First Drafts

First drafts a dawning day. Night, doom to a soul determined. Death a weary friend.

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I am not into politics…but the Munk Debates!

Munk Debates
A debate to be aired live, worldwide, via the internet. This moment is crucial and particularly interesting as people try and make sense of the quaking events taking place as the world unravels before our eyes. 

It is hard to believe at times the “civil” unrest during this seasonal, political-criminal game being played. The counter-intelligence, the human trafficking, the collapsing economy and the terror-filled night.

Just what the “hell” is going on? I am digging for gold where truth is worth more than wealth and my goal is to keep my soul. In no way do I believe any real truth will arise from this debate but a discerning mind may find nuggets of wisdom. 

My concern is not whether God is on our side; my greatest concern is to be on God’s side, for God is always right. 

I can see how it might be possible for a man to look down upon the earth and be an atheist, but I cannot conceive how a man could look up into the heavens and say there is no God.

–Abraham Lincoln

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He comes in the clouds

Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well lived.

the ways of the world
chaos turned to love,
spoon feeding news to
naive souls who dream
with a bag pulled over their heads.

they suffocate
not, tubes of air
forced into their lungs
a dreamy morphine mix
of lies and deceit.

Yes, the world is high
blinded by counterfeit
love and peace
clouding a soil of hate
that points to a million’s fate.

She understood life
burdened by sorrow,
a blessed rising cloud
peace to please her soul
of a discerning light.

(I wrote my piece for tomorrow, knowing I would be enjoying a much needed day away with my husband and daughter. Modern life is hectic and when I can find space to spend time at the Lake Michigan Dunes, I go! Have a blessed weekend!)



Eternal Sleep

She lives in an hallucination. Her battle exists been awakening and an anxiety-filled stupor. Her world a black hole, sucking inward with tentacles of spun molecules, winding and tightening around her arms and legs, promising eternal rest. Sleep an intoxicating remedy to her war-battled soul and she easily gives in to the promise. 

A desire for sleep

she lay bent and bruised

a reed that blew in the wind.

Could she know,

the grace in someone else’s face

blinded eyes by traffic-lights?

Every light is red to her, green and yellow mixing into melancholic dreams. Images not of her choosing but hooded reapers of death, who from a side glance, briefly glow a sinister smile, telling her he is happy she has arrived. She knows not. 

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heart’s agony

The wind barely caressed my cheek
whispering torment
I reached for the piano keys
tinged from yellow-aged days.

Folly, what folly.

For my transgressions
I wandered 40 days and 40 nights
the caved-in chest drew my breath
and the sands enveloped my feet.

Darling, you stole my innocence.

He, yes he gladly gave me fingers
I tenderly trotted across miles
of lust and fresh meadows.
The air a fragrant green.

My only sorrow, our music’s absence,
the silence more than two hearts can bare.
Remember me when the waves
wash ashore the black keys of death.

There was no way to polish what was left.