|
This site is dedicated in the memory,
of Shannon Nicole Paulk...
-Please also pan down to Jessica Lunsford. Another child who suffered needlessly.
 ORLEANS, the music instrumental CD I recorded this past spring, is finally an MP3 file.
I will write much, about this recording very soon, concerning why I recorded it, and all about the people, and children, for
which this recording was made. ORLEANS, is ten minutes in length, yet only about five and a half minutes
are heard here. Why?? Well, I am seeing what I can do about that now, but I truely hope you will enjoy and appreciate
for just now, this first five minutes of... ORLEANS.
 -In August of 2001, Shannon walked from her home, and never returned. There is a person out there, who decieved her
into thinking something, that was not true. Someone, simply lied to her. Shannon, was 11 years old, and innocent
to a world of darkness, that surrounded her. But how could she have known of such things- such things, as hate, or violence?
Her innocence was real, and will always be. Her brief life, and untimely fate, has marked a certain perspective, or
flame if you may, inside of me, that I will continue, and struggle, to preserve for the rest of my life. Shannon, this
is my promise to you. And, that I'll not let you be forgotten... ever. From time to time, I will visit you.
And somewhere, inside of every poem I write from my heart, you will always have your place in them... you will always... have
a voice. May you always fly.
_______________________________________________________
-Through the
course of time, the memories, the investigative efforts, the hope for other children, the prayers, and tears, which are endless,
have not died. Just recently two other cases have been linked possibly, to Shannon's case. There is one obvious
relation, that was not brought to light however. And that is, the road, that links Heaven Ross's location, and Shannon
Paulk's location, is Hwy 82, that stretches between the two cities. I have often prayed for Heaven's family, that in
some way or another, they might feel some sort of comfort, somewhere... somehow. Heaven's bedroom, is still there, neat,
and kept, for her safe return. She has never been found, since her vanishing in 2003. But a family's hope, a mother's
hope, is so very often, the very strength that holds a family together, to stand through a storm, as this. My prayers
and thoughts are still with you.
-They are also
linking to Shannon's case, another, from Macon, Georgia. The name of this 11 year old girl, is Teresa Melissa Dean,
who also as well, was last seen inside a trailor park, where she lived. 1999, was the year for this family to remember
for the rest of their lives. I pray, that these three families, will remain together, and united, as their children
would of course, want them to. A young little girl's entire world, is her very own family, and the family MUST stay
together, MUST love one another, and support one another always. With more work, more hours, more money... more hope,
and certainly, with out a doubt, MORE truth, the person, who committed these acts... the one person, who took the lives of
these young girls away from them, and their families, will stand justice for what he did. These young children, and
their innocence, their happiness, their youth, and all that which they are, apart, from this dark world, MUST prove to somebody
out there, that there IS a heaven- a spiritual exsistance beyond our own lives. There HAS to be. I hope so very
sincerely, and so very much, that these families are very aware of this FACT each and everyday of their lives now. God,
does NOT abduct children... "people" do. Children show us, that there IS another side, to darkness... the difference
is much too great. As there is a day, for every night, there too, MUST be a place opposite of this. Please join
with me, in prayers often for these particular families, but also, for all missing, and suffering children in this world.
Thankyou so very much for viewing, AND for your prayers for these families, and children. -David Culver.
-If you are
interrested in adopting a missing child, a program that allows you to obtain information about the child, pictures of that
child, and buttons, that you can wear everyday, that bares the face of that particular child, whether be, for the memory of
that child, or the search for that child, please write to the following address below, to recieve more information.
This is of course free to the public. Or... you may email, to: adopt@projectjason.org
-Project Jason
Adopt a Missing Person Program
PO Box 3035
Omaha, NE 68103
 -Teresa Melissa Dean, from Macon, Georgia who vanished in 1999.
-Heaven LaShae Ross, from North Port, Alabama who vanished in the summer of 2003.
-I sincerely pray,
that through time, we may come closer to understanding these types of crimes more, so that we can prevent these things from
happening in our lives. But, we must do this, in ways, we do not become teachers of mistrust, rejection, or hate to
the children, we parent. An understanding of WHY these things happen, must be found, in order to openly, find solutions
to the problem. Unfortunately, this type of circumstance is never mentioned openly, or talked about with the public
that often, to aquire new methods of approach. It is however, kept far too quiet from the public, where those of us
who may obtain answers to some of the questions, could possibly have a desire to help, whether be to assist police, or merely
to help the loved ones of these children, who are left behind to cope, and survive the pain. Yet, there are those, whose
voices are muffled- voices, that are silenced. And they are never allowed to stand, and speak out. And some cases,
turn into cold cases, left unfinished, with questions, never to find answers. Should not poeple learn how to subject
themselves to a certain degree of humility, in order to find the truth in something so important? I think so.
-David T. Culver
______________________________________________________________________________________
-This is a sketch drawing, of the man, who
is believed to have had last contact with Shannon Paulk, before her vanishing. The photo may not come up, so here is
a URL to that picture. Please view. http://missingexploited.com/2006/09/02/shannon-nicole-paulk-teresa-melissa-dean-and-heaven-ross-is-there-a-serial-killer-responsible-for-all-three/ Very heavy set, with mole under right eye, dark complected, lots of hair on his arms, about 6' tall. Could be a
construction worker. This person could have munipulated his appearance, in the past five years. IF he is connected
with these other missing children, this means, he is a serial abductor. And, with that being said, rest assure... he
will make a mistake, at some point. I hope sincerely though, not one more child will suffer, to his (not) understanding,
what he is doing, because of his own imagination. PLEASE join with me, in prayers for Shannon's family, her mother has
lived this day many times. Marie, you are so much stronger a person inside, than I could ever be. A person, can
imagine something as this, but never really know, unless they too, have lived through this kind of loss. God bless you
and your family always. I still pray for your comfort. My email adr is moonrising36109@yahoo.com
-a new poem, that
I have written for Shannon, where in this poem, if speaking to Shannon, I suppose I would indeed ask, IF she is free, from
all the ties the earth can bind one with. And free... from those whose hearts were NOT true in their words, or
respects. So many fears and uncertainties inside a person, specially a child, which many people wonder, could possibly
hold a persons' spirit from escaping this world. A limbo of sort, where I firmly believe, bares no fault of a child.
I believe God releases his own children from any grips of fear, or violence prior to death. My faith, my belief,
is that God, took Shannon, before that mental darkness befell her. That she would not experience, perhaps, all that
she could have. I believe that God can do this, and why not? God, is truely God, and Father to ALL his children.
