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Cease fire
Yes, bombs are bursting in the air On a land unable to prepare A land of hate and tyranny indeed Yet this is still a land in need
Calling, calling, for a turning tide Falling, falling, full of pride For we too have a land of hate Judge of the world we've named our fate
Cease fire The world will turn and turn again Cease fire And for our arrogance, we bear our chains
A nation will bleed for one man's sin We see where we are, but not where we've been From the Winums, a cry for peace But reason to reason, the hate will not cease
We are here such a short time And only history can judge our crime When we die, and our voices are mute, What will it matter who we prosecute?
Cease fire The downfall of all mankind is pride Cease fire Remember the past, and all the tyrants that have died
©Billy McAleese

A True Soldier
A heart is like a fearful soldier, who longs to fight but dreads to die. All its life it’s been destine to encounter many battlefields, even though the battles are not meant to be won. The soldier with army may come so close to suceeding in conquering its opponent but in the end fall short. But discourage the soldier should not! There will be many battles in a soldiers life: some easy, some devastating. But that is not the end! The battles are only preparation for war. When war is ahead, a soldier is more prepared and aware because of the experience in past battles. Now the soldier can put all their hearts into conquering, not dying!
© 2000 Michelle DeVos


WAS IT ALL MINE?
Sitting alone in my room The "Big One" is coming too soon. I don't go out in the sun anymore Trying to keep the face I wore. Tired everyday of nothing at all, Finally reached the end of the hall. Was it all worth it, the choices I made While watching this colorful painting fade? Memories become more And hope, a delicate chore. Passing days bring wilted grace But no event I'll ever replace. When my aura shines in a place so divine I will wonder, was it all mine? The feelings of bliss, that heavenly kiss The things I adore, should I have done more? Everything that we own is out on loan Even our feelings of being alone. So don't be afraid, of that day that will come It wasn't all yours, it belonged to the sun.
©1999 Azalea Millet
e-mail Mrs. Millet at Esmugli@aol.com

4on the floor
4 on the floor In an old 4 by 4 2 bucks in my pocket In this Chevy skyrocket
Off to the mud holes With racing for doles What ever I might win Would be spent all on sin
Jalopys and hotrods Babes with their hot bods What I woun't give to do that old scene Rocking on the front porch lost in a dream
>> Dale <<
At the sixth hour darkness came over the whole land until the ninth hour. And at the ninth hour Jesus cried out in a loud voice, "Eloi, Eloi, lama sabachthani?" - which means, "My God, my God, why have you forsaken me?" When some of those standing near heard this, they said, "Listen, he1s calling Elijah." One man ran, filled a sponge with wine vinegar, put it on a stick and offered it to Jesus to drink. "Now leave him alone. Let1s see if Elijah comes to take him down," he said. With a last cry, Jesus breathed his last. The curtain of the temple was torn in two from top to bottom. And when the centurion, who stood there in front of Jesus, heard his cry and saw how he died, he said, "Surely this man was the Son of God!" Mark 15:33-39
The Sound of Thunder
At the sound of Jesus1s last cry, in the dark stillness of a painful night, In the ultimate moment of love that would change humanity forever, The curtain of the temple was ripped from top to bottom, torn in two, At his last cry, the rip, the world darkened, and a surrounding cold fell.
The sound of thunder split through the crying sky, The Father came down and wiped his Son1s tears dry. As Jesus himself, sacrificed for sin, was thought to be gone, Never to be risen again.
At the miraculous sound of Jesus, his voice soft in Mary1s ear, She spread the wondrous news, wanting all to hear. As He appeared to one after another, wanting them to know, I am risen, I am here, now you know.
The sound of thunder ripped through the darkness of the fated night, As on the cross hung our Savior, loving us with all of His might. Jesus hung. The Son of God. Truth, love, humility, hope, mercy, forgiveness of our sins.
The sound of thunder ripped through the mourning sky, A world, unknown to the significance of such love. A sound of thunder ripped through the curtain as it tore in two, Now we may bow on our knees before the glory of the Lord, ourselves.
And the sound of thunder ripped through the bleeding sky, As two days passed, and heard were still the cries. Cries to wish the Savior back, cries for His pain. And dawn rose, the third day.
The sound of thunder was heard as a joyous cry in the dawn. For when the stone was rolled back all was gone. He is risen, let us all raise up and praise The Lord our God, our Savior, Father and His Son.
The sound of thunder is heard, for Jesus hanged for our sins on the cross. He bore the weight of our sins, shed his blood for the sake of our cleansing. The sound of thunder shakes the world, cries of love, thanks for salvation, rise up. Cries for our Jesus. Because Jesus wept for us. God loved us. He saved us.
"For God so loved the world, that he gave his one and only son, that whoever believed in him shall not perish but have eternal life." John 3:16
©1999 Krystal D. Monroe e-mail Ms Monroe at Hunny10498

