
Life is like this,
An unpredictable ride
On a leaf which drifts pie-eyed
Atop a moving brook.

The you who passed this way
Will always remain
And the sounds of your voice
Still echo from these walls.
 

Look into your soul and you will see me there; look into mine and I will show you who you are.
 

Sometimes you have to take a chance to make a dream come true.
 

A miracle of the human heart is that it may be broken repeatedly yet still remain whole.
 
 

A Fairy's Tear
In a place so cold and lonely, a weeping fairy sits in pain,
Eyes burning from the salty fire tearing cross her face again.

Tiny fingers wipe the tears; her lithe hands are just too small.
Though she wipes her face once dry, no simple way to catch them all.

Born of innocence and hope, gleaming from a father's joy
Whose proud first moments flowered forth, holding his new girl and boy.

The fairy's mind drifts toward days before the fights and anger came,
When the father's soul was whole, his and children's home the same.

A husband's and a wife's loud anger intrude into a peaceful night;
A frightened child cries in the crib, started by his parents' fight.

To preserve his children's souls, father sees what must be done.
He leaves and lets their mother know the family is no longer one.

The fairy gazes at this man, weakened by his lost life.
Blood ripped from his veins in sorrow, his own choices caused this strife.

Oh fragile thing, your fairy soul,
How like this father's heart...
Your tears flow out into the night;
He is from his child apart

The beginning of wisdom is in the simultaneous understanding and acceptance of two distinct yet intertwined truths, self-worth and humility. At once, we are each both the most unique and invaluable part of all existence and yet so insignificant as to be completely worthless.
 

Even a lifetime of kindness cannot erase a single wrong committed in a moment of anger.
 

A hero isn't someone who acts without knowledge of the consequences, but rather someone who acts selflessly in the hopes of extraordinary possibilities.
 

An apology should only be offered if either the wrong you have committed was an honest mistake you truly regret or you have learned something that has changed the reasoning which brought you to your actions.
 

A woman's claim of PMS being an excuse for her rudeness, inconsideration, or violence is as lame as my claiming my sore shoulder and back pain, bad day at work, or migraine from her carping is an excuse for my bashing her head against the wall. The same is true in reverse. Personally, I think a little less tolerance practiced in relationships would lead to healthier marriages in the long run.
 

If there is a God, I find it difficult to believe He is a 'man-only-taller' person who will hear me only if I whisper to Him from a solemn corner of a wooden bench in a cold, stone building.
 

The existence of God and the relationship of Jesus to Him is irrelevant can neither prove nor deny the existence of God, but having this knowledge would not change who I am, my love of my own life, or the choices I make. Would God be any less had Jesus not existed? Are any of the words of Jesus less valuable if we were to assume he wasn't a messiah? ...Details of Jesus’ life, though interesting and clearly controversial, are insignificant when compared to the truth his words offer. Too many people, caught up in worshipping "the miracle," have allowed eternal debate to cast an obscuring shadow across the true miracle, his teachings.
 

Opinion is reality seen through the eyes of another; seen through our eyes, we call it truth.
 

Inside of each of us is a touch of God, our soul--a tiny portion of grace which gives us life and the ability to choose.
 

Looking at you, I do not simply see a physical object. I feel the essence of the soul by my side. Our souls share and spiritually touch through existence, a communion. Touch me and I will feel. Laugh and I will laugh with you; cry and I will cry for you. We share and should remain together.
 

Dreams are prayers we never utter, wishes we make secretly to ourselves.
 

"The world is filled with assholes and it seems life has sprinkled them all in a row directly in front of me." -- my father
 

"The surest way to be caught in a natural disaster is to believe yourself either immune or invincible--'It couldn't happen to me.'"
 

"What difference does the size of the pencil make?" -- a humorous response to an argument on penis size
        "The better to write you with, my dear..."
 
 

Back to Table of Contents