And to implement a comfort into a childs' mind or senses, would indeed, be a Godly thing... to be done. See... IF there
is truely a Spiritual world beyond this one... we MUST believe that things such as this, are possible, and they happen around
us, when we do not know it. That later, we would know so many things, that now... we can not even begin to
concieve. My thoughts and prayers are continually with Marie, and her family. I feel very sure, you will see your
daughter again... someday. -Sincerely; David.
 -Are you
free?
Or are you trapped with those
whose vengence, is not of God?
Who even
some, were bound by jealousy,
with eyes that fixed you in formulated phrase-
words expressing the tenderness of age,
while murmuring prayers of which...
were not meant for thee.
From the
closed door- the cold heart...
are you
free?
Are you
bound?
Restrained by laws of earth and mind-
meanings upon meanings, with no reason found?
For what
plagued the minds of so many, do still...
one face, that bares no soul to feel.
And through
all uncertainties,
their hearts were sealed.
For through
doubt and fear, no life is sound.
Nights are stirred in unrest, their unholy vows,
to seek out with vengence,
while yet somehow,
forget the leaves, that fall so clear,
that in unseen ways... you made come down.
Grief,
too sad for song or word,
so touches the few left, and I've heard,
chatters amongst the paper stars,
who hold
their titles high to see,
and wrote you, to a world of hypocrisy.
I come
here alone, to stand with thee.
From where I am... there you are.
Oh, bright
red rose, tell me silently...
are
you free?
___________________________________________
To Voice, the Butterfly
"Far and away, in
the distance of a field,
she runs, she plays, in all my tomorrows."
In the loving
memory of Shannon Nicole Paulk.
-I will always remember you.
-Autumn winds move the dry dust,
as spirits move the leaves about.
The wind moves all things in circles,
but
only those things which touch me,
I know are you.
The stones, though they carry no voice to hear,
tremble in dark
shadows of mourning.
And as eyes of yours, through my eyes peer,
looking out beyond my human fears,
there's a
peace overwhelming inside the flame,
that walks us from darkness,
or afflicted shame, for those of us,
who keep
our voice.
How could one imagine such a simple thing;
we all let lose of life beyond our wing,
where just beyond
our touch and feel,
becomes a silence that often steals,
away their voices, in the rain.
For a mother in her grief,
in quiet ruins of your soul,
let n'er her window be closed inside you.
Of all your memories, to these be drawn,
that
from this life, one child, one heart goes on.
And if you've come to see her rose is gone,
she, will come to stand
beside you.
As you pause, and turn, in your times alone,
when softly, first starlights of twilight come,
be attentive
to movements, of days' last light-
may you notice the butterfly, while in her flight,
it's wings, shall lift her,
from her plight-
such small replies, we rely upon.
For her breath, is in the wind, and is carried on.
No candle
left burning, should lose her flame,
on the day, the heart of a world was broken.
From a distance, I could feel the
hurt, and pain,
in search of rainbows, inside the rain...
I vowed, I'd not let her be forgotten.
Far and away,
in the distance of a field,
she runs, she plays, in all my tomorrows.
Here, grief, may find some way to heal,
though,
unless spring returns one daffodil,
autumn, may never move my sorrow.
For 'twas grief, that rekindled a hidden fire-
prayers locked away, from long ago.
Now, 'tis love in my heart, that takes me there...
to stand alone... to mourn.
May you always fly... always, and forever...
we are never, really alone.
Short Verse... Shannon
-Last
night, near her name, inscribed in stone,
I heard faint whispers of roses there.
And if carefully, you listen, the
winds will moan,
the voice of a child somewhere.
Summers will always come sooner now,
and red roses will bloom,
in the heart of a poet.
Yet, so short are their lives, I feel somehow,
that roses are eternal... and angels hold them.
Short Verse... Shannon
-A
childlike voice cries in a summers' wind.
Hers, is the soft whisper of the trees-
fluttering of butterflies, on an
evening breeze.
Small yellow wings fold, as if only to me,
and like breath, it calmed all things to quietness-
twilight,
into silence.
...her heart, at peace.
Somewhere, tonight...
-O fire,
within that shines,
with so intense a flame, and bright,
that in some deep place where senses turn,
which through
this life, obscured,
derrives less light,
wherever a lost child may be tonight,
I let one candle burn.
Anniversary
~In
the memory of Shannon Nicole Paulk...
May you always fly. We will always love you.
-I've gone to gather
my dreams
from the gold of the fields-
out of the far 'way trees-
out from the meadows around me.
Dreams,
like those of raindrop souls,
or wings of birds, broken
upon the earth.
Thoughts, which evening rains bring,
create
holes through my perception
of innocence.
Her small face, turns gray of pain,
yet so angelic in her remembrance.
Tare the vale of dust away,
that harbors the butterfly,
keeps the soul,
for soon, she will fly far one day,
released from the vices
which darkness holds.
And the ghost of this child,
shall not turn inward and old,
yet,
voice her song amidst the gathering
of lambs on a hillside.
But all things which sing inside me,
cry-
laughter fades, tears, repetitive,
and no music will fill her empty room again.
Though, I've heard in the dark,
a
voice of a child, that takes me deep
to contentment, and snuffs out the fire.
The touch of autumn winds-
a distant
clash of thunder...
every now and then, somewhere
in my heart, her restless spirit
takes pleasure, and shapes
herself
into quiet, calm measures...
and 'tis worth the waiting, of the year.
Butterfly
-Published
in "Symphonies" an Anthology
of World Poetry (Allahabad, India- 2004)
-this is for you Shannon...
-The falling
of leaves in autumn,
are the whispers and sighs of those
who stood around you,
healing the wounds they suffered,
when against the gray dark wilderness,
they found you
with rosey wreaths, propted
in the sandy dirt.
It
made us aware of a season dying.
That night, sounded the breaking
of hearts inside us.
Now, when this season comes,
it hides us in all the silence
a world could give, to heal the hurt.
But, a hurt that never went away,
yet,
stays in small rooms of our hearts,
and somehow, still finds you...
drifting alone in our conscience.
Shannon's
Vigil
-we came, with candles lit
in night,
with open arms, and hearts inflamed.
we walked into darkness giving light,
that God would keep you in his
sight,
and lead you home again... we prayed.
We prayed, in all the silence felt-
in summer's night air that touched
my face,
I watched as even strangers knelt,
with welted eyes, they took their place,
and cupped their candles, out
of wind.
Remembering Shannon
you will always be loved...
you will always be missed.
Her gentle soul, aflamed
in song,
drifts amidst silent shadows of her time
flys without age, without sorrow
along the dee p trails of her
life,
between that world, and mine.