Dreaming
The sun is in the sky, settling over the horizon, Clouds are moving in, pulling in the summer nights gentle breeze, Trees sway to the softly sung music coming from the tossing sea, And one by one the diamond stars appear in the darkening sky.
With a long, long breath and a soft, air-born sigh, I close my dark eyes, and think of days gone by. Days full of family laughter and old friends wash by, In a torrent of cascading memories, Falling from the overflowing dam of sweet, sweet loss.
In the sea, the beauty of the sky is mirrored, Tall palms toss lightly on the soft, deserted white sands, Floating with soaring gulls is the salty scent of sea, Up, near heaven, the fluffy purple cloud of life lingers.
Invaded by a secret something, a devastating name. I sit by the side of the sea and wonder to myself. Mysterious cause and reason why God has chosen me, Am I the one He has chosen? Is it really me? Or am I falling in a dream?
The enemy that corrodes my soul, takes away my life, Is the same that has taken others captive in it1s domain. Sweeping away the life that dares to flare it1s flame in my eyes, With a fire in my heart, a pleading in my soul, I can only cry, "Don1t make me go."
I am being asked to give up God1s green earth, And the simple love of family and friends. Will I leave, leave those I love with no good-bye? Leave, with no one to help me with my cries?
The red glow of the burning sun has vanished, Only to leave behind a dark, empty sky. Diamond stars have studded their space in the night, The lingering purple cloud has found it1s place in the darkened night.
White sand is soft upon my cheek as I lay to rest. Warm breeze covers my skin like a blanket in the night, Tossing waves close my weary, heavy, crying eyes, The purple cloud, turned to black night, cushions my sweet dreams.
...here at my comforting home, with my family here, able to tell my fears, to laugh them away because I have no fears, because I am at home because that unnamed intruder has gone away far, far away...
...I will stay here, to sit with old friends and chatter the night away help my sister with her French, my brother with his ball I will stay here, gather with my family at the dinner table walk with my friends through the cool surf, the breezy night...
The waves of the white ocean pound my throbbing ears, Cool foamy water splashes my burning skin, I feel the soft white sand caress my sweaty cheek, The truth of the night - a blanket on the sand - surrounds me.
I must be dreaming, for I know I cannot live, A world like that, with illness like mine, may only be dreamt. Dreamt from the most wishful corners of my dying mind. But then, could it be a real world I dream of?
I lay here on the sand as I watch the waves pound, hard and fast, Breeze dies, white sand falls from it1s airy dance, The purple sky I see above has lost it1s radiant glow, The sea1s blue water, its pulling ocean tide, slows it1s flow. And my dream fades....
I realize this is reality - with it1s hard edges - it1s vivid color... Far in the world of dreams innocent and pure - fantasy - all life would live. The invader we call sickness - illness - would lose the hierarchy of it1s rocky reign.
Although I know the cold simple truth, don1t wake me.... Don1t wake me up if I1m dreaming... As my dream fades...
©1999 Krystal D. Monroe e-mail Ms Monroe at Hunny10498

