I was born with the weight of someone else's world on my shoulders
Is this the definition of an old soul?
Youth that carried ancestral curses like crosses and was forced to grow around their crushed bones
given a gift of rage that wasnt mine
until I learned how to call it my own
Once upon a time the screams had many voices , then one day they all started to sound like me, my mouth filling with words I was never meant to speak
I watched my innocence flee , and give my power to the fear that swallowed me
instead of running for my life, I ran straight into the knife that I carved out of my worries
the lost child bleeding in my hands
I call upon the Father
I just spoke meaningful words
Voiced communications in joy,
So pleasant, harmonious, Ahh! sweet sounds
Unfolds joyously verses words
Sweet nectar verbs as I thank God
For years—
when the soul stars dream and die...
I called it caution:
the way I listened for his footsteps
before entering a room,
the way my thoughts learned
to stand behind my teeth.
In the book of things unsaid
I pressed a leaf—
foliage of farewell—
between two pages,
its red gone brown, its veins
still spelling the road away.
O fall, let this lore of love be the last
command disguised as tenderness.
Let the house forget my silence.
Let the mirror lose his face.
I am the Eyes of Time.
I have watched a tree survive
every season of being stripped
and still keep its roots.
neither dusk nor dawn can delude me:
for the leaf of life sleeps upon my lips...
but when I speak my name,
it rises into the wind.
So excited to see you
Hadn't been together in years
You got on with your life
While I survived all the tears
Can't believe it took a crisis
To bring obligation to the top
Never any need to connect
Until a hero was needed to manage the loss
You suddenly appeared like rain
After the grass was scorched and brown
No amount of help could be given
To rescue the old wedding gown
There came a moment of talking
I was sure your heart would open wide
The moment the words left my mouth
Your harsh tone widened the divide
...and I could hear....."JUST DON"T SPEAK"
my heart cries...it's over
Written by Trudy Schrader on 09-21-2026
Through the silence, through the fears;
Quiet my heart, my mind make still,
Help me listen for Your will.
Like Samuel standing, waiting there,
Ready to hear Your voice in prayer,
When distractions fill my day,
Clear my heart and lead the way.
Create in me a heart made new,
A heart that seeks to follow You;
When You call, let me not flee—
Give me courage to faithfully be
Your willing servant, strong and true,
Ready, Lord, to follow You.
Teach me, Lord, to love and care,
To see Your image everywhere;
To serve with joy, to bless and give,
To shine Your light in how I live.
Let me not speak of love alone,
But make Your love through me be shown;
Let kindness guide the path I take,
Let every choice Your heart awake.
Though fear may rise and trials start,
Give me Samuel’s faithful heart;
Let my life proclaim Your goodness, too—
A living witness, Lord, for You.
So when You call, my answer be:
“Speak, Lord, Thy servant is listening—send me!
The goats are breeding a new bloodline
inside cells tampering with the sheep altering their genetic code
Starting signs come under the triangle translating delta
a global warning is in place within revelations
when looking to the right then left
There is no middle ground when they own your bodies
dig this error for what it supports ignorance and arrogance
The balance can be found making an informed choice to speak
why does fear drive an angry mob insane with hate
because they are driven mad by opposing opinions
Unable to take on board we are all on a spiritual journey
petition has already signed acts that butchers the truth
Innocence has now become the new convict sacrificed
at what stage will this world end up admitting doing wrong
Equality has become something unfamiliar to some
freedom is a captured body silenced by the enemy
we can see the blood of martyrs spilt soaking into the land
It is hard to draw a picture from the backward mindset
what glue holds their soul's together I ask myself a difficult question knowing the answer inside out
Trust the sky
know your heart;
You'll find
more reasons
to want to
keep on thriving
But do remember
that you are
inherently
worthy of
deep joy
and please:
Never stop shining.
Bring them here!
Even from the ends of the earth.
Let them speak if they could,
Of these feats, acts and truth!