Death, whispers our times to part,
and as softly autumn breezes rise above,
my
wish, was only to feel her heart,
or once, to have touched the frailties of love.
Like sorrow, the rain fills the tin
cup and tiller.
And though sleep brings all such things to dreams,
she, turns wine, and my troubled world is belittled.
For
like rainbows inside rain... her spirit sings.
Her short life, was such a precious thing.
In those green fields, alone
I've dwelt
unseen, unoticed, by some gift of grace,
a faith reserved, from all once felt.
Roses rest always, where
I have knelt...
rekindling the features, of her vanished face.
Candy
"I hope your life is full,
of wonderful things... and love."
-Published in "New Pegasus," an anthology of world poetry.
-her eyes look through a window,
foiled by age, by the gift of loneliness.
seldom, her smile could feel another.
encaged, with a heart by darkness smothered
into itself- into her eyes-
no dream lies in wait,
but of late, her cries draw images of loss-
pictures absorbed of a small child's fate,
and
live in the walls of this place.
from room to room an aimless drift,
of conscience, this house bares it's own-
the
voice of a girl I dare resist,
and she waits in the dark alone.
perhaps the sun will rise up to me
lending rest
to her spirit, and
divided worlds
may one day unite, to set her free,
removing the dust from her buried bones,
and release her from earth's lost fantasy.
HOLLY
-In only our calm retreat,
we find you.
If in prayer, or thought, in uncertain sounds,
we hear you.
They flow like rivers inside us, and
somehow,
take us, to meet you, where you are.
You are with us forever... Holly.
-In the memory
of Holly Jones... in Toronto, Ontario...
go with the angels, Holly. You will always be loved...
you will always,
be remembered.
Rose in Winter
-now, for when once you
smiled, I cry,
and tears roll down like rivers wide.
I crench to think of a wilted rose,
I scream, though
no one hears inside.
what God hands down, we never know-
swolen red cheeks in from, the snow,
tells of white
caverns and buffalo,
and to think, dear child...
how on earth would you know?
what place in your heart,
would you go to hide...
and I wonder... where does,
the red rose of winter grow?
M i s s i n g
-Early in every morn', when
suns light
the rooms of this house,
you are here-
here, inside pictures on the wall-
here in the silence of
memories.
Your movements are felt inside us,
and we reach out to find you
against gray walls, undivided,
sensing
your smile all around us,
when thinking your name.
There are those who walk with you,
as angels in the dark...
angels will find you, by your whisper.
And always with you, they watch over you.
And sometimes in the early light
of morn',
they gather to the shore of every ocean,
looking out to the tall white waves,
that come in their calling,
and together,
chant prayers for the missing,
that may you find a sense of comfort there.
You are lost, but not
far from the single
quiet whisper of hope, nor from the eyes
of angels, and hearts of those, who still come
to
the silent waves, in wait of light's flicker...
watching from the shore.
You, are not alone.
-PLEASE READ:
This
is a prayer request for a little nine year old girl. Her name is Jessica Lunsford, and she has been missing from
her home in Florida for over a week now. I have watched the videos of her Father begging the abductor to return his
daughter to him unharmed. Once again, one more child is gone from the public's midst. Please... PLEASE just say
a prayer for this little girl, that she will find a comfort from here somewhere, that a miracle might happen, that she could
actually come home. Please view this URL below. Jessica, is such a precious little girl. They all are.
Even yours. So PLEASE stop right now, and say a prayer for her, and her family.
-David Culver
http://abcnews.go.com/US/wireStory?id=531774
Returning
-I stood alone, lost in
the grassy fields,
stepping from one to one I went.
And took in, all that I could feel,
in recalling the time I'd
spent.
I remembered the days, so long left still,
when last I'd come to the winding brook,
whose water flows there,
and always will,
in taking my second look.
So sweet my spirit flows here still,
and closely, blue skies close
in, around.
And weeping willows in twilight sing,
of coming back, to the dances
of summer dreams, but autumn starts,
and dies the vented summer breeze,
we felt so much a part...
but never will fade, the memories,
and never, the
severed hearts.
In the Absence of
Sound
-yellow weeping flower bent...
weighed down by teardrop, sent
far by wind, or God, or friend, but now to sleep, I dread the morn'.
noises hushed inside
me- hope drifts across this empty room,
small slithers of light so faint to see... oh God, please come, set me free-
and
take me from this tomb.
there is something, in the absence of sound, whispers can not ignore-
lifeless, in only appearance,
darkness can be felt on skin and mouth,
in early hours of morn'.
patches of standing water reflect scattering of tall
trees outside.
I dread the sunlight- I fear this room. let not all this, become my fate.
let them find me, where I hide.
my only strength, my family's love-
their whispers sooth my weakened heart, in the shadows, where I wait.
If I Could Draw
the Heavens
If I could draw the heavens,
or the breathless view of night--
if in those thousand white faces, one returned a glare of light,
if only faintly I
could see, I would not feel this much alone
in having lived my life so aimlessly, and mend my shattered
soul for thee,
I might.
If in a silver crescent moon, with song upon my lips, a tune
could come, and ease the pain of a world, if
some, I'd lay my
banners down and cry, and give back a child her home, I'd try.
Oh if, her harbored pain was mine, then
close my eyes, I would--
and die.
If in all the breaths that fear must take, is left a will we come to make--
an
inner rope, we often use as faith, then if you fall,
you've fallen free.
And you've shunned the shadow, and pulled
the stake!
There is difference between fate, and destiny.
And if this small child becomes my pearl, if but one seed
inside her world
I plant, would have my father's eyes glance back, and see,
would in turn, he do the same for me?
I'd throw all my arrows into
the wind, close my swollen eyes and then, be this world, my home --
my friend.
And
I'd remember my life __ quite differently.
Broken
-a
poem for missing Erica Baker, Kettering Ohio.
Erica, we all pray for your safety, and that someday...
(In her Father's
thoughts.)
~no shadow shall fill this
space, nor word convince me of dream's presence.
from this room- doorway of ending, walks in circles, a thousand
ghost in darkness, mumbling words of no meaning.
you are not here... or were you ever? confused in the loss,
do I push away exsistance... and make believe, into other lives, those who were never blessed with you?
crazy, in
the missing... mind and heart broken, all my tomorrows, colored with the question why...
sustained in life, by only the
belief, you are out there... somewhere.
Long Is a Road
-Long is a road that leads
us home.
Through darkened nights, the fearless winds
of the desert cry, calling us to one point and another.
To think we remember, we wonder why,
such sounds are as no other.
