Awakened by song of long distant voice
A beam of light cuts the abyss
Serenades calling, the lost and the falling
Sneaking into lives gone far amiss

We wait for what we long for

We long for what we need

Impatience and Anxiety

Give root to errant deed

Which grows to yield but heartache

The fruit that poisons trust

I was once all things to everyone

Now I merely pretend to be

I act from behind a veil of emptiness

I wash my face so as to hide the trace

That all is not well

That all is not well

A million times I've pulled the trigger

A million times the voices quiver

But every time they come again

They can't be killed, there is no end

Is all then lost...no hope at all

Once a man of old age sat beside me and spoke,
And I listened and nodded polite.
He spoke of a difficult life long ago,
Days of hard work and hardship and strife.

I set out to live, I went out to give
My dreams for life set; I could see them.
But then as I went, and the more time I spent
The reality seemed…I can’t be them.

In search of truth
In search of light
In search of good
In search of right

Now if you seek
Which things are true
Take as your guide
This one sure clue

It never fails

“And there shall be weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.”
I’ve read it and read it again.
And I’ve heard of it preached from all pulpits the same,

Will Heaven help me through this life? Will it be there in my need?
How much is mine to do alone? At which point should I plead?

There’s something worse than feeling sad, something worse than feeling blue.

There’s something worse than feeling had and knowing you’ve been used.

It seems so very long ago, and yet like yesterday,
We stood as one and made our vows to love and to obey.

And with this oath we sealed our love until “at death we part”.

Billions below, wandering, striving, yearning, seeking…

Is there a God?

Some fall…lost from view. Some lost…searching. Some search…searching still.

Do any find?

My greatest work is not a poem, it is a script. Go to www.thehiddenstory.com.

I hope you like it.

Was the world created by God’s hand as told in holy writ,
When scientific findings seem to dash the thought of it?
Is it possible that all things formed the way they are by chance?

I wake to find a scene unkind, on vessel I do stand.
Adrift at sea; lost, scared and cold; in desperate need of land.

From whence came I? What purpose here? Which course should I set sail?