Message © Steven Flanagan  
If only you knew what you are to me.
If only you saw my ecstacy.
If only you knew the joy you bring.
If only you hear the song I sing.
You would know for certain you are the one.
Beyond shadow of doubt, I have become
hooked on your love, beyond all help.
Hooked on your touch that I have felt.
Addict I am for your sweet passion.
Junkie I am for your compassion.
You are the drug I so desire.
You are the love I so require.
Not only your mind, your heart, your soul.
But every fiber, physical and whole.
I need your all, your love and heart.
I need you, each and every part.
Your touch to me is just as much.
An expression of passion, and love as such.
As I, in my narrow understanding
Can comprehend though so demanding.
Rejection I fear more than all my strife.
I need your need, I need your life.
What I crave most is your contact.
By this I know, our bond sealed in contract.
One to another, both you and me.
By this your love has set me free.

Little Flower © Steven Flanagan  
A poem sometimes is writ of love,
or maybe of the Lord above.
Some perhaps of those below,
or maybe of ones great woe.

But this I wish to write of you.
Even though your eyes aren't blue.
In your eyes of maple brown,
a wondrous story is to be found.

A person small with large compassion.
I see your beauty in my fashion.
Though short by flesh, your spirit tall.
Which makes all others to me seem small.

A wonderful lady, oh so sweet.
Leaves me grasping for words to speak.
What can I say?  What can I do?
How do I gain the love of you?

Is it by flowers or pretty words?
Or revelous times that pass as blurs?
Perhaps it's moments spent quiet together.
Speaking of subjects that really don't matter.

How do I find who you really are?
Do I wish upon the evening star?
I see in you beauty as the great flower.
The memory of your scent lingering hour by hour.

The sound of your laughter echos to and fro.
Through chasms of my mind as the wind would blow.
Perhaps one day I may hold your hand.
And by your side eternally stand.

Of your beauty there is no compare.
Words which describe are even rare.
Your mere presence sets my heart aflutter.
 And causes my mind to melt as butter.
Yes, you are beautiful,
Little Flower.

Enraptured © Steven Flanagan  
As the bee devours the nectar,
I will sup of your sweet flower.
As the bird dines of the tree's fruit,
so shall I ever inhale your kiss.

As the fish drinks of the water,
so shall I partake of your calming bliss.
Every moment shall I cherish.
Forever indentured upon my mind.

Playing the memory over and over
in the depths of my heart.
Satisfaction shall I find
in you spirits wonderful spark.

As the bee nourishes the queens young,
I am nourished by your passion.
As the wind caresses mother earth,
I am caressed by your love.

Fully consumed by your emotion.
Completely enraptured by you.
Wholly satiated by your romance,
I am born again anew.

If Only © Casey Lurtz  
I say, "If"
Only so I can refuse.

I convince myself
Only to acknowledge that I pretend.

I prove that I am,
Only to reveal that I am not.

I show the "right" path
Only to remark that it was wrong.

I tell myself that I know the way
Only so that I might curl up and cry to sleep.

I am a walking inconsistency,
Only showing something to later disown it.

I must stop this behavior
Only if to save my friends the suffering.

I can become a new person,
Only so that I can believe in myself

A Second's Sight © Casey Lurtz  
Oh dear Mr. Santa Claus
With a beard of snowy white,
To you we sing our praises
On this cold and stormy night.

The elves build toys all year long
Joyfully dancing and singing a song.
When Christmas begins to draw very near,
Everyone is filled with joy and cheer.

The reindeer get ready as the elves finish up,
The sleigh is all loaded with toys and a pup.
Santa gets in and the reindeer are hooked
Santa Claus knows his night is booked.

The reindeer soar quietly through the air,
Look at Rudolph's wind blown hair!
A glimpse of Santa is very rare,
For Santa has no time to spare.

Santa Claus is a great jolly old fellow
With a cherry nose and a noisy bellow.
He's a legend in all children's minds
And will remain there in coming times.