Memories of where brown leaves fall,
pillow
our dreams- sustains the heart,
that if might we find some small step back,
we may also find... where our journeys
start.
Thoughts of Rings
-Winds of the earth, return
this child's vision-
out from her far, lost horizons, and fading suns,
from destiny's last steps to freedom,
and
in with rains, falling down there on.
I watched her, when running the long green meadows-
fields and valleys
in her land of home.
And now, but in dreams I find her,
in my quietness, and solitude, of home.
If my love could
travel through thousand's of miles,
if in one touch away, to have felt her flame,
deep within caverns of my fading soul...
I
am old, yet in spirit, I loved her name.
Window
Marie...
-white doves may pass
in the deep of night
when out from sleep
your tears supressed
slowly they
pass through
moon's soft light
touching conscienceness
then out of sight
but leaving sweet tones
from
out their breast
a memorance of one
dream's last delight
to soften the hurt
that makes you weep
and for
a moment to lift you
from in your sleep
to reveal the journey
we all come to
there is an angel
deep inside
of you.
F L Y
Upon visiting the grave,
of Shannon Paulk, August
16th, 2003.
-nor the rose will I forget,
nor summer rain that fell,
nor blue skies which
came
from the west,
in my solitary moment
with you little one.
I will cherrish the distant
sound of your
voice,
which comes from a past
I have kept inside so long...
so long... can you remember?
can you hear the
autumn wind?
though you are gone,
I will never release
your light, from
within my heart,
sweet angel.
fly...
-From the distance,
looks back the heart of you-
remembering, retouching the cell-
creating each day passed.
So long, and
far away,
we felt the roses of summer growing.
All rekindles, after the storm-
a generation of spirit.
After
the vanishing, I returned here,
to search- to find the one true color of life,
that remained behind.
I seemed
to have lost myself,
in the regathering of dust-
lost, in the ways you showed me,
to feel- to trust, and never
again,
shall I know, such airs of innocence
I found in your heart.
I know now, why leaves fall gold
in Autumn,
and why the rains come without warning.
I keep this- I retain the twilight within me,
that holds
each moment passed, like a diary,
filled with all the wonderful things...
you taught me to see.
Somebody's
Child
In long evenings, next to shimmering glasses,
I watch the pavement of the street hum,
and shine in the street light, in moonlight.
I go there, to where you are - in small wooden
dark caverns
-
cold to the night, and so lost in your hope.
I wish for you, and your hope is mine.
The burden
is mine, and I will take the pain,
and feel, where you are.
When senses pull me far from here -
far away from the colored ambers of firelight-
tears glimmering on my skin, I will look to you,
and
you look back.
Your hope is not gone. You are in wanting,
wandering the long and dark shore,
to some far light ahead.
You are not bewildered inside, but reserving
the strength you hold - the
faith, you knew,
when you were merely a child.
And you still are, somewhere.
IF
-today
is the day of poets
reflection of a face once stolen by time
a trace of love never touched by hands
taken in the
heart lost in mind
wonders of children who wished me there
Curiosities in letters a locket of hair
their breaking
of family in a world unfair
wantings of my own tucked away inside
not lost but faded safely kept somewhere
sweet
memories of these long and far away
memory
(for Kayla,
12 yrs old.)
~In the night, the cool and soothing airs
sweep this room.
I dream of morning birds singing-
yellow
fields beneath gold suns bringing,
trails that lead me back to you.
Twilight, will not return you here,
but songs
that come from inside me,
softly, bring back the moon.
It's glow upon my window, lifts the veil
of missing
from within, and every now and then,
I think of you.
I look to the stars, as if though,
you left them all for me
alone,
melting at times into my heart.
One falling star makes heart beats start.
Flickering candle through a field,
brings light to the dark, and opens
my senses to something dear-
something warm and sweet in your smile,
and
opens a thousand windows
in my long, long life, that until now,
remained closed.
An Irish Blessing... for Dawn-Marie Wesley- Mission, B. C.
-Because of the torment you recieved in your school, you chose
to end your life, when in reality... you were much better, and more gifted a person, than anyone around you. And,
I would be very blessed, to have known you... if for only a day.
-until
a time, that I write a poem for you Dawn... I am dedicating this piece just for you. You were so far away, but perhaps
where you are now, you can feel the love, that is still here on this earth for you... the missing. Your story has touched
me in a very special and very deep way- a story that you and I, could share very closely. I can relate to the hurt,
that you must have felt in this world, a world of which, was never meant for one as beautiful, as you. May God always,
be with you, where you are. You will always, be loved.
-Love,
David.
Do not stand at my grave
and weep,
I am not there... I do not sleep.
I am the thousand winds that blow...
I am the diamond glints on snow...
I am the sunlight on ripened grain...
I am the gentle autumn rain.
When you waken in the morning's hush,
I
am the swift uplifting rush
Of gentle birds in circling flight...
I am the soft star that shines at night.
Do
not stand at my grave and cry
I am not there... I did not die...
(Author Unknown)
-A prayer
by Lori C. Rivera, East Meadow, New York, for all the victims of 911.
To All who lost loved ones on
that horrific day I think about you, and it still brings tears to my eyes. I still don't understand how we let those terrorist
get the best of us. I am glad we are fighting the war on terror. Sad how so many people had to die because of the terrorist.
But I believe we will win, neither terrorist or their acts can conquer the love we have as a country. I pray for peace, and
my prayer for the folks who lost someone in the 9/11 attacks...
Heavenly Father, We pray and believe in you,I pray for
the families and loved ones of 9/11 tragedy as it's anniversary is upon us. Let those people know it only takes a mustard
sad of faith to work miracles. Be their supply oh Lord as you have promised to be for anyone who shall believe in you. Bless
anyone who lost someone in those attacks, my heart still aches for their loss, calm their grief, give them strength,comfort,
and peace in Jesus name I pray, Amen.
For Diane...
"Diane Malone, from East Meadow, New York.
A dedication in her loving memory, by Lori C. Rivera...
-A vision of loveliness
as she would walk across the room, Her kindness she would extend...A hand would hand would reach out to greet yours,with a
kind smile on her face. Her heart of gold would open up to you, and she would give it all for all she could do. A wonderful
Mom, Sister, Daughter and friend, now one can comprehend what was loss to us this day...God Bless Diane, there is a new angel
in heaven...
Diane, your suffering is
over. May you now, be in peace... and forever. You will be remembered and loved, always.
______________________________________________________
______________________________________________________
-This is a short letter from a very special little girl, who lives in China.
