Beakons of Hope
Free my will finally at last
Reasons unknown
God keep me from being destructive to myself
Highly sought is your Favor, to keep me from despairing in my lonely thoughts
I have at night
The Devil doesn't know it, it's his own foot that is caught in the snare
As I seek your guidance and look to the stars to find my path
What is known, it all depends on You
It's all in Your hands
What the Future brings, Oh! my God I hope to see you there
In Heaven where I store my treasure
I only hope to see your face
That I smile and put away this put away this gloomy feeling that I have
As a lamp your word lights my path
As I observe your Holiness
It's the example to my eyes
Help me to realize what to do at the moment I cry for help
Let it be as a reminder to all those who have been in a jam
Fai finta di essere un personaggio famoso; scegli l'intonazione giusta per cantare come quel cantante.
Al tre: uno, due, tre...
Ah, che bello...
Bellissimo, bellissimo.
Cantalo su un'altra toFai finta di essere un personaggio famoso; scegli l'intonazione giusta per cantare come quel cantante.
Al tre: uno, due, tre...
Ah, che bello...
Bellissimo, bellissimo.
Cantalo su un'altra tonalità... ops, così è meglio... dolce, dolce... ah, il finale... bravo, bravo!nalità... ops, così è meglio... dolce, dolce... ah, il finale... bravo, bravo!
My heart cries out in longing for my dear,
imploring Him who holds you now: draw near.
Twenty-five years have passed,
yet the memory still remains,
a morning filled with sorrow,
a nation washed in pain.
The towers reached toward heaven,
then disappeared from sight,
leaving behind a silence
that still echoes every night.
We remember those who never
made it home that day,
the mothers, fathers, sons and daughters
who were taken far away.
We remember every hero
who ran toward the flame,
while others ran for safety,
they answered when we called their name.
The firefighters and the officers,
the strangers helping strangers too,
the countless acts of courage
from red, white, and blue.
We remember those in heaven,
and the families left behind,
the empty chairs, the photographs,
the memories frozen in time.
Though years may pass before us,
their stories will not fade.
For every life that was taken,
a promise must be made:
To remember their names,
to honor what they gave,
to cherish those beside us,
and never forget the brave.
So today we bow our heads,
with hearts both proud and torn,
and whisper through the years:
We remember.
We honor.
We will never forget.
When shadows lengthen and the day grows still,
I lean into the quiet, soft and deep,
Just pulling up the blankets for a sleep.
It feels like resting after years of work,
Like sitting down when all the chores are done,
No heavy doubts or fears that try to lurk,
Just watching out the window, the fading sun.
My breathing slows, a simple, steady rhythm,
And all the noise inside begins to clear,
I leave the weight of everyday right with them,
And find a strange, gentle stillness here.
No dramatic exit, no pain to fight or mend,
Just letting go, and letting darkness blend.
A Piece of You
Dearest Papa, she is looking at me
With the stillness you once had
Your reflection so profound
Clouds of happiness in the storm of sad
The way she crosses her feet
The way she rests on her arm
I see you in her, I feel you Dad
In the chaos of life, I can sense your calm
A little piece of you, God has given me in her
New hopes, deep courage, joys anew
For the life, the love and for Her
I Thank you
The Journals find their way,
easy, inspired self delusional displays,
one or two ,
written most every day,
but as the months now years begin their exit call,
the words flow more fluidly
than time alone can recall,
written down along line and page
the secret refuge of mind sway
left to random flutterings and utterings
the missing points of this aging sage,
hide in the accumulated books
shelved on dusty nooks
of private enterprise without lie
the wordings not for you.
Between the rise and fall of thought
there lies a hush unnamed,
a breath unclaimed by wanting’s pull,
a light not yet made flame.
Here grief forgets its practiced shape,
and hope loosens its hold;
the heart stands still, unchoosing sides,
neither timid nor bold.
Time thins into a listening space
where echoes lose their will,
where loss and gain grow indistinct
and longing learns to still.
I mourn the self that hurried on,
that feared this vacant air,
mistaking silence for a lack,
and grasping everywhere.
For craving snaps the tender pause
like wire around the bone,
and ego crowns itself again
as ruler, name, and throne.
Yet in that brief suspended hour
so easily undone
the world remembers how to rest,
and I remember none.
Not triumph, nor defeat survives
that interval of grace:
only the ache of what we were,
and what we dare not chase.
So let me grieve with open hands
the noise I once called true,
and bow to that unmoving gap
where sorrow loosens too.
For in the pause of polar turn,
where opposites resign,
I touch the silence after self
and leave my sign behind.
In the words of Karl Marx "Last words are for fools who haven't said enough!"
We had lived a life of love and everyday
said more than words can say.
When it was time to say goodbye,
my heart I handed you with a just a sigh.
AP: 2nd place 2025
I hear the screams of pain,
Falling on deaf ears in vain.
