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Mornings each new dawn

Rising up


Spent lightning.


Forsaking distinction

Comes the sunset

And another sunrise.



Rolling Hills



Oh yea I see those rolling hills

Pickets white and crossbeams gold

In fields I lay in dreams of you

Whilst summer breeze blows over me.

Oh yea I see those rolling hills

and ponds and creeks and daffodils.

White rabbit spurs the cattle’s cry,

in fright they scurry after night.

Outdoor grill my meals and cook

my coffee in the sun or in the rain

and drink from tin cups cleansed
in stream flows through the place.

Oh yea be there rolling hills

not in my dreams but in the now

when comes the morn I wake in scent
of meadow grasses lime and gold.

Oh yea come get me rolling hills

now, not later in my years whilst

still I live and breathe His gifts,
fulfill me now and breathe fresh life.

Oh yea you rolling hills

I beg you find me while my lust

yet rages, burns within me, will not quiet ‘til

the day your hilltop hammock sways me free.




How many days lost in sorrow
love’s hopes dwindled in tomorrows
shredded, ravaged in the gutters
spewed out, slurped up?

Damn the dog voracious
devoured us his youthful prey.

I Think This

At the core the common characteristic among us of such disparate views, diverse
cultures, and multitude of experiences, is our genius and the universal uniqueness of it.

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