Perfect Love © Lisa Slomin  
 Walking on the beach hand in hand
Being seranated by the sounds of the ocean,
waves crashing against the shore.
Our bare feet leaving footprints in the sand
The stars twinkling in the blackened sky,
the moon lighting our way.
Sweet nothings whispered in each others ears...
but words are not necessary.
Just a look...
your eyes saying everything I need to hear.
And your touch....
showing me your deepest emotions.
Walking on the beach hand in hand....
A perfect night....
with a perfect love.

Wanderer of the Night © Alicia Foster aka (Strange Tidings)  

 When the darkness falls over the world,
and the children are put to bed,
the wandering minstrels play their gitterns,
under the light of the moon.
The water sprites and flittering fairies,
play their games of fun,
the dwarves mine the underground rocks,
and the Twins come together as One.
The night is filled with scents of earth,
the perfume that fills the air,
touching everywhere.
Deer wander the darkness of the night,
rabbits burrow in their holes,
reindeer cross the dark abyss,
and foxes hunt the grass knolls.

I am the wanderer of the earth,
that comes out late at night,
when the moon hangs over the world,
like an attentive parent with its child.
I flitter low over the land,
then soar up into the sky,
twisting, tumbling, rambling, rumbling,
like a storm cloud of the night.
I am shadowy and spectral,
hard to see and know,
I pass under the light of the moon,
invisible, unknowable, as nothing.
I am beautiful and graceful,
a wanderer of the night,
touching the faces of sleeping children,
soothing away their nighttime frights.

I am a spirit,
a ghostly being,
that no mortal eyes can see,
not clearly.
I dance on the tips of the tallest mountains,
dive into the oceans and seas,
I drink the nectar from the stars,
incandescent gold, flowing through my veins as blood.
My hair is like spun silk, in hues of white and blue,
silvery in certain lights,
like shadows of the moon,
spun out like silken strands of moonbeams.
My skin is ivory, polished in perfection,
the gold nectar of the stars,
sliding through my veins,
glowing out as golden-silvery rays.

i dance the dance of the night,
twirling high and low,
twisting and tumbling,
over the stars, going where I shall go.
I tend the sleeping children of the world,
tuck them in their beds,
kiss their sweaty, child's brows,
blessing them with good dreams.
I pet the rabbits in the night,
rub their fuzzy soft fur,
I hunt with the panthers and tigers,
in the jungles and plains of the world.
I call to the wolves with the sound of my song,
listening to the beautiful music they make with their voice in reply,
I soar higher than an eagle, swim deeper than any fish,
for I am the wanderer of the night, and there is no place I do not go.

Glory Road © Alicia Fosteraka  (Strange Tidings)  
 Glory, Glory, Glory,
the search for glory is their game.
Men and women on the path for glory,
searching for their own name.

Glory, Glory, Glory,
men have killed for less.
Those that walk the road for glory,
will never stop or rest.

Glory, Glory, Glory,
a dark fisher in the sea.
Though it looks so one-sided,
there is more to it than seen.

To walk the path for glory,
you first must cut your ties,
no longer who you were,
the people that you knew are no-one.

Death and disgrace follows the glory road,
for though the rewards are uncalculatable,
the path of glory is not so easy,
the many dangers great.

Who was Hercules?
just a man that walked the glory road.
Who was Ulysses?
the man who's legend is well known.

The heroes of the ages,
their pain and loss and misery,
just fodder for their tales of greatness,
just another mark of their "glory."

Glory, Glory, Glory,
children and families not included.
What you had before, no longer,
what you could have had, no way.

Glory, Glory, Glory,
beware the path you walk.
For though you can win greatness,
the glory road is truly dangerous.

Glory, Glory, Glory,
is it really such a little thing.
Glory, Glory, Glory,
what does glory bring?

Glory, Glory, Glory,
who remembers the glorious heroes?
Sure, they reside in memory,
but what about who they were and wanted to be?