When Rain Falls
When the rain starts its endless journey to ground, And the storms inside are finally staring to unfold... Where do we turn when life takes a giant leap, From what used to be simple, to the obsolete?
When the rain hits the waiting ground, All the tears are pouring down our face.... What do we do when the turns we come to Seem to split in the middle of a dusty road?
When the thirsty ground welcomes the rain with a soft sigh, And the bitter words have left their searing imprint on our hearts, Will it finally be the beginning of a coming end, When our falling tears have no one else to fall on but ourselves?
When the looming sky lights up the scattered night with a crash of beginning And the angry words flare like a fire with a cause.... When our tears drop like rain in the flaring night and finally kiss the ground, What can we do when the end of the road seems to call?
When the clouds hover over like a threat of danger marching on, And the pain flashes like lightning in our eyes, and thunder in our hearts, Where can we go when our faltering words have no meaning? What can we say...except, "Lord, here I am."
©1999 Krystal D. Monroe e-mail Ms Monroe at Hunny10498

One More Time
My eyes set upon the rolling waters of the deep blue sea waiting for time to end, Across the churning waves I can see the image of a man on the water. And as the wind tells a story, the spray from the ocean casts a picture on the sea. Again the words come to my lips as my heart silently cries in agonized thanks.
One more time my Father, I've come to speak with You again. To let loose a flood of washed tears upon Your holy feet. One more time oh Abba, let me cry my love for You, As I raise my hands in utter awe to worship my King.
I cast my eyes upon the mountains, their tops reaching You in Heaven, The snowy archives that tell the tale of Your tenderness, And as the clouds cast a shadow over these storybooks of unending love, Again I cry to You my Father, as my bittersweet tears fall upon You.
One more time Dad, I've come to wonder why again. To be astonished by the amazing grace that You so easily surrender. One more time my Lord, the eternal question of why pounds in my head, As my heart bounds on clouds of love for my Savior.
The subtle sounds of the sleeping forest covers my ears As Your soothing words of saving grace blankets my heart. From the needle covered ground to the nests in the highest trees, You have blessed all Father, and I wonder why.
One more time my King, let me shout my undimming love for You, Making the stars, the sun, the moon and all below take notice. One more time my Savior, let my tears of gratitude fall softly, And as my words and tears are little Father, I give You my life, my heart, my love.
My eyes set upon the misty waters of the rolling waves that wait for time to end. Across the churning waves I can see the image of our Savior on the water. And as the wind begins the story, the spray from the ocean casts a picture on the sea. One more time, my Jesus, these repeating words come to my lips as my hands raise to worship my King.
©1999 Krystal D. Monroe e-mail Ms Monroe at Hunny10498

The Game A soft, dirt infield, coarse from running feet... Home plate covered with dirt from last nights exciting game. The crispness of the cold in the February night air That holds the drops of dew upon the outfield grass... Pick up that baseball...its stitches sewn so tightly... Feel the ridges where this ball has bounced from so many hands. Smell the old green embedded in the soft, red, dusty stitches, The freshness that reminds you of the excitement of the game.... The ball that took flight in the cool night air so far above you, The thrill as you ran beneath the ball, trying so hard to keep up. Cheers, shouts, screams that were yours as the ball landed in your rugged ol1 glove. A run for the opposing, as you basked in the glory of a well-made catch... A ten year olds dream... Looking at the empty field, so barren, yet so active.... If you search, you can here the shouts, "Over here!" You can see the players who once graced the field with their dreams, With their fantasies of being great and playing forever... If you look carefully, the spirits of the field will show you... You will see the past, the games, the boys, the dreams, the plays... The games of yesterday, today, and tomorrow will grace the field... Then all will be gone. If you look carefully, the soul of the game will call to you...
©1998 Krystal D. Monroee-mail Ms. Monroe at Hunny10498

