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peace, they say, is a dove.
here, by the river, though,
peace is the heron's slow rise,
the rustle of reeds, and
a kingfisher's sudden, sapphire dive.
no grand pronouncements,
no treaties etched in stone~
just the quiet knowing
that the river flows on, alone.
the river constantly flows,
carrying the weight, the worries,
the wanting.
In its flowing is a constant reminder~
‘let go, just let go,’
it murmurs with soft sighs,
and in those sighs,
there is a stillness, a home.
peace settles by the river, a fine silt,
on the riverbank, on my soul,
a quiet knowing, I am not alone.
do not go gentle into that good race
Tired muscles should burn and ache by race’s end
Run, run against the slowing of your pace
Is it worthy of forgiveness if you're mistaken about the expression:
". . . that government of the people, for the people, and by the people, should not perish from the Earth"
believing it was spoken by one of the "Founders"?
When Abraham Lincoln was faced with the threat of "Secession - when a number of the "Southern States" decided to "... dissolve the bonds" that made America a single nation to become a nation unto themselves, this most-basic-understanding of what it means to be "A People" - One Nation was in jeopardy and in many respects, it appears we have not yet successfully resolved the troubles this question posed!
What does it mean to be a citizen then and what does it mean to be free. What is "Liberty" in our understanding and practice and what color does your skin have to be to be considered even human because, these are the questions, I submit, that hang before us still - the questions that will determine whether or not we can continue to exist as a single nation.
. . .
_
Rainstorms in my head,
thunder crashing against my eyes,
blizzards of primal sounds, a boundless chaos
under each closed eyelid.
Between death and life, peace and strife,
I will sleep upon a cliff edge of self -
as a curled kitten in the palm of a caretaker,
or a dreaming child within an iron skull
of extinction or survival,
I shall wait upon oblivion
as patient as any whittled stone
carved by every ancient wave of time.
There, shorn of identity,
surrender to one last apocalyptic tempest,
resting now as a silent voice
within its tumultuous cradle.
In the war of feelings,
in the war of hate.
War of healing,
and every decision I make.
I ask myself every time
to be alright: is this what's right?
But what's right?
What's real?
Every hallucination I fear?
What do they want?
Where do they go?
Do I make them?
Feed them?
Haunt them, until they go?
Or am I the prey,
that's haunted by the mind?
If that's the case:
Dear me,
would you please
be alright?
Shadows bruise the heart
unspoken glares slice like glass
trust begins to tear
regret taints shared memories
future burdened by sorrow
Fists unfurl at last
fury melting with the pain
scars rinsed of their ash
the past cannot be undone
yet its chains begin to fall
Mercy a wellspring
cool water for parched spirits
grace flows without price
shame dissolves in calmness pools
a hand lifts the heart again
Yet some sip like thieves
their mouths stained with hollow vows
err and forgive vain
cheapening grace with excess
pardons traded for tokens
Grace is a blacksmith,
burning what clings and corrodes,
tempering the will
its forgiveness shapes reforms
the heart forged to rise anew
Frayed threads rewoven
with fabric scarred yet shining
stronger for the mend
green shoots rise within the cracks
the bond tempered with resolve
the bungee cords are wet
the newspaper is sopping, so we throw it out
six cardboard boxes are saturated
it has been raining for three days
two mosquitos have already dive bombed me
I am doing my best to kill these Kamikaze pilots
these blood eaters will not leave me alone
they finally drive me back into the house
I am such a wimp
The Penny Drops By Kevin Leake
Number one if I can—maybe last—we shall see;
Either way, at the finish line I shall be.
Ready to run and spread Marathon charm
In every mile’s contest do more good than harm
Doing nothing unfair to raise any alarm
I am intrigued by the letters dancing on the white sheets, forgotten on the desk,
Chapters that lead nowhere, a monotonous and tiring journey.
But what captivates my soul are the pebbles on the riverbank,
I wish to ask them where their journey through time began.
Were they pushed by rebellious waves or did they stop for rest?
Silent, they carry the secrets of the waters that caressed them through time.
I am also intrigued by the fallen leaves, guides of the changing wind,
Was their separation painful, or did they say goodbye gently?
Clouds like cotton candy float on the sky as blue as an ocean,
Will they pass by my house or bless me with their rain?
These questions weave my thoughts into a labyrinth of melancholy,
For in the simple mysteries of nature, I find magic and solace.
two dogs sit at my feet watching me type
they are my staff, Buddy and Beau
They follow me around as if they are ducklings
and I am their mama duck
they would cram themselves into the bathroom
if I let them
but I don’t
this mama duck has limits
I am thinking about making them bacon for breakfast
but they also like turkey and ham
we like feeding our babies up
Daddy duck and I
They follow him around if I am not home
Which has only happened three days in a year
and will not happen again for another year
in the meantime, they are on guard
watching me, making sure I do not leave
as I just returned home
THE PATHETIC AND DEMONIC
BEHAVIOR OF THOSE WHO AGREE
AND BELIEVE IN HATRED ,
ANAMOSITY AND VIOLENCE AGAINST
THOSE WHO DISAGREE WITH THEIR
PSYCHOTIC IDEOLOGIES THAT ARE
DESTROYING THE COUNTRY AND
THE WORLD WILL ULTIMATELY HAVE
TO FACE THEIR CREATOR AND STAND
TRIAL FOR THEIR BEHAVIOR AND CRIMES.
THEIR PUNISHMENT WILL EXCEED
THEIR EXPECTATIONS AND
IMAGINATION . THEIR EXPULSION
FROM THIS WORLD WILL GO BEYOND
THE LIMITS AND BARRIERS OF TIME
IT'S SELF AND THE UNIVERSE OF
CELESTIAL BEING AND THE UNIVERSE
IN WICH WE RESIDE.
ALL THAT WILL REMAIN FOR THOSE
WHO WORSHIP HATRED IS THEIR
OWN HATRED TOWARDS HATRED.
CHARLIE KIRK , MAY THE LORD
ALWAYS BE BY YOUR SIDE.
Michael E Harris
09102025
Lyrics By Michael McCoy
Written for the Rolling Stones Contest
ono una ruota che gira sempre
senza una destinazione o un rullo
Sono una trottola che gira sempre
che gira finché non mi fermo
Signore, cosa devo fare?
Allora cosa devo fare?
I miei mondi in un vortice
Dammi amore o speranza
Solo una cosa a cui aggrapparmi
Mi fai girare in tondo
Ohh in giro
E in giro vado
Sono legato a te
Per te
Ohh, ooh, ohh
Sono un orologio senza volto
Con speranze senza tempo
Che non si fermano mai
Signore, quando mi sento così
Tu conosci la mia anima in cambio
__________________________
una piccola cosa a cui aggrapparsi, ah
mi hai fatto girare in tondo
Open in Translate
Type
Aggiunta di cipolla
Sung By:Puglia
the Arturia Audietion
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Her eyes tell me all there is to know
Her heart has grown tired and worn
The idea of falling in love again
Plays back memories of being scorn
Not wanting to put her heart on the line
She now keeps it hidden and locked away
Why the same time she prays the god
Is she fine someone to love her someday
Don't be mistaken It's not love she fears
It's the pain when that love will die
She remembers the hurt of heartbreak
And the river of tears she will cry
With all the turmoil she's been through
It has made her heart a fragile thing
What she fears is also the cure she needs
And that's the joy only love can bring
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