Glory, Glory, Glory,
come and walk the glory road,
at the end is sadness and strife,
at the end is misery.

So, Glory, Glory, Glory,
walk the road to glory,
attain your goal and see,
what it's like to be remembered in stories,
but not in true memory.

Lioness © Rachel Guest  
 Around and around and around,
She walks around and around.
This bare, grey life
Is all she has ever had,
Is all she knows,
So she should be happy.

In this prison there is no grass,
So the grass that is outside
Can't be compared.
In this prison there's no sun,
So the sun out
There can't even be wished for.

But somehow this just isn't right.
Somehow she know that the pain
Shouldn't be there.
Somehow she seems to know that
She wants to run:
It's not meant to be grey here.

She knows that others aren't in pain,
And she knows that they can smile,
That they can run.
She knows others live their live,
Live different lives.
She knows that they are happy.

She knows she's meant to be out there:
This claustrophobia's real,
But somehow she's
Convinced: this is how it should be.
They convince her
That this is where she's happy.

Distortion © Rachel Guest   Paint yourself a picture of me.
Paint me joyful,
Paint me peaceful.
Paint me a mask
Of yourself.

Paint the laughter on my lips.
Paint a sparkle in my eye.
Paint a smile on my face.
Paint me a soul
Like yours.

White wash me pain
And paint over my heart.
Paint the rain around my tears.
Paint my hate the colour of love.
Paint me a coat to cover my coldness.
Paint what you see
Through your rose tinted glasses.
Paint your reality.
Paint your truth.
Paint your only ambition.

I am what you see,
I am what you hear.
I am your creation.
I am living your fantasy
In purest hellish ecstasy.
 

How do I know © Z. Abdullah Emai  
If you asked me when
I couldn’t tell…
If you asked me why
I couldn’t explain…
If you asked me how
I couldn’t describe…
If you asked me where
I couldn’t remember…

But..
         If you asked me “Could you?”
         I’ll openly say “I could”
         If you asked me “Do you?”
         I’ll definitely say “I do”
         If you asked me “Will you?”
         I’ll confidently say “I will”

That’s how I know - I love you…

Ghosts © Robert James Berry  
  There are tall masts in the strait

 Dinghies and luggers struggle the surf
 

 On shore they muster

 With boxes tackle flags

 Legs planted wide
 

 In our heat

 They are hackly cold
 

 Our ancestors have not such

 hard faces

 such dissident tongues
 

 These are the spirits of snakes
 
 They shed their skin
 

 We give them shelter

 Their gift is sickness
 

 In the sacred places

 This day I smell them
 

 They have hacked here
 

 With white clay I am painting my body

 White is the colour of mourning
 

 Tomorrow more masts will

 belly in the straits
 

 We did not invite them
 

 They keep coming

Pendant © Robert James Berry  
  I have an heirloom

 wrapped in tissue

 A pendant star

 Your grandmother's
 

 With your narrow fingers

 Unwrap it
 

 It spent

 Three decades

 at her throat

 That Time pinched corrugated

 wrote over until

 it was old vellum
 

 Look at the fine gold symbols

 riddles from another country

 strange as creatures trawled

 from the sea's floor
 

 This is my speech

 that has slept on my tongue

 will never talk

 Yet is the rhythm running

 both our veins
 

 Go hang the pendant from your throat

 The star shall lie between your breasts

 Your inseparable lover
 

 Till Time tears it from you

 As a gift for your blood

The Maker © Robert James Berry  
  First

 I make a

 stark monochrome sketch
 

 Then throw the clay

 Turning my fingers

 To mould four senses

 Pedalling the treadle
 

 Last I hang the lips

 Hook the nose
 

 I am spattered with clay

 Flush with creation

 
 Overnight

 The head is put to rest

 under damp cloth
 

 I sleep with crossed fingers
 

 Today
 
 Cut from its pedestal

 The muscles have stiffened

 The mouth pouts

 
      Suddenly I have

 Gouged the eyes

 Brought my hands together

 and twisted the living thing

 into a slimy lump
 

 Again the wheel is turning

 With the whole of my hands

 Drawing the clay tall

 My feet under the spell
 

 I am remaking my head

 Not with faith

 But because I must

A Statement © Ron O'Daniels  
 I'll send you a picture of my
angry face
and a letter that says
status reduction
I'll drip no love lines
and speak only today drivel
no indicators of missing you