Her name is Leaf, and I have corresponded with her, and her mother Jane, for almost 2 years now. They both have taught
me, so much about the Chinese culture there, her city, and home, and how people there think, and feel, about so many things
in china. Very dear friends to me, who I very much cherrish indeed. Just another very small lesson, in my long
life, of pictures, and words, and faces, where from I have learned........ to turn leaves myself, and always look back, and
understand why. Leaf is nine, and has become an angel in my life, or light in my heart. And once again, I learn
something so extremely important... something, that comes from innocence. -David.
...if someone did what he didn't want in his mind,and it made him
in a blue mood though.don't give up your hopes and best wishes in your heart friend.Just hold up your head,and keep it high,and
you are the best in the world.
Mum,you always says you would be the mode in my life.i believe
you can do the best mum,please keep on doing your work and never give up,please hold up your head and look for the blue and
clear sky for yourself.
You are the best in the world and you are my best mum on the world.you
are always my best mode! I love your mum!
---your daughter ,Leaf
The Broken Moth
the mother who cries, cries
inside,
and waits in her room alone.
awaits the wind that moves in stillness
cropped into characteristics she
owns.
her soul may paint the colors of her tomb
the broken moth in the window sill,
a rose, that never bloomed.
she steals the light of every day,
in her time of quietness she tucks away
somewhere in winter, for her coming
may.
and how at times, she looks that way,
when she dreams of thirty-two.
again, some word, some faded song,
will
catch her moving in the night—
weightless, and drifting in the light,
as dancing with shadows or forgotten dreams
that
waited the years, to move her heart-
lift up the magic, and live the part.
but only in these moments passed,
lives
out that, which can never last-
to absorb the dream, the weighted cast,
that locked in her gifts, and splendid ways,
that
a stranger's kiss could not decay.
a scent that flies amidst the darkness,
cries the child's voice softly...
the
inner light, that preserves it's flight-
motion of wing, to night,
till when in spring it's rest shall come,
somewhere
between what is right, and wrong-
fear of all that is death, be gone!
our fragile wings will stand their test,
and
break apart upon the shore,
at last when winter returns again ...
to find them sleeping, here once more.
IF I
KNEW
~If I knew it would be the last time
That I'd see you fall asleep,
I would tuck you in
more tightly
and pray the Lord, your soul to keep.
If I knew it would be the last time
that I see you walk out
the door,
I would give you a hug and kiss
and call you back for one more.
If I knew it would be the last time
I'd hear your voice lifted up in praise,
I would video tape each action and word,
so I could play them back day
after day.
If I knew it would be the last time,
I could spare an extra minute
to stop and say "I love you,"
instead
of assuming you would KNOW I do.
If I knew it would be the last time
I would be there to share your day,
Well
I'm sure you'll have so many more,
so I can let just this one slip away.
For surely there's always tomorrow
to
make up for an oversight,
and we always get a second chance
to make everything just right.
There will always be
another day
to say "I love you,"
And certainly there's another chance
to say our "Anything I can do?"
But
just in case I might be wrong,
and today is all I get,
I'd like to say how much I love you
and I hope we never
forget.
Tomorrow is not promised to anyone,
young or old alike,
And today may be the last chance
you get to
hold your loved one tight.
So if you're waiting for tomorrow,
why not do it today?
For if tomorrow never comes,
you'll surely regret the day,
That you didn't take that extra time
for a smile, a hug, or a kiss
and you were
too busy to grant someone,
what turned out to be their one last wish.
So hold your loved ones close today,
and
whisper in their ear,
Tell them how much you love them
and that you'll always hold them dear
Take time to say
"I'm sorry,"
"Please forgive me," "Thank you," or "It's okay."
And if tomorrow never comes,
you'll have no regrets
about today.
(Poem
from 9-11-01... Author Unknown)
Untitled
-Somewhere through night,
when moons rest still-
nightbirds flying homeward,
and the tall oaks sway,
sounds of children
flutter
inside me.
Hearing becomes clear
to a silent world around me.
Often, in dreams,
I walk with them-
lost chattering in a crowd,
and drawings float
in the sky above me-
paintings sing loud,
of memory and
love once held.
Alone, there is a child-
quiet, and distant in the
fields beyond me-
a place in the
shadows,
hiding out of light,
yet disturbed by the night,
she trembles to the touch of wind.
Small thing,
of such beauty-
tiny angel, my friend,
I've come only to sit with you,
to watch the starlight twinkle too.
I'll not let the darkness in,
but shroud you with love,
till morning comes again...
then, I'll walk with you,
home.
-angels
are born in whispers of wind
around the roses of a field
intangled emotions like colors blend
into rooms of the
heart and feel
cast not away the tear of a soul
but all that chokes the fading heart
whose trials in life are
never told
who sits and waits 'til they are old
whose voice in silent nights unfold
to eventually sing their given
part.
"for Tangela..."
Once Upon a Stolen Kiss
-a
tormenting of innocence
-morning of unholy sacrifice
boy stands at a wooden fence
aged
in the salt of fallen tears
failure recalls forgotten years
tormented in his innocence
faces closely screaming
voices
and unwanting sounds alike
find him chasing his every dream
but always in circles and out of light
and to the
ends of time he knows
that dreams must surely die of old it seems
society the gathering of screaming lambs
how
appearances fool each giving hand
and take all what they choose not to leave
will someone finally understand
that
gold is held in stronger hands
yet breaks apart eventually?
conscience jolted by those whose pride
demands to
feel what they can not see
where emotions are spirited from invisibility
is there no man?
but all of what one
does not feel
still comes faint light of innocence
when once they too could not hurt nor steal
nor apply upon
the weak his meal
to now administer poison into his mind
through brief moments of blinded sence
one unforgiven
sin
do we think to create eternity then?
from every playground in shadows wait
in unchosen manner undecided fate
small boy who one day will learn to hate
when once upon a stolen kiss
a leaf may turn but much too late
who
will society blame for this?
-Today's "normal" children between 9 and 17 are more anxious than those treated
for psychiatric disorders 40 years ago. And while the suicide rate for the general population has been stable since the 1950s,
the rate for 10 - 14 year olds more than tripled between 1980 and 1992.
~The American Psychological Association's Journal
of Personality and Social Psychology
There is a reason, behind every emotion, of a child.
These are links,
concerning bullying and harrassment:
www.bullying.org
http://cbc.ca/national/news/bully/index.htmlwww.stopbullyingme.ab.ca
http://www.glarrc.org/Resources/Docs/BullyingWeb.htm
Consider
Kaitie (Still missing) (Picture not available)
-The letter I recieved from the
child's parents, thanking me for this poem I had written for Kaitie, I recieved in 1999. Kaitie, has not yet, been found.
