Thy Kingdom Come . . .

I lay me down in rolling green meadows with gentle streams flowing nearby. Tall, strong trees tower in the distance where birds sing their day song, and flowers are in full bloom. Azure sky canopies above me while soft clouds float in the sea of blue. Mountains lay silently on the far horizon, and I hear your voice whisper in the warm, soothing breeze.

Deer prance through the wood while squirrels scamper on the forest floor. Barely audible, angels sing as the tall, lush grass sways back and forth in rhythm. There is peace here. Complete serenity in place of the cacophony of the world left behind. Here your sovereignty is felt in absolute tranquility, where there is no room for fear.

The fresh scent of new life fills the air, wild and free, inviting, intoxicating. Majestic stallions gallop across the hillocks as luminescent spits frolic and play, and your joyful laughter rings in my ears. I smile. There is contentment here. There is rest, and my soul is refreshed. Here in this place I am the child once more, and this would be a dream except that it is so real.


Tales Upon Tales to be Told

Have you ever seen a story walking?
They’re stalking you and not talking,
But they are all around everywhere,
Bound up with tales great and small,
Tall ‘n short, of runs, falls and sport!
Look around ‘n hear the quiet sound
Of imperative narratives superlative
And comparative to great literature,
Carried on wind around every bend!
Have you ever seen a story standing,
Demanding to be told by the bold?
Open your eyes, listen with the heart
And take part in the one grand story
Of the world enwrapped around you!
Ah! Tales to be seen, heard and told!
Stories upon stories upon stories . . .

Old Town, New Town

There are cracks in the streets that meet potholes — ever widening,
Deepening — in the old town where Mayor Fiddlesticks plays the clown,
While alleyways drown in raw sewage.

There are breaks in the buildings that stand to bake in the sun —
Foundations corroding, eroding — while the old town council serves
Up cake by the stagnant lake.

There are shattered windows in the old town schools, where classrooms
Are filled with pools of drool from open-mouthed, sleeping students
While teachers dare not wake to take the time to reach into the minds
Of pupils to actually teach each precious soul.

There are stained walls along the temple halls in the old town, where
Once its edifice was the crown treasure and pleasure of the people,
Who looked toward its steeple, its once-glorious spire enough to inspire
With angelic choir singing through open gates bringing hope and joy,
But the only sound there now heard is the infrequent, loud pounding
On now the now-closed doors.

Ah! But there is a new town, where ne’er is seen the frown, with gilded
Gates and freshly laid streets paid for out of the royal coffer to offer
To people the best, who invest their lives in this hive of happiness;
Where residents work and play during the day, enjoying colorful parks,
In which the larks sing their song, bringing joy to every girl and boy;
Where new temples dot the horizon, where wizened sages turn the pages
Of bright hope in numinous light and tell their stories of glories yet
To come … at least say some of this this new town and sparkling crown
Of a king of mysterious renown.


Note: Inspired by New Town: A Fable … Unless You Believe by Harry Blamires