A Challenge © Ron O'Daniels  
Look like poet guy poet
cool with money Mr. Strange
top this:
sleep depravation experiment
accompanied by fast
quit my cigarettes
no coffee
skinny arms
blood secretions
wake up in a box
looking for my
food stamps

Over wine © Ron O'Daniels  
 delicate slipping
sipping you
while you sip your wine
and I'm vine entangled
through your fingers
fluttering lashes
drag of your cigarette

delicate whisper riding
on your smile
very gently from your lips
twist another turn
I'm pulled closer
and were hush
upon our tongues
words disappear

In a Small Town © Bess Kemp  
He remembered those hands
strong, callused
and always
just shy of clean
Gramps' hands
chopping wood enough
to last the winter,
working the garden on the hill,
those same hands he watched
as a boy
wrapped around a fishing pole
when time allowed

Gramps coming in
from a hard day
at the factory
not saying much
but those hands spoke
of the hard work that was
just accepted
as his lot
those never quite clean hands
he remembered them now
and they were
so very missed.

Age © Bess Kemp  
He sat there
blameless and wistful
sifting through
the old days
one at a time
feeling
at once a longing for them
and a need
to keep them in storage
with his baseball cards
and
comic books.

For R. Manuel © Phil Phillips  
 And then all was still:
a drifting thought
spread like shadows across
the worn-varnish floor
no more sad little dreams
of that river or those hills
no more struggles to
whip the dawn demons
just a stone
and
a box full of words

January Dream © Bess Kemp  
leaves
had long since
fallen away
from tree limbs
the ground was iced over
in a sheen of glass
all was
quiet and still
except for the occassional
call of a bird
searching the sky
for a remaining soulmate

and dreams passed
away
for a while
until Spring would arrive
and breathe life
into the deep quiet
once again

Action Take 1 ... Always Been There © Patricia Fritsche  
 Now for this
regalia scene
unwrap for just
a mere significant
drenched, midnight sapphire
moment,

that marcasite cape
around your neck.

And
try not to remove
those pyrite barrettes
bordering your face
so beautifully intense
a time line
to its awe.

Oh,
yes, if you do
move to itch
try not to
send off too
many
spitfire, crystal, furbished comets.

And,
yes, don't go overboard
on fool's gold powder
maybe just
a touch
just for eye, smacking allure.

Smile often
with those platinum
messages
you do so well
a dip here, and there.

Skimming off the top
ballooning within all the glory
till it pops brightly.

And, yes don't tone
down that aurora borealis,
inner gleam.

From when
you
first undress heart
with that heat
its that impression
I
want to keep
a whittled whim forever.

Stamped, etched
in fine, pristine silver
for this particular parable,

and
never ending story
of  the majesty.

Bow down please
to the glory
of our creator,

I think
maybe,
this will be the
last take.

It's in there
we have a good start
of its playful reality
this gift infused into us.

Try To Realize © Jingyu Zhao  
 Every time you are alone,
And have nothing else to do,
Please look inside your heart,
And try to see the inner you.

There you'll find someone
You locked up in fear,
Trying to get free,
Though your mournful years.

And if you try hard enough,
You might really see,
The really desperate you,
As lonely as can be.

And if you've ever thought
About the things you've said and done,
You'll suddenly realize,
That you aren't the only one.

And if you ever are in peace,
With the burning stars at night,
Just do as I had said,
And try to see the light.