I see children crying over dead parents,
And parents crying over dead children,
While spouses cry over their dead mates,
I try not to panic as they lead me to a camp,
As the fear of future leaves my cheeks damp.
The darkness of the explosion surrounds me,
While I try to shield myself from the painful emotional heat.
And run away to not turn into a lifeless meat.
It leaves the children traumatized,
And the children terrorized,
As they struggle to live their way out of a mass homicide.
The gods cease to exist,
And leave us with the sadistic devils to resist.
I see my future in the flames,
And my entire life bursting up in their diabolical games.
I hold my friend’s hand,
As I see everything I cherish, crumbling into the sand.
Hope seems to be miles away,
When all I see is the slope of barrel pointing my way.
So I do what I need to do,
I kneel. I bow. And I surrender.
And finally let a tear fall,
Before my soul leaves my body with a guns thunder.
The line "Looks like a good night to fly"
last words of a Reddit user's great-uncle referred to as Gillybilly
Gillybilly's great-uncle was a Navy pilot in WW II who flew jets for 30 years
I've been behind bars for way too long
each time a prison warden sings that same old song,
"When you've done your time Bub we will release yous"
I'd shuffle my cards then let them fall, hadn't I paid my dues?
They called it psychosis, a personality disorder that distorts reality
it seems to me I have been in here for Oh! a mere eternity!
"Unable to understand his wrongful actions, cuff those guys!" they said,
I replied, "Its a good day to die" in my killer clown's disguise
When the Commissioner said, " go ahead release him " to the guards
I washed my face, combed my hair, and played my last trump card
Sitting on the grass watching the last shards of light, I was glad I didn't die
I came to realize that I was now alone, ... "Looks like a good day to fly"
I whispered to a bat as he soared hard and fast against the sky,
"Looks like a good night to fly," and then I began to cry !
For sixty years he sang and
Everyone knew his voice.
Then he had to retire,
But it wasn’t his choice.
He loved his singing lifestyle
As well as his boozing.
But it caught up with him and
He told Barbara, “I'm loosing.”
The only thing we can
Depend on is death.
But no one knows when
They’ll take that last breath.
And I don’t want loosing
To be part of my fate.
I want to know I’ll enter
That pearly white gate!
I don’t know if Old Blue Eyes
Sings up in heaven today.
I do know that Jesus
Has shown me the way.
And if he’s there too,
Then we’ll sing together.
It won’t be loosing if we sing
Praises forever and ever!
Chases me down a paint-stained alley.
My feet are swollen—maybe someday they’ll rot
Exhausted from the brush stroke agony
I seize when the light forces itself upon me
When will I decide to turn myself into dust
Deranged is what I seem to be
They locked me in a rage-filled scene
Hearing petrified, hate-charged screams.
Peering through the curtains as I wake from restless sleep
Staring at a starry night
It sings me a melodic, stunning melody
Maybe the air that flows through my lungs
Perhaps the heart that pumps my blood
Is not what I truly need
Maybe a pistol will give me ultimate peace
Perhaps a bullet will allow me to foresee
As I lay near my brother
I don't sob, I don't plead
The life I lived wasn't for me
“The sadness will last forever”
It won't be cured by remedies
So I must cut short my legacy
The rope that strangled me with miseries
My death is not a tragedy
Not succumbing to eternity
at a death bed, but at the cross
My Saviour and Lord gave up the ghost…
According to the Scriptures in John 19:30,
“When Jesus therefore had received the vinegar,
he said, It is finished: and he bowed his head, and gave up the ghost.”
Yes, at His crucifixion, He declared, “It is finished.”
Such was and is always a statement of great triumph
Reverberating God’s compassion toward every human
Offering His gift of eternal life to sinners like you and me.
Indeed, He uttered, “It is finished.”
Such is His assurance of everlasting redemption
Reaching-out to those who believe His sacrificial work
By faith… believing Him as the way, the truth, and the life.
Gloriously, He proclaimed, “It is finished.”
Such is now my vibrant hope as I strive and persist
To share the Gospel, testifying of His loving kindness
And by His grace, cheering others with His peace and joy.
With His omnipotence, He asserted, “It is finished.”
Such keeps me going on, persevering to do my best
Maximizing opportunities for functional role-performance
So that when I face Him, I’ll say, “By Your mercy, I finished the race.”
The room hums with invisible prayers—
blue sparks dancing like ghosts of forgotten thunder.
He dies lit by his own inventions,
a cathedral of current pulsing behind his eyes.
The pigeons wait by the window,
feathers like folded circuits of forgiveness.
He speaks to the air as if to the future,
“They will laugh first. They always do.”
Outside, the streetlights blink in silent salute,
filaments bowing in quiet understanding.
Greatness flickers, then steadies—
not extinguished, but absorbed
into the bright machinery of night.
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