Please keep this little girl in your thoughts and prayers. The mother and father, are still hurting so much... the pain,
never ends. All those, you love in your life, look at them... and be very thankful.
-David Culver
~Soft white walls around
you,
images of roses come through time,
and replace the welting eye brow
that watches -- moving slowly
through
demented wrinkles of
confusion--
locked inside of memory, those
who have not forgotten.
But what ways of the
wind have
you turned?
What direction can you absorb
the sunlight in your face--
gold, and hanging low in the
sky?
I walk out in the early mornings,
and within each silent moment,
wander with each soft breeze,
in long
breaths, in long sighs.
So many whispers of sadness
blow by--
eyes of souls in passing,
I no longer see --
searching
the darker forest inside of me,
but not without the sound of
you calling.
Life, can
so be felt in greater
distances than this--
the face of a child that smiles
inside us--
the lost, or stolen
kiss.
The innocence will always be you--
thoughts of love take you, back
into rooms of your heart,
where somebody
watches--
someone remembers,
the dark red rose, that
springs each winter.
-Heaven Lashne Ross
ENDANGERED
MISSING
-Heaven, has been missing since august 19th, 2003, from Northport, Alabama- a small town outside
of Tuscaloosa, Alabama. She is 11 yrs of age. Heaven, never made it to the bus stop that morning. Whoever
views this, please join in prayer, for her safe return home again. Copy url below, to view her poster.
-Come home Heaven...
http://www.missingkids.com/missingkids/servlet/PubCaseSearchServlet?act=viewPoster&caseNum=970206&orgPrefix=NCMC&searchLang=en_US
Lost Touch
-I
came to a dark room,
to be shown something empty-
the crowning of evil,
and long rains and winds
outside my
window.
A girl died,
and helplessness was common-
as common as it's feeling
wearing through the skin
to one's mind- visions screaming.
But I never closed an eye.
Yet a well of pain opened
in their
sounds through
the half opened door.
And in night, a baby died.
Two code blues, a life leaves,
a life
is taken... and why?
A girl dies unknowingly,
in another place.
I watched the rain falling
from my window
on my face, and slept.
Then, all the time was left.
So much of this, and for this...
I wept.
Carlie...
you are free.
Run Away
http://www.teenlineonline.org/yyp/yyprunaway.htm#top
-I will always wonder, what
way
you walked-
leaving away so suddenly.
And words were shared, though in
deeper thought,
some
of them come back to me.
So new to life you once became-
doors which open before you still,
alter the sense
of home you gained,
to find a new, and if so, you will.
Yet home, will always be another place,
and so young
in your life, you run.
From this place, away, another face,
may teach you someday my son,
that home is where
the heart remembers,
and home is the heart alone that lingers,
and becomes, conscience within us,
that someday
may bring us...
back, when our journey's done.
Kristina's Rose
-raindrop on rose, bent
in sorrowful mourn,
raising leafletts of grass around it-
hidden from the view of birds, from God,
yet heard,
in the gentle steps that found it.
it swaying there, where comes no air-
smothered in a field, that could not
understand,
that indifference is not a tool to sever ties, which
bind it's soul, but flies the bitter moth away,
to
still another.
it bows not alone, in this world of stone,
nor will less stronger than starlight, its light may
be!
yet, with tear, and touch, to have felt this much,
this rose... is like a garden to me.
Portrait (1992)
-of
a homeless
Girl.
watch the freckled leaves
twist-
brownish, and matted on a winter eve.
Is there something hidden, you relate to this,
that brings you from
behind the steeple walls,
to crouch in shadows where they fall and drift?
As if, seeking some answere, you thought
God missed?
And was it this, that through colored lens I caught,
something sweet in your portrait, of loneliness?
last vision
white soft far sun you trimble
and
the watcher responds
window bright but light is closed
child you dread the rain
of early morn
and where is
home anymore
hum loud be of open conscience
unto death and life within
open your hands to the wind
seek the
words find the screams
where you hide is known
calm the winds of breath and night
soft light and friend forever
gone
family was never real for one
whose candles melt
hope fades as dying lights
of amber go 'way
no help
is there to clasp the sweaty palm.
Into
Silence
-A child's
life, is more important than we can understand. They are of God, only he holds to them, until that day, he releases
them to this world. How, they are loved, and taught, is up to us. God is watching our descissions... each one,
we come to make.
-David Culver
I hear you, in dark waters,
without
sound.
Voice crying, lost between
heaven and womb,
locked in my senses without
birth --
of no earth, wandering
spirit,
unfound.
You were small fingertips,
of wanting, inside me
reaching toward sunlight, falling
before
the rest --
disturbed from your sleep,
unknowingly rotated into silence,
surrendering your deliverance
of life
... to death.
Charity's
Rose (for Terry) -1995
-The
things we learn from our own mistakes
allow us
to become the people we are. Transformations
we experience
in life, sometime take a life time to understand.
But the
experience never dies. God, DOES work in our lives.
In the 1990's,
I came to realize... he controlled more, than we think.
As we, can
not let go of our past, he also, never lets go, of us.
In the lowest
point of a person's life, what that person may open himself
up to learning,
will be that person's strong hold for the rest of his life,
and will
be remembered always. (God's stepping stones, I suppose...)
The teaching,
continues... the learning, never ends.
And, not
till we look behind ourselves, do we see the real truth.
Such a long
road... but never, is one totally alone, who walks it. -dc.
-A rose, discovered by love had died. Though perhaps it was some time ago, it's color has browned,
it's petals dried. What weeping heart, whose forgotten bride's lost soul amidst these flowers hide? One will never
know. And how inside life's circle brings us here again, to face the thing. And why when love matures, the cold may
freeze us in one moment's dream to retrieve again those things we've known, and to more admire, when at last alone, the
rose in it's death, is a precious thing. A Prayer For a Little One, Wherever You Are...
-Though
you are lost- away from the womb of your life,
may you always in soft conscience, remain in the palms
of God's hands.
May he allow you strength enough, to cling in your heart,
to the ties, which this life has bound you to-
love
of those here, who will always, until death...
until life's passage, is no more, reach out for you...
wherever you
are.
My prayer for this moment, for any lost child...
http://www.childquest.org/cases/index.html
JESSICA MARIE LUNSFORD
-the longest sounds of night,
will always come here now-
the water dripping, a murmur or cry,
a
tinkling sound of crystal,
or tear drop, on my cold face,
from my little girl's eye.
and the wind, will
always sound alone,
her chimes won't ring the same again.
and if loneliness becomes this place,
I'll carress
her doll with my hands.
and if the silence steals my breath,
and stars begin to fall around me,
I'll walk
in her room where she would rest,
and let her soft blue pillow,
find me.