Little Brook
Babble little brook, As you slip away, Tell us how you feel, Tell us please, today.
Show us all your sorrow, Tell us what we should do, Slip quickly from the bank, Sad, wishing, and so blue.
How to ease all your eager pain? Tell us what to do to help you, To stop the running of your soul, To help you, sad and simply blue.
Whisper trees, whisper, Whisper what you need, Tell us how to help, How to help you grow.
Weeping Willow stand, alone, frightfully so. Stand tall, as your weeping limbs fall to the ground, In the shadow of man, determined to kill, Stand tall, weeping willow, let us help you grow.
Listen to the roar, machines rusty and old. Hear the dying cries, under corroded machines, Cutting down the weeping trees in their distant prime, Let them (us too?) not worry about such long ago times.
When the weeping willows never wept, And the brooks need not babble to us, When the trees stood tall, and didn1t slouch, When the brook didn1t run, had no need.
Do you remember? When we sat content at the foot of the trees, Reveled in the cool, damp shade, the music of the sweet sounding brook? Don1t you remember? In all this dust, the concrete, corroded metal, Have you forgotten the sweetness of our distant past? Our favorite times?
Listen to the roar of machines, corroded, rusty and old. Listen, can you hear? Can you hear the brook, crying out it1s pain? Watch, do you see? Do you see what we have done? Watch the trees weep. Look now. at this land. So cold, so empty. Now I ask, what have we done?
©1997 Krystal D. Monroee-mail Ms. Monroe at Hunny10498

AND STILL I DREAM....
The years grow distant and still I dream
of emerald skies above a coral sea
and shining stars like diamonds in a velvet sky
of whitewashed houses precarious on high and verdant hills
a church bell's plaintive ring thin and far away
of crystal waters cool upon the lips
purple vineyards shimmering in early morning mist
satin petaled orange blossoms perfumed sweet
and yellow butterflies with lacy angel wings
sunbeams slowly waltzing down magic paths of gold
and gentle raindrops jeweled tears on dusty palid leaves
the years grow distant and still I dream
©1998 Angela Contino Donshes

The Rain on That Morning
On the hill, under sunrise, daybreak, gray and dim, Clouds over head, creating a net of weeping sky. Before the storm, a peaceful calm that lulls us in, On the hill, the cross stood, alone, barren, yet laden with sin.
On the cross, the morning after crucifixions feast, Stained with blood and sin unheard of, covered in Gods love. Kneeled before a world, needing a place to go, On the cross, the King hanged, so we could go home.
Beneath the sky, calling up a storm, the rain on that morning called His name. Beyond the cross, before our home, tears fell from the sky to clear the pain. After the crucifixion, but before he rose, the rain on that morning called. It called His name.
From the cross thrown up by the Lords willing plan, To the next day when only mourning was heard throughout the land, Love spoke from the sky as it echoed out the name Of the Saviour who loved us, enough to bear all our shame.
That morning. The rain on that morning. Sweet rain. When the stone was rolled back, and the emptiness was felt. The rain on that morning, it heard that He had risen. And that rain, sweet rain, it fell from the sky, A joyous rain, from Gods tears to the skies clouds.
On the morning the rain fell, the cross stood there, so bare, Gods tears fell and cleansed the cross where His Son felt so much pain. The rain ran down that wooden symbol in rivulets of sin and shame. And the clouds choked up and the sky wept.
On the hill, under sunrise, daybreak, gray and dim, Clouds over head, creating a net of weeping sky. Before the storm, a peaceful calm that lulls us in, On the hill, the cross stood, alone, barren, yet laden with sin
On the cross, the morning after crucifixions feast, Stained with blood and sin unheard of, covered in Gods love. Kneeled before a world, needing a place to go, On the cross, the King hanged, so we could go home.
©1999 Krystal Dawn Monroe