And if you really care,
You'll try to understand
And help your inner self,
By lending a friendly hand

Have You Ever Wondered? © Jingyu Zhao  
 Have you ever wondered,
Why you act this way?
Have you ever thought about
The words I always say?

And have you ever seen,
The tears that fall at night,
When I silently beg you to realize,
That my days were never bright?

Yet, can you feel my pain,
Deep wounds I dare not show,
For fear of angering you,
And words as cold as snow.

And have you ever looked inside,
And dug into your soul,
And gazed at that ashened cloud,
Where I once called my gold?

And in the night,
When howling is the wind,
Please listen closely and,
Try to hear my pain.

You'll notice me crying,
Desperate for attention,
But afraid to show my feelings,
Because of your determination.

You'll bound to ask yourself,
Why I cry with the wind,
You'll ask yourself questions
You'll never want to find.

Can you see the truth?
Its the feelings you've not seen
I think you did it purposely
Because of the abuse there's been.

You may have cared for me,
But its something you've not expressed
And if you ever did have some love for me,
It surely has not progressed.

I can write on and on,
And tell you of my heart,
And you can sit and never care,
And forever stay apart.

And in the end, I must say
You still won't ask me why,
I wait till there is a storm at night,
And then sit alone and cry.

Winter Heat © Alan Jansen  
 The days grow long
Shadows reaching
Trees stand naked
In winds breaching.

The coldness bites
As lights go dim
A night in silence
Rations slim.

Bundled in pain
Keeping out the frost
I sit alone
But love's not lost.

Just kept in check
And held fast, tight
Waiting for the day
That ends all night.

When love comes
Seeing embers glow
Our fire's fed
Burning warm and slow.

Like the hearth
Kept warm by love
We've found our fuel
From the skies above.

So even though
Alone in cold
Capturing life
Means being bold.

Listening to hearts
Souls that speak
We'll get through this
Never growing weak.

The day will come
When strength provides
Warm winter's end
And love's not denied.

Awakening © Alan Jansen  
 As the sun rises above the night
Waking up the frozen dew
The sky becomes the pallet
Pastel clouds flush with blue.

Windless calm quiets the day
Stillness bright with dawn
Silence broken by creatures
The air fills, flights with song.

The warm air of daylight comes
To turn the frost to tears
And life changes once again
Senses open to new frontiers.

And even when things seem wrong
And life turns upside down
Take solace in life's splendor
It's sure to turn around.

For as the days, new and fresh
Give way for change and hope
Like the creatures great and small
With anything we can cope.

Abundance is what we see inside
Even without all that we need
And like the change, the seasons
Each day we plant new seed.

To grow and nurture another day
And find it within ourselves
To build upon that dream of ours
In dawn we find our wealth.

Candlelight © Alan Jansen  
 There's more to see than light
Inside a candle's flame
For dancing there before us
A dream that calls our name.

Each time we light this love of ours
I'll see the fire in your eyes
And live for you, I'll see your dreams
And the candles in the skies.

Winter Thrill © Vida Janulaitis  
      Delicate and lacy
     white and bright
     swirling around
     childhood memories

     Watching through a window
     simplicity makes me laugh
     I rush outside
     swirling too

    Alone in the world
    contact is made
    I taste and I touch
    as the gift starts to melt

    but the excitement remains.

Interpretation © Vida Janulaitis  
 I dream of falling into a hazy mist
as I feel the beat of the drums
while the legacy of music plays on
and my imagination runs wild

I dream of failing in this moment
as the shadow of reality draws near
and all the lights burn out
to allow feelings in the dark

Then the moment comes and lingers
 just when the lights start to blaze
as the music tells me no lies
while I figure out the timing of the beat

I lay awake in a sleepless state
thinking of the rhythm
I've only just encountered
in the music of my dreams

Untitiled © Wendy Thompson  
 Little you, little me
Sittin' in the old oak tree.
Staying up 'til it turns night
Watching for the stars twilight.
Talkin' of the old times,
Thinking up new rhymes.
Listening to all the sounds,
Watching the leaves fall to the ground.
I want you to know how much I care,
But say those words, I do not dare.
For what would I say, what would I do,
If I learned I wouldn't have you.
That I couldn't keep you forever.
Maybe you will never,
Know the words I hold so dear.
Unless someday you let me hear,
That you hold those same three words,
So close and so near.

