Inspiring words...

If...
by Rudyard Kipling

IF you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you,
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too;
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated, don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master;
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim;
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same;
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings
And never breathe a word about your loss;
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch,
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much;
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

Silence

There is a silence where hath been no sound,

There is a silence where no sound may be,

In the cold grave—under the deep, deep sea,

Or in wide desert where no life is found,

Which hath been mute, and still must sleep profound;

No voice is hush'd—no life treads silently,

But clouds and cloudy shadows wander free,

That never spoke, over the idle ground:

But in green ruins, in the desolate walls

Of antique palaces, where Man hath been,

Though the dun fox or wild hyæna calls,

And owls, that flit continually between,

Shriek to the echo, and the low winds moan—

There the true Silence is, self-conscious and alone.

~ Thomas Hood (1798–1845)

Ramblings

look into my eyes
what a big surprise
oh, how can this be
forever we must see
hand in hand we move
through life's uncertainties
is it you
or is it me?
together, will we make it three?
a new life
yet unstarted
distantly appearing
free from life's rigidity
pleasant in uncertainty
how else can this be
that you are I
and I are we
circles, circles
everywhere
yet we end
where we began
moving forward
to start again
a lesson
yet unlearned
to be repeated
each time anew.

Today is a good day

We see the world through our own two eyes
a personal view
subjective
some don't realize.

When the weighted pain
and hurtful acts
are gone
one questions,
Will a sequel come?

For the cycles of life
and ruts yet unfilled
keep repeating the actions
that can make one ill.

Yet each day
we live and learn
a new experience embraced.
As the sun rises and sets
our love's spread through its rays.

The big H

If happiness is not for me,
so then, what do I see?

Flames of red,
burning bright.
And oceans of blue
dark as the night.

A heavy heart,
full of holes.
Each absence made,
from loves untold.

A scared little girl,
all alone.
Wishing for someone,
to bring her home.

we see the world
thru our own 2 eyes
shaped and shifted
by lies, lies, lies

a farce of memories
lost in the pages
of a worn covered book
tossed away

yesterday, today, tomorrow

questions asked
answers given
nothing's changed
life's a dream

conflicting perceptions
askewed views
nothings clear
to those who choose

expecting more
receiving less
connections lost
self remains

stronger and wiser
life goes on
the moon sets
and the sun will rise

Organic

Dismal and dull.
Larger than life.
We strive to move forward,
without looking behind.

The sorrow and pain,
lingers and flows,
through one's veins.
Helpless, no?

The energy to live...
to fight for one's life,
is an unconscious action
finite in time.

Like each breath in,
an exhale follows.
Until one day
the air is gone.

Punctuated Point

uneasy emotions...
riding the swells,
stationary
rising and falling.

sadness
for what might of been
or what was?
hard to distinguish
between the two.

so much has occurred
in little time passed.
the same
I feel...
yet hollowed
by experience.

hopeful,
yet empty...
with little to give,
and no one
to receive.

like a child,
dancing in the street.
not for money
but for the audience.

it's become harder...
to continue to dance
when no one is listening.

what's the point?

A new day's promise

How long one's path may seem
as seasons change
and leaves turn green.

When darkness falls
and the crescent grins
one's unmet goals, simmer
beneath the skin.

Rest and dreams...
await
desired by one
to start a new day.