A Father's Day
-today is the day if emotions locked-
if forgiveness was a common practice
and love really made life work for
us
you would have reminded me
of what you felt inside that day I found you.
today is the day of a weeping
poet's voice
that rings through an empty room alone
and unheard- a broken heart that writes
the passage of a thousand
wars
and a promise that was never filled
in this life until now. and now...
there is no ear to hear, and
no voice to speak-
smiles and laughter return no picture-
small boy who skipped stones across eternity
never reaching
the shore stands in awe
searching the tall dark waves rolling-
turning to small white ripples
barely touching
his heart.
a face turns into the darkness-
running forever inside of me...
dear child of my soul.
Rose Wood
-The old places passed, I never saw-
candlelit rose wood tables, and letters gone.
I use
to dream in open lines- write my moons
in silver shine, but long years have been unkind...
so what in me would turn
your eyes?
These walls for me are stone and gray,
and words I've seen scribbled, fade.
What one man
felt in his time alone,
sheds now his voice from his past on stone.
And in the walls, I'm so alone,
to feel
that one whose heart was there...
I know, I could have claimed my own.
Yet, there is no home to where I go,
nor years in passing, to say if so.
For now, that so use to this I am,
at times, I shouldn't even give a
damn...
but deep inside I do, to when I sense
a smile from you, and all that dreams,
I know could do, one's ties
may scare me
into my room... lock the door...
to dream of love, I never knew.
A Fathers' Little
Sparrow
-Plant all your memories
in the sand,
and call it twilight.
Throw our dreams, in the waves of wind-
touching lost souls of children,
that now and then... their hearts
flicker, from darkness.
My friend, you should keep your smile
in
our life's last day.
And keep the comforts of your heart alive
for times less reasonable-
times to last remember
why,
things happen, in their special ways.
For in ways they do, sometimes we cry.
We attempt to find love,
before we die.
Sweet roses smell the air
of graves,
with lasting words I repeat, caves
in my spirit's heart, so close beside you now,
yet so far apart.
You fell into me little
sparrow to rest.
I lent you my heart, to weave your nest,
and now, your time, has come to fly.
Our demensions cross-
fate falls to test.
Though beyond your green meadows at best...
blue sky!
Star of Our Rainbow
Grasp
the dreams which find you-
hold fast their blood, in everyone.
And mark each step lost behind you,
by angle of moon,
and setting sun.
Oh hear my breath, if ye shall turn
and find the eastern star of flame,
that spills in colors, till
thy memories burn...
shisper softly to the night, its given name;
bright star of our rainbow.
(1990-91)
Scarf
Out of sight, out of mind
-- lonely walks through
entangled dreams
where you dreamt a night, of being left behind, in
my dream you would never
sing.
Stars skip across the tops of trees, they fall as
pinecones below our knees.
And winds of autumn blow away
the leaves to have
gathered yearly around our door,
but these and such thoughts I must dream no more.
For faces
of tears recollect themselves upon walls,
through small windows and dirty shelves.
Poems refound, having tales that
tell of love that
dies through falling age,
where curtains descend on a silent stage.
In a darkened hall, one room,
one cage where birds
on a wire through my window sing
in hope for a peaceful and early spring.
But hope is silent
within these things, the stuff that
dreams are built upon.
And love is there, we feel, then move along and
songs
we heard in our hearts are gone.
Stains upon my pillow rest, for though I've tried, I
failed at best.
Having touched
your scarf, my dreams went on.
(1992)
Somewhere Beyond
the Rain
-Give me winds to remember
thee,
and the smell of honey suckle, or golden hair.
Bright suns of morning, to stand me straight,
without dread
of doom, without care.
Which path am I to choose between-
what is lost, or all left to be gained?
Out the window
east, is home at least...
somewhere beyond the rain.
(1991)
Katrina
(a
face in time)
-no tears shall fall here-
yellow bright grave,
hidden from view of sky, cropped in the greenery
of wood, near spring that sighs in relief
that
no visitors come.
no tears shall fall here-
lost soul who could not
stand alone in the world through life-
tormented in some anguish,
left unattended from
birth...
you are now the earth.
do you hear me speak to
you little one?
can you, through autumn rains,
feel a presence come, who so often returns
with pen and pad, to
write you as you were,
however young?
you came and went in this
life alone...
and mine.
sweet child of my heart,
I leave my sorrows beside you each time,
I come, and oh,
my tears will fall here,
one by one, when lost in my dreams...
you once, were mine.
forgive me, my sweet Katrina.
I lost you, in the war of life...
and in time.
Lady In the Glass
-In the midst of all that
is dark,
one stands alone.
Remembering, shameful, apart.
Touched by fate, or by melting heart...
either
of which, turns stone.
I have watched you often,
upon cathedral walls,
holding hands of angels
that
flew above you.
Where unhidden, they bore wings,
you did not.
You wear my dreams, and I have always,
forever, loved you.
 -The poem below, by Charlotte Mair, of Kamloops, British Columbia, depicts, provokes the common question,
as to why, and what for in the poem below. These are God's, not ours to munipulate the thought processes of.
Not ever, to absorb our own selfish selves, into their minds, to hurt as, and when, we ourselves hurt. Must they hurt,
for the reason... we hurt, therefor, we will not hurt alone?? These are God's. These are things, that God holds
true, in the molds of his creations. Where we start, where we stop... and what we do with it all, in the end, is where
the children will have learned, to carry on, to remember... to place their signature on later.
Will "The Child" of war find shelter?
I swear. I hear their cries at night __ feel them!
War and more war, death _ and more death
Heartache upon heartache and loss upon loss
Torment inside the teardrop eye of the middle east
Mother’s gone, father fights the war
Terror labours its way, in a blackened crawl
A mist of hate, that seeps into the blood drenched land
To permeate the soil for the future soldier
__ open wound _ a sore, a cancer
Children
are taught not to be greedy
__ they are told it
is wrong to inflict pain on another
__ not to be
selfish, to show mercy and understanding
__ we teach
them the ten great commandments __ don’t we?
Then__
to be soldiers one is taught to forget all teachings
Does
it puzzle you to no end?
And how we can find the answer in physical contact
__ where is the line of right and wrong?
Forgive my naiveté __ pardon the heart of a mother
__ who thought she had raised her children well
__ and gave them loving kindness to pass onto a new generation
But, will the Child of War ever
find shelter?
