Spring lodge

  I want to be brave. I want to be smart. I want to be saved. I want a new start. I'm constantly being pushed, Pushed to the edge. Knock me down, now I'm crushed. I'm falling over the ledge. People tell me it's going to be all right, But how much longer do I have to fight? I know I have a purpose in life, But how do I reach it when I'm trapped? Nothing to do but wish into the night. When I ask, it's never too far from being denied. Save me or join me; just don't say no. I promise I won't let you go. We're not too far behind now. A little further up is where our future lies. Change is something I want to allow. From here on out, all I'll do is rise. Lord, I need the faith. I need the strength.

  Long time ago, there once a woodcutter who was very gentle and kind. Every day there was a wicked man who was spying on him. One day there was a bird who wasn't looking and crashed in the tree, Luckily the woodcutter caught him just in time. The woodcutter took care of the bird for eight weeks. When the bird got better he said, "Thank you for helping me and for that I will give you an award." So the bird got to his nest and gave the woodcutter a seed. The woodcutter planted the seed and out came pumpkins. The woodcutter cut it and out came gold! So the woodcutter gave all the gold to charity. The wicked man who saw all this got a slingshot and shot the same bird and told him "I'll take care of you but you got to give me a me a bigger seed than the woodcutter's." The bird did as he was told and gave the wicked man the biggest seed. The wicked man planted the seed and out came a beanstalk. The wicked man was confused, but he thought the gold was on the t

  I guess a kiss in October would be too soon. Someone saying they love you, Seems to only occur once in a blue moon. Now is too late to try falling in love, Because time will again soon divide. I believe all dreams are in someway true. Someone loving you finally, Seems to only be as real as the sky is blue. Now is too soon to fall in love with you, Because time, I know, will someday give me a chance. I want to some day hug you more closely, Be someone who loves you for being you. Seems I must wait for our dance patiently. Now is too late, too soon, Because time will always divide me and you

  Something about her needs to be protected.. Heart of a loving soul, but bare flesh always exposed. She doesnt need to be my queen to see that the ends of worlds will never make it to far. She might be wrapped in silk and glamorous clothing, but I give her the armor that has never been so heavy.  Some times she tells me, " do I deserve such a pleasure?" I say, if pleasure were a thought, an action, or some magic power love gives me..  Then the pleasure is all mine. . So sit by my side in the throne you much deserve, wear that crown with the pride of strength and love. Lets run this kingdom by the love of whats real.. True Love.

  my father was not a King my mother was not a Queen I do not come from royalty my uncle was not a bishop my aunt was not a nun hence religion is absent dreams of being a knight in shining armor shroud my thinking but alas am I a pawn of life told what to do and where to go bouncing from side to side encased in a pin ball machine careening towards what unable to control my destiny others wants greater than my needs each day I awake challenging the status quo ready to take on obstacles Nay I am a Rook starting out in a corner but winning at the end of the game

  I am a princess. Climbing the metal castle surrounded by the forest of julienned trees. A pink tutu complete with a fortune of tulle flows at my waist, replacing the cotton of normalcy given that morning by the queen, my army turning into peasants on the ground below me. Fellow children who wish not to play with royalty, fellow children who do, but alas, this princess works alone. Sliding down into the moat, swimming across the wooden hot sea, I enter my limo, the red skeleton of a car, pushing soldiers out of my way. They obey their highness, they always do, or their actions are blocked from memory, a storm of denial sugarcoating my beloved fantasy. The limo, transformed during the voyage into a shimmering carriage, stops at a stable, four trusty steeds at disposal for any who come across them. One’s fur the grey of used snow, stomped upon by the hooves of peasants lasting generations. Another the brown of rich milk chocolate, named by those consumed with hunger, to be used by the f

  She’s the last of the fairy tales. The mobs came with pitchforks and torches. The ashes of the golden era stains her skin. Her magic dwindled, wounded by the sins of man. She seeks not revenge, nor justice. She seeks punishment. I have been the guardian of her heart; A heart she feels she no longer needs. There will be a day where it beats again. Not this day. On this day she waits in the dark, Waiting for the day her memory is forgotten; The day her tragedy becomes a myth. On that day, reckoning will come To remind them their cruelty is unequalled By the spirit of a fallen star. On that day, I will be her harbinger. On that day, I will resurrect the memory They wished would stay buried in the depths. On that day, the hearts of man will cry for mercy, Only to fall upon deaf ears... Because I made a promise. Cross my heart, she’ll never die. Look your devil in her eyes.