Who gathered the grains of the earth,
And scattered them across the face of the deep?
Do you know who? Step forward!
Step forward and speak!
Who said to the proud waves of the sea, "Enough!"
Making the foundations of the earth its boundary.
If you know who, step forward!
Step forward and speak!
Who wove the mountains and the rocks,
Molten and fire fanned until they were strong!
If you know, who step forward!
Step forward and speak!
At whose voice does the East wind skip,
Like a lover to her bridegroom sprint!
If you know who, step forward!
Step forward and speak!
Whose fingers fashioned Pleaides and Orion,
At whose voice does Bootes shimmer and leap?
If you know who, step forward!
Step forward and speak!
Who is the source and the resource,
Even the completion of all that His Glory wrought?
If you know who, step forward!
Step forward and speak!
18"26
i speak a thousand words
a day
but they’re all thoughts forming
in my head
saying them
out loud
seems so insignificant
it’s my own thinking
why should anyone care?
to me
expressing myself
is the equivalent of
being naked
in front of millions
can’t bear the thought
of bring perceived
over analyzing every little thing
i feel them all
scrutinizing me
how can one live so freely?
it’s all i hope to achieve.
They all speak in tongues
A powerful influence
No king resides here
To spell with mystical hands.
I feel like I’m being gobbled up in a tomb.
I could blink but not in the normal way.
I used to have hands that munched on everything.
I used to be less glum.
I’m a spectacle.
A rotten spectacle with scraggly, green brains.
The catatonia sets in with painted on anger.
Thought they spoke.
Thought they said, “Take your crocodile ears and head home.”
And even my mystical hands took a lap around.
Some imaginings can speak.
I sure can’t.
Stand up.
Speak up.
But -
When it comes to a Black person -
You -
Just shut up
It’s funny how -
When it comes to us needing help,
Selective mutism is your only way out.
We fight the big fights,
Play the role of superhero - day and night,
We are heroes without the capes,
And yet when we need support, you hide behind the drapes,
Every other race is given grace,
But when it comes to us, no matter what we do - we are called a disgrace
When a Black person needs protection,
They see our skin, and - accuse us of seeking attention,
When we practice our right of self defence,
We are accused of a criminal offence,
Seen as criminal, for standing our ground
Then we are seen as a danger to be around.
Stand up.
Speak up.
But not for a Black Person,
Stand up.
Speak up.
If you are not Black, they won't see you as criminally liable,
Stand up.
Speak up.
Not to defend us, just to label us criminals.
I Van Gough,
love my paints and canvas.
My brush is dancing with dark blue,
as it covers the white canvas.
I see yellow as a luminous moon in my work,
like the bright sun outside my window.
A little white for depth,
white is all colors as one.
Black is needed to make this night dark,
because my night sky is filled with swirling stars,
with a village and cypress trees looking mysterious.
I create with paints and canvas,
my writer friend creates with ink,
a quill pen on paper.
My work comes alive with paint,
my friend comes alive with words.
Now almost finished,
I want it to be about a heavenly night,
I see a "Starry Night,"
this should be your name.
"Starry Night,"
Painted By Vincent Van Gogh in 1889.
the ceiling was in a whispering mode
Greek to me because it was in code
made it difficult to fall asleep
Have you ever heard a ceiling speak?
This old lighthouse wants to say,
about the cold clouds of gray.
When it rained all night and day,
with the keeper wanting to pray.
Then the sun would come out to play,
making the blue sea a pretty highway.
This old lighthouse saw many ships,
some sailed by and some smashed like a souffle.
Sailing by were many birds of prey,
telling the old lighthouse it was like a cast away.
Old lighthouse even on Christmas day,
I can not getaway.
For the old lighthouse and keeper was it judgment day?
Why did the keeper want to stay?
Why not just run away?
The keeper knew he could not leave ~ no way,
telling God they both were not a runway.
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