Freedom
-Written by David T. Culver, and edited
by Charlotte G. Mair (Publisher/Poet)
I feel an urge to see or venture beyond my means
to understand ___ or to pretend again
I've
stepped out
risen above the ordinary
lost hold
on my bed frame
and have stepped out the window
I am breathing space,
for
those who claim___ no responsibility for me
I am youth in
sheltered arms and sword
I am lost to eyes outside
these boarders
and left unfettered
to walk on
dirty sides of trails and roads
that lead nowhere, everywhere, somewhere
I am
the red dress torn
the dim stain on a bench that no one saw
I
AM all that is left
of these frontiers missed -- the forgotten years
the
place I was born
a reflection in my mother's mirror
cascaded
in multi-colors
through my family's memories
I am my yesterdays
crawling
toward horizons blindly
I am you in your aftermath
in your wars
I
am you.
A PICTURE FROM WAR
~the pains are many
and
they are harsh
rumbling the distance
shattering the fields
where I ran
as a child
with you
... is now gone
the
tears are long
and they are streaming
rivers of memory
rise up to meet me
green leaves swirling
in the orange
dust
stealing each sound of silence
... we dare to forget
wet cloth
drapes our shoulders
hides us from sun
and
flame
protects us from
the hot fire
that comes again
in long running
that for a moment
keeps pace...
with
the memory
... of your smile.
-there are sounds the autumn's
breaking
above me, pictures, blue, metallic and crisp,
all show as summer settles to rest
in the far western hills
oh that my life in age reflects
small fires or songs of the heart
christmas settings of other days
photos
on a table years apart
why have not the stars fallen
and why in this void, a darkness peers
saddened of odor,
casted 'way- forgotten
slowly hints dreams, of you
my dear
The
Long White Room
Listen, as light through broken window, peers back the heart of you,
slowly,
to soften each thought of pain - to adjust your face to sun, or rain.
For 'twas long, till light would shine back
through, and you drempt of
death again.
You stare, as if through invisible glass - lost in delusions of
the past.
The wanting still burns with glimmering eyes - like tears, you craddled,
but never knew.
And I've known you, somehow inside me- whose eyes before this time
had seen,
all the broken
familiar things that fell apart, and fell into -
a part of the moon I blamed with you, for things we could not understand,
until now. But now, is when our shadows sleep - with us, inside us,
and warmth may keep the ghost away, but
only for a while they stay,
far from in the silent room, we seldom thought at all, to pray.
The
Angel and the Viper
"Prison, will not hold our hearts, nor confine the wings of our spirits."
-Prisoner, in your darkened
walls, hangmen of your day brought forth your rage,
though in the lapse of time, somewhat appeared tormented in their own
years...
but you, you were caged.
Noosed carefully, and so fatefully cursed- baited with salt of your life,
and hurt,
dweller of these halls, you pace in fear! And in your dark room at times
you could hear the vipers
play.
Yet to look deep inside
one's turning face, could your expectations of others trace,
an awareness of God's lost souls? And so far from home,
so far from grace,
regathering as they go, dreams that were stolen, or thrown to waste.
For in our
eye a rhythum flows. Something hides deep in the quiet hums,
from a place where flames never rose... but angels
come.
Yet, there are those, who upon the weak, still prey, in the world from which you've run.
Oh
keeper of these hearts, these empty nest, 'tis here, they wander from love unblest.
Return them, their strength, and a
will to cope, that their threads of faith
shall become your rope,
into their unduely, and timeless rest.
Streams
overflowing in the prisoner's mind, never bound by walls
or guardmen's chains,
felt inside whispers of poetic dreams,
shine,
deep within the dweller's peace. God... fill their hearts with thine.
But widely, often, and
without control, all that so dearly, we hold to heart,
may slip into pieces, anger takes us whole!
When ones torn will,
has taken its toll, the devils curse will start.
'Tis awfully quiet, to crawl inside- to repaint your life, from
where you hide,
But n'er less than the weak, do the strong ones cry.
For facing our own lives in fear, we fall.
And of nothing, are we assured at all!
Though some, will dream on, and some ask why, in the corners of our darkness, inside
we die.
And when another feather descends from flight, it will come to rest in my dreams tonight,
And though
pain is great, it runs so far- far beyond what and who we are,
to balance the tension, that steals our light. Yet
somehwere still, one is lost from night,
retacing the steps they knew... a world, too far from sight.
And
in one long sober, and pensive motion, while but once the shade of dusk has fled,
you stand weary-eyed, and face the ocean-
your long frail body beside the bed.
And through your small and narrow window space, without statement upon your
face,
you stare beyond the walls and earth, unsheltered in some dishonored shame.
You stand one of many, without a name.
Yet, something warm, as though a flame
rekindles the measures of your life, and gives this exsistence worth.
It
took this long, this far to come, to see the pale colors that time can give.
That all the years of youth relived, can not
replace this point in time.
And what posture would poets have thought you in?
That here, unoticed, again
departs that part of a person, we mark as sin,
from the rest of your broken and battered heart.
We make marks
in the sand, and a language grows-
with hums of our voices, a music flows- a thirst in our hearts, and a yearning glows.
Like
flames of eternal lanterns burning far past the death of suns still turning,
around and round, we fall alone. But alone,
we begine the journey.
Time now, administers an oath to thee. Though your heart shall remain your deepest
ocean,
with but this, dwell, till you come to be, the key to your own emotions.
If where one breath
may draw salvation, I would embrace you in your long, and final nod.
From one step, to another, you have found relation...
for the first time in your life...
you questioned God.
FAR AND ALONE
—winds trail the paths
you left upon
in years of yore and setting suns
as merely a child, you took my heart
sprinkled simplicities of your
innocent way
and though faces could fly so far apart
your presence in life to have lived without,
I knew somehow
from the very start
death would become half of me—inside of me
around me and would bind my feet and arms-
bind
me to the earth; earth of stone,
in age of old to die alone
I see you clearly through
nights of autumn
the crystal dark skies so abundantly
tell of time's images flying from me,
away, like dreams vanishing
in our wake
I will always feel the missing inside me
and hold to a time my heart transformed
from dark pillowed dust
from where
I found, my escapes—my ways away from life
to run—
if only a moment to return
the years—
to bring back the crackled grins of cheer,
or if, in sprinkled rain, may come
soft reflections time
bestows on one
who stands alone, if then, to grasp the withered stone—
to clutch the days forever gone. Oh if
only a far tone,
to rekindle the fire from within your life—the song,
or glimmering shimmers of an autumn night,
like
this one, to have placed you in my light,
and never to leave you this far, alone.
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