Kindness the grass and field of spring. Photosynthetic hunter of the seasons bring soothing pastel of the senses, a little less than white.
The emblem of may. Claddagh of friendship, love and loyalty.
Green reflections Screen. Changing the scene. Going organic. Herbal tea. Alive with camouflage and prosperity.
Sanctuary; the one hue valued more than blue. Creative Jade, soft and cool to the touch.
Negatively a poison shroud. Envy and illness. American tender. Martian Peridot from space. Mystical, beautiful Verde. Portugal. Italy. Romany. Attuned to nature, self, and surroundings.
The color of home. Green thumb of Ireland. The shamrock resistance. Good luck to the friendly fool. Green is my soul. It shelters my heart.
Emerald is the path I tread. Midori; calm sage, Viridian traveler of the age. Ever-the-green, imbibed with healing Aventurine of the written word.
“Imagination means nothing without doing.” Profound words for Charlie Chaplain and the lengths which he applied it. To apply something remarkable towards something you didn’t know was lost. The point in being alive, the creative’s strive not only to change your view, but the world itself; for even a thoughtful moment be the center of another universe. For surely a creative knows not their own limit. They are in themselves, remarkable. Worthy of attention. The blank pages of history are filled by writers. The very essence of a voice, of words can alter perception itself. Creatives are a chaotic neutral state dictated for good or ill by the spirit behind the page. Writers ask questions only to build on new ones, crafting monoliths of mysteries to solve. The multitudinous applications of remarkable thought could be argued, are the driving force of humanity. To know more. To be more. To learn more about ourselves and the world. The writing gets louder. our ideas move uniform with each new discovery. If writers are a bunch of people trying to be one person than the book in your hand is a whole being; condensed. In the sheer ataraxia is a remarkable handsel available to you and reality itself. Is it truly necessary for every question to be answered? Perhaps, perhaps no. Ah, but therin lies the elusive limit. Not all questions have answers we can handle nor are willingly ready to accept. Research for truth is not for the faint of heart or the sane, that is why the universe created writers.
One after the other, attention
Sinking funds in high definition
Medial puppets on parade
Long winded, the jokers tirade
Broken facts we all retain
Rewrite history twice, thrice and again-
Give us more!
We the viewers, listening whores
Triggered; desensitized to gore
Watching fields burn as ratings soar
While good ones fight another war
The blue to black, and white to grey
moralistically gay we sway
Loved ones on fire
Terrorists, the pendulums swing
Murder is murder
To write is to scream
Defiance and truth
I yearn to bring
Feed the mission
Marching on without a beat
The clickity clack of wooden feet
The ground it leaks
The blackened sea
No end I see
Our garden rent with political weeds
All to nurture the bitter germ
My grandfather, great-grandfathers and their father’s fought to protect and nurture this land. Especially on this day are their sacrifices remembered with thanks and the utmost love and respect. I wouldn’t even be here if they’d let the flag fall. In these dark times it can be easy to forget what we’re truly fighting for. What MIGHT have been our future. What matters most. If the world ended tomorrow I’d have God, home, friends, and my family. Everything that truly matters. So in that I am forever blessed. I was raised on moral virtues to sustain my soul, and we need those virtues, especially now, when “education” has failed. When religion and philosophy is in shambles. I NEVER forget what my Papa suffered and labored to provide for all of us. He and those good men are gone, but their stories, their purpose is not. I stand with an open heart and mind as the flag is raised; a beacon of hope, prosperity, and freedom- And to those who would burn it, stamp on it, in Papa’s words, “You cowards will never divide us, for while even one of us stands, you’ve got a fight on your hands.”
And yes, I say GOD. You don’t need a church to feel the presence. It’s in the growing mountains. In the roar of the wild Arkansas river. With every birds song of love. With every season. Every miracle. Proof is within that God is there. WAKE UP. WE truly are the makers of our own destiny or destruction. We ALL have our own demons to face. No one is better than anyone else. GET UP. With every birth death is inevitable. We live on in our deeds and our blood. STAND UP. Get out of your comfort zone; it’s sink or swim. We all have to learn how. MOVE. A stagnant life is no life at all. QUESTION if you really need to take all the pills the “good doctor” prescribed from his oversea suppliers who haven’t properly tested their product. Question what is in the food going into your body. Question why there is mercury in vaccinations. Why heavy metals are in our water supply even after cleansing. How genetically modified are we? Look at arguments from both sides instead of charging blindly into a nonsensical war. Is it small wonder you cannot feel God when so much is taxing your body, mind, and soul? Ah, but there is evil in this world. A malignancy born of fear of the unknown. A madness to control and overpower our very existence. TRUE monsters. The one’s that do unspeakable things to children. They EAT human flesh. Constantly tell us what to do think and feel. Make us apologize when they strike us. Smuggle in morally-dead people to maim and kill the innocent. Give us a number and a bought and sold price on our birth certificate. Divide families. Feed us poison in every sense of the word.
The same evil that fired upon the brave, outnumbered men holding up that ragged old flag with their dead bodies so that we could see a tomorrow.
Thank you and with a full heart my friends, God Bless America.