Pseudo

We smile and laugh
and cry together - yet
There is a wall between us;
the path we met.

Was it fate that brought
the black sheep away,
from its herd to the goats
where it wished to stay?

Was it chance that taught
the monkey to mime,
the clothes of people
the words of rhyme?

It splashes in the water
not knowing how to swim,
while others stream before it
on whimsy, on whim;
To remind it, remember
no matter whom its friends,
It still can't - and never
Shall be truely
One of them.

Anchor

Every sailor has a dream
to sail the ocean blue,
They pack their bags, wave goodbye
set ship on a pirate crew;

Every sailor has a dream
to seek great treasures wide,
across the oceans, across the sky
Thier comrades by their side;

Every sailor has a dream,
to have the world to roam
yet each day, as they sleep
they still have dreams of home.

Over Shadows and In the Dark

Maturity of Thought
and of Intelligence,
Artistic Skills and Creativity;
Level of Humor, Level of Interest
Level of Dedication and of Service.

Faith and Trust.
Hope and Love.

Ability to help those in need,
Ability to help self.

Perhaps there are more,
One could go on,

But--

Every home, every shelter,
Every ideal and idea
Every story and song;

Already has a Champion.

I suppose I'll just watch the Champions
run, With their torches ablazing,
And take their timings at the end of the race
So that when the crowd's cheers do cease,
And the fanfares die down soft;

I can just go up to them
With their times and records,
And a cup of water
And just say to them:

"Good Job"

And hopefully,
Hopefully;

They might still remember me,
Or take my words to heart.

And perhaps,
Perhaps;

They might reply:

"Thank You"

Duty

I looked at them, as still as stone
and watched the masters before us drone,
On and on! Why won't he cease
the hot sun tickled my aching feet

On and on! Endless shouts
of words few boys could understand,
Stand up! Stand still! Oh how we prayed
for God to shade our grassy land.

Perhaps he was busy, the sun blazed on
Left and right the soldiers dropped,
Tired and sweaty, they stumbled back
While their friends stood on as still as tack.

------

What made them stand? I do not know
Love for friendship or for show?
It was not the commander, not the praise
nor the hours to their name;

What made them stand? A promise they say,
A promise as binding as night and day
That bids the sun, that bids the sea
That brings us order in community.

It is the first and foremost, the most base of truths
The backbone of knights, the trainer of youth
the death of passion, the tempering flame
it guides us on; this metal frame.

------

Still they stand, nor weary nor faint
Still the audience is forced to wait
What made them stand? These statued saints
Stand on now for standing's sake.

Inability

I feel strangely tired
Or weary
Or just plain sick of life

Its like nothing else matters
Nothing else
Nothing else

Its like my hands can craft
only nothing from nothing
like that Old King said
before he went mad

I try to craft stories and wonder
I try to craft them all

Yet;

Somehow, somehow, the words don't flow
from the head to the pen I grip

Somehow, somehow, I cannot draw
I cannot create the work of art
that my conscience demmands so
the pictures fade

Slowly away.

Whispers and Tears

I sit by the window, and watch the sky
Watch the rain as the wind blows by,
Strange thing, Rain, of water and sea
Strange thing, Wind, just air we see

Yet what of Air and what of Water,
That we name then so? I see no bother
To call a cat what a cat is not
To call shield an iron pot
Mere meanings, thats all;
Mere words that fall
from lips unknowing
from tongues a throwing
That is all;

Yet still I feel the cooling Wind
Yet still I hear the gentle Rain,
And call them not what merely seen
But rather, something more;

Whispers of Him who lies above,
Tears that rain when He sees us love
that fall on us each passing day
that carry the words we dare not say;
A voice, a whisper
A tear, a sigh
For the ones still seeking
For the ones still weeping
A tear, a sigh
That is all.

A Compass can point...

The path lay beaten before the road
by the footsteps of men before me trod,
that the compass of dreams had pointed me so
the path unwalked by all save God.

The Compass of dreams shall point the way;
yet the arrow is fooled by magnets by
Distractions that seek to lead astray
Our hearts and minds from paths we try.

Wisdom is needed, foolishness too
To walk the path no man has done,
The Compass will point us to the way
Shall we follow or shall we run?
A Compass can point us through a rock
Over a mountain, under a stream
Do we still follow, like blinded sheep,
Chasing forever, after our dream?

Sometimes we take the path forked right
in order to walk the path forked left,
Sometimes we need to use our sight
And listen to voices, yet ears are deaf
To good advice, so intent we are
Chasing the arrow, wishing the star;
The foolish man runs without a path
the foolish child just sits and stares
at the marks our dreams do make our lives,
of which without our burdens
become far too much
for us to simply bear.

------------------------------------------

Wrote this in response to another friend's blog.

I don't know him personally, but his stories and ideas I find are very matured and realistic in thought.

Depressing though.
Realism is all good and all, but sometimes you just need to take a break.

IMO (and his too, I think);
Chase your dreams and don't give up.

Perhaps the foolish child is still in me.
Perhaps its time to let her out.