Freedom

Only those that know the Lord can shout "Freedom!"

Poem # ?

Is there a song?

That would fill a pond

If that were the case

Then drown me today

Forever in Your love.

Two Men

Some time ago, there was a man named Simeon. He was a beggar, from the east. He wore only a small pair of shoes and ate from the rubbage.

There also was a man named Brashar. He was a rich man, from the east as well. He wore fine linen and drank only from golden cups.

One day, they both were out walking, Simeon though was begging and Brashar was smiling and waving at the girls. Suddenly they bumped into each other and this was how the story goes:

"Ah, beggar, please excuse me, I did not see where I was going"

"Its alright sir, I happen to bump into people from time to time"

"Well, what do you want?"

"Peace"

"Peace? Haha, what do you mean? Don't you know that doesn't exist?

"Ah, I want peace. I beg and beg, and all I want is peace."

"Haha. This is too good. Well, beggar man, you go get your peace and I am going to go now. Tell me when you find it."

They went their separate ways, the beggar down to the right side of the street, and Brashar back to his house.

They never once saw each other again. They forgot all about it.

Time soon passed and both men became old.

The beggar was cuddled up against a tree one evening, he knew it would be his last. The winter was colder this year, and he was older than he was before. He was content though, he was at peace. He met a Man, claimed he was God. His name was Jesus of Nazareth, and as the beggar sat by the tree he could remember the words He once told him, "I will never leave you nor forsake you."

It sounded so sweet, so rich, and so at peace within his soul. His head bent as the cold air gave another gust, the man had passed, he had done his time.

Brashar lay upon his bed, stiff and cold. The night had befallen, his head was pounding and his nurse could not give him anymore than he desired. The medicine simply wasn't enough. He was beyond worrying though anymore, he had nothing to live for. He felt a new sense he never once felt; he felt mortality.

The feeling scared Brashar, it plum sent goosebumps down his spine. He felt helpless, and a newer feeling than the one before. He felt death.

He felt death.

:)

Sleepy. Because the week has been crazy.

Tired. Because I need sleep.


But relieved because I love my wife and my life...

:)

Smiling

American Style

I'm not quite sure what it is, but a generation is shaped by the previous generation.

And that leaves us here in the present day situation.

America, home of broken relationships, aspiring careers drenched only from certain degrees. I question whether or not in this life we ever really achieve what we want to achieve. I question whether or not in this life we will be able to do want we truly would like to do.

Some may agree, that we live in the land of the free. But all I see, is a frantic frenzy. Some in one direction some in another. But make no mistake its the craze that craves. Its the lust of our eyes, its the lust of our habits.

All wanting more and more, "like death we never have enough". Accumluation is our god.

Entertainment our source of slavery. I doubt very much what we know is "free".

The line was once drawn and now it has dissappeared. The line erased by sin. And sin it is. Sin that tends to kill and lends only to steal. Sin that only can evolve more and more until all that is left is its ugly head.

The head of pride...

American Style.

We Can Only Say

"Where art Thou?", he could only say.

You see a man knows there is Something greater than himself. Something more mysterious than the mundane of work and that which we call love.

"Where art Thou?"

His soul would only cry. For the sky is dark and the clouds are all but a sign of some bit of covering. The covering that only some make it out alive. Something about the heigth of their beauty and only yet they cannot be grasped. They offer some hint of hope, and yet once you get up as high, they are but a misty incomplete substance.

There is nothing of which you grasp that cannot be caught. That is what they say.

But still, at the end of our lives, we are but empty. Empty and dying. As our money sits by our bedside and our estate is passed, nor are we afraid as we were when we worried to save. Save save, and then one day you go away. The bed sheets are then but washed as they lay you down or fire you up. Your children are safe.

"Where art Thou?"

In the midst of all this? When one wants to pray. When one wants to and can only crave.

We can only but say. "This is not our home".

This is not our home...