What Would Happen If © Jannet R. Patterson  
 Reality has hit
Its tentacles
Entangling me in its hold
How I wish it would let me go!
Sleep has left me
Wandering in my fathomless
Abyss of loneliness
How I wish I could lose
All my feelings in my heart
It would make these days easier to bear
Easier to see my heartache
Easier to get by

I am alone © Jannet R. Patterson  
 I am alone
Surrounded by friends
Talking
Laughing
And yet I am alone
Pretending to be something
I am not
Happy when I am crying Intelligent when I am naïve

Do you even care?
Do you even notice?

I am alone
Surrounded by friends
Open like a well-read textbook
Some would say
Listing all the characteristics
Of a creature unknown to most

Each day is a trial and a test
The night before I fall asleep thinking
Maybe tomorrow will be different
The day ends with then again, maybe not
I sit and listen
Watching my friends having happy lives
Listening to their laughter and merriment
Listening to the sound sharp,
Cracking, piercing pieces of
My heart falling Falling onto the ground
Trying to catch them but
They continue to fall
But nobody hears them
Or maybe somebody hears them
And they ignore it….

I am alone
I walk the world wondering
When is it going to get better
Believing everything is all right
When it is not
Trying to piece together a broken being
Trying to speak and yet
I am alone
Surrounded by friends who thought they knew me
Understood me

Do they know what it is like to be me?
Do they know what I feel everyday?
Or, better yet, do they know how alone I am?

Do you?
Or do you just see the mask?

I am good
I am a pretender, the best of liars
I live my days speaking of the happiness I feel
In the heart, crying out for what?
Understanding?
Comfort?

I want that
I taste it as if it was the sweetest ambrosia
I yearn it will all my being
And yet I am alone
Cursed to walk this world
Without knowing
Without feeling
Forever

Star © Jannet R. Patterson  
 Twinkling in the ebony night
Its light shining throughout all time
Its beacon to all creatures
Oh great star in the silent night
Shine on me
A spotlight from heaven

The Light, Through Glass © Andrew R. Crow  
and so I walked
past that window again
the one at the end of the hallway
that lets a portion
of the world in
it lies through colour
with flecks of grit
and spider web tracings
mar my peephole
I decide to sit
and eat my sandwich
by this glassine one note lens
the crust is stale
but I continue to eat
trapped and looking out
at what's to come

Can’t I See Your Heart? © Sally Anne Wisdom  
 Yesterday we were friends,
Today we are lovers,
I wish I knew where this was going,
Can’t I see you heart?

I sit all alone,
Wondering about it all,
Tell me are we in love?
Or friends for all time?

You never tell me how you feel,
I never have the guts to tell you,
I’m always afraid your say no,
Or maybe that you say you do.

Everyone says,
We look great together,
And our bodies fit together,
But what about our hearts?

Last night I was sure,
We were just friends,
Today I think I love you,
And can never live without you.

The Prophetic Phantom A Lengthy Prose by © Hooman Anvari  

The 'dead' symbolizes the essence of the people who were who were blinded from the Divine Light in society as a result of materialism and greed.

In society, a fine distinction exists between the 'living' and the 'dead.' In the case of the latter, it is likened to a graveyard upon which God alone through His mercy can revive its patrons.