INNER CRAVINGS
The Warrior Woman....she sleeps;and in her slumber there is vulnerability.....unbeknowst to all those she holds dear;for she hides herself well beneath her carefully designed veneer.She dons her armor well....guarding her inner castle...turning aside even the most daring of knights. The wants...needs....desires....cravings all come to the surface while the Lady does sleep......for she cannot control her subconscious seeking.....being flooded with such yearnings that her soul silently weeps. The Voices within whisper to her....keening needful whispers.....taunting her....pulling at her soul.....evoking emotions so carefully buried within....demanding that she acknowledge and experience them all. The voices are soft....melancholy....wistful;nudging the lady to remember and feel.... insistent....and the memories come....filling her heart....pounding on her soul. Overwhelmed....tears silently streaming....the lady's head and heart connect.....speaking to her soul......asking questions whose answers areessential to her being.....an admission....... YOU ARE HEALED.....IT IS TIME.
Lady with soulful blue eyes.....eyes that beam truths to all who would but take the time to look beyond the warrior woman armor.... seek out he who's eyes would beam back ...revealing to you all his truths... souls touching...sharing.....merging. Warmth......sustenance.......healing.
Lady with the keen senses......seek out he who yearns to listen to your heart and soul talk..... who will revel in your whispered words of passion .....giving back equally to you in kind..... freely.....with joy.
Lady with the keen senses.....seek out he who yearns to be touched.... who will revel in your exploring....tasting....enveloping..... giving back equally to you in kind..... ravenously......reverently.......a celebration.
Lady who survived those shattered dreams..... seek out he who will stand at your side...sword in hand; celebrating the YOU that exists today; sharing equally..... joys....sorrows.....minds....hearts....bodies dreams....demons....loyalty....honor.... and above all LAUGHTER.
©1999 Laineylady

Shining Through
I saw a light shine through my window So beautiful, and full of promise Though I could not understand or know Why such a light shone on me like this For I've felt so alone in my personal journey Taking on whatever life has bestowed on me As I felt the warmth that came so calmly It was a comfort and an awakening to finally see That though we each have different windows to view We are truly never alone For the lessons and loves we've been shown Those that live within me are not so different than those within you Our learning is never over Just remember to be strong For my time in darkness, depression, however wrong Was lifted with a ray of sunshine And the road I found, wasn't very long.
©1999 Janel Litton E-mail Me. Litton at Janel1249@AOL.com

Tonight I Can Write
Tonight this furious creature isnide me is bursting from his chains, To let loose a flurry of heart-rending words on scarred paper. Tonight, in a dreamy mist of unspoken thoughts in the wind. My thoughts fly like scheming angels from my weary pen.
Tonight - dreams lit by a candles flame are bursting free, In the sweet sensation that only my troubled mind can fill. And only tonight, in the bittersweet melody of an unchained rhyme, Will the words flow, smooth as milk and honey, and let go.
Tonight I can write of the tears I saw, falling from an angels eye, Trying desperately to hide the pain he felt each time he tried to fly. Tonight I can write of the lightning crash that shook the darkened night, As I watched that beautiful angel on his fall from saving grace.
Tonight I can tell you of the love I saw in a mothers touch, While I stood by, unseen, as she held her child in her arms for the first time. Now I can tell you of the pain in a mothers bleeding heart, As she watched her child slowly, sadly slip away.
Tonight I can write of death and love, in all its beauty and pain, I will write of the saga of the world, with all it's tragedy and shame. Tonight I can write of the tears mankind will shed, In time-fashioned pity as they watch themselves quickly fade to grey.
Tonight my mind is screaming to tell all that I have seen, My heart is yearning to describe the death, pain, love, and hate. Tonight I wish to tell you all that my lips have covered, All that my eyes took in while I stood quietly by upon this tainted earth.
Tonight I can write of the laughter in a little boys delighted face, As his hands lay eagerly upon his first new puppies face. Tonight I will tell of the agony in that same boy's voice, As he held his dying dog in his arms, years later, and said goodbye.
Tonight I can write of the tears that a best friend will cry into another's shoulder, As the pain of life echoes through her convulsive weeping. Tonight I will write of a bond never broken by time that seems to break all, As the years pass, the same shoulders hold the same tears, again and again.
Tonight I will write of all the secrets of the world, left untold in the dark, The darkness of a world caught in shame's walking limbo. Tonight I will tell the secrets of the lost, and disclose the stories of the mute, Tonight I can tell of the love that touches so few in a dying world.....
Tonight, as I write, I will set the crying truth free.
©1999 Krystal Dawn Monroe

Email: mcaleese81@aol.com