  Strange Skeleton Knight Why do you fight? You're so fragile Yet you take on my burdens without being asked Why must you be so eager to die on my behalf? Don't you deserve to live too? Mr Skeleton Knight Why don’t you cry? You never make a sound Yet your sadness echoes deafeningly Do your bones not feel cold out in the dark? Does not being able to shed tears make you unable to release your sadness? Can I cry on your behalf? Sir Skeleton Knight What did you do with your heart? Did you tear it out to stop yourself from feeling? Did you give it away along with the rest of yourself? Even someone without flesh and organs shouldn't look so empty inside Why can't you get your heart back? Can I give you mine instead? Noble Skeleton Knight Do you like the grave I've dug you? I'm glad that you haven't buried yourself yet But I'm sure you don't feel the same way Then why don’t you let your soul rest? Wouldn't the warm dirt hug you more than anyone else has

  he used his hands to touch around my pure bare smooth skin and told me it was supposed to feel magical, but what is magic without a shinny golden lamp? he rubbed it three time and continued. he told me that i was a princess, untouchable to others, but him. set on a perfect seated throne. that seat was made just for me. he ignored every blood drip drop and shoved the glass slipper in as if it fit. he whispered into my ear and told me, i sounded like mourning birds chirping as i screeched horridly being poisoned by an apple. it felt like a needle pricking in and out of my skin. laying there in eternity, still and steady. wishing i could forever sleep. but how can i sleep forever when he is the beast that has held me captive in his castle of words? “the princess is supposed to kiss the frog and he will turn into a prince.” i kissed the frog. no. i did even more, but he was nothing like their stories. his story was different from the books. he told me it was my fault that i was a singing

  A wind is ruffling the tawny pelt Of Africa, Kikuyu, quick as flies, Batten upon the bloodstreams of the veldt. Corpses are scattered through a paradise. Only the worm, colonel of carrion, cries: 'Waste no compassion on these separate dead!' Statistics justify and scholars seize The salients of colonial policy. What is that to the white child hacked in bed? To savages, expendable as Jews? Threshed out by beaters, the long rushes break In a white dust of ibises whose cries Have wheeled since civilizations dawn From the parched river or beast-teeming plain. The violence of beast on beast is read As natural law, but upright man Seeks his divinity by inflicting pain. Delirious as these worried beasts, his wars Dance to the tightened carcass of a drum, While he calls courage still that native dread Of the white peace contracted by the dead. Again brutish necessity wipes its hands Upon the napkin of a dirty cause, again A waste of our compassion, as with Spain, The gorilla wrestles

  African Flame   – You are the first spark that kindles the fire … I Am An African  – Not because I was born there, but because my heart beats with Africa’s … Africa  – Gondwana, born of Pangaea, when separation first started, like a unicell dividing … Wild Africa  – Africa wakes up, hungry; she prowls in packs and preys … If These Stones Could Whisper  (Robben Island) – … what secrets would they tell? … Lost City of Gold  (Mapungubwe) – … Rise once more, up from the south Limpopo shore … Women of Africa  – In the land of bow and spear, of chieftain and warrior … Sahara  – A silky dust devours the miles ahead between the barely living and the dead … Cave of the Gods  (Sterkfontein) – What is this place? This home of the stromatolite … Little Foot  – Your footprints in the rock supplied a vital clue … Sangoma in Our Closet  – There’s a sangoma in our closet at the office beneath the stair … A Dragon’s Tale  (South Africa) – Breathing smoke, the dragon wakes, yawning fire, and sighing q