 His story is as follows: -

It was the wisest of men that Divine Light guided them to He,
Of all nations of earth, they were the wisest three,
This Blessed Soul appeared to answer laws divine,
His path was mysterious, the purest one could find,

"Faith I shall find and all God's given strength," the carpenter's son once
said,
And holding the sword of comfort, slept tight at night in bed,
But this poor but humble Man reflects back on His potent life,
Many times He was in danger, He was poor, He was in strife,

But the kingdom this Man came from had no gratifying justice,
Only wealthy ruling the poor and promising freedom by saying "trust us,"
It was a time when blood was worthless and only the noble had the wealth,
That is why the seed of determination inside His heart flourished-
To posses the value and balance of His life's gratifying health,

His Father had once said to Him that 'man is made in God's image," This he remembered, it was His driving force, His soul's hope was never damaged,

Then he felt inside that He needed to go,
Where He would go He did not know, but His heart felt it would be His only
chance to grow,
Though the people scoffed Him leaving, little did they know,
It would be this Man whose heart was filled with Light that they would turn
to whether friend or foe,

The absence of this Man stretched from year to year,
They saw nothing of Him, but of His popularity reached their ear,
Far away in a distant land He had become His own king,
Not by punishing His people, but by fairness ruling over everything,
And soon this humble carpenter's son built an empire of His own,
By day, by night, He made people welcome; they felt it was their home,

When word reached His hometown, the leaders were skeptical to believe,
That after a simple lifetime, a man no more than a carpenter's son had an
empire under heed,
His advice to the deteriorating kingdom He once called His own,
(That ruled by the sword and not the pen, which caused Him to leave home)
was: -

"By sword and malice you have ruled, but never made any haste,
Now I tell you people, your lives are all at waste,
For nothing more than faith and love can an empty kingdom reject,
This I cannot tolerate, to this My soul objects,"

This simple man who could not even afford to live in comfort believed in words so pure,
 The angel of love was His dominion and through material detachment did His nobility endure.

One night the ruler of the original land sunk deep into a haunting vision, It was not one of love he saw; it resembled the mirror image of treason, Upon waking he looked around and it was obvious his own kingdom was collapsed, Then as jealousy grew into hate, he remembered his enemy's reason,

For the carpenter's son had prophesied "once your empire sinks down low
yours will be a nightmare,
Just look at yourself and acknowledge your fore fathers ignorance,
 Only if you do so will your misguidance impair!"

And although this ghost haunted him, he still did not change,
He walked in the ancient shadow of punishment, his thirst was filled with
rage,

Now wishing to torture this Man of free will,
They send for His blood, they wanted Him killed,

Upon arrival, this Man in chains, close to death and so weak,
Was able to murmur some words as He tried to speak,

"O king, your answer for leadership comes not from punishing me hither, The simple truth is my friend, every time you look at yourself, you will see Me in the mirror!"

Then to the sky's He glanced and was heard to utter in anguish: -

"…Their request from past ages has been for Your words so divinely true, Punish them not, O Lord, for they know not what they do…"

And so as this humble son of a carpenter was laid to rest,
A generation stood thirsting for guidance from someone else…

As the mountains corroded into valleys and stars dwindled into a dimmer,
The passing generations ponder as to what happened to this 'life-giver's'
return,
For He had promised He would return from mountains up high,
From land-to-land and sea-to-sea His presence would draw nigh,

In the veil of expectation His deciples awaited His return from "the Light," But their eagerness failed to recall His words "I will return unto you like a thief in the night…"

And so as the spirit of human anticipation glances to the skies regretfully, It ponders to itself  'why are all men made equal, even in the cemetery?'

Man's  reasoning was innocent but his heart unfocussed,
Causing the abyss of ignorance to dry the divine well of water which our
souls thirst for in need,
The acts so worthy of a divine Prince were not laid and buried to decompose,
they were freed,

So where was this Soul who wore the crown of virtue and possessed all the
glory, honor and fame?
To this the angel of truth testifies: -

"It lies within the graveyard of civilization, and you saw it many times but did not recognize: -
it was the grave with no name…"