Walking the Shadow's Edge

The frail earth that we call our home,

The sun, the moon, the seas and sky

All merely shadows of that world

Hidden from our mortal eye.

I'm walking on the shadow's edge,

But I cannot see the light.

This life is spent in a shadow world

Reality beyond what we see

But if all we behold is mere fantasy

Where then is the real world to be?

I'm walking on the shadow's edge

But I cannot see the light.

I'm just a shadow of my soul

Imprisoned in human clay

But 'til the time it is released

With me my soul will stay.

I'm walking on the shadow's edge

But I cannot see the light.

When finite time runs out its course

The shadows will then disappear

Revealing a light of such clarity

True vision becomes strong and clear

I'm approaching the end of the shadows edge

And beginning to see the light.

The rapture of beauty so long withheld

Before me begins to unfold

Which now most vividly I can perceive,

For I see through the eyes of my soul

I walk no longer on the shadow's edge

For now I can see the light.

 What Man Leaves Behind

From the vast deep void of the Cosmos

Life forms emerge and take breath

And Alpha blends into Omega

In the cycle of living and death.

When he enters this life man brings nothing,

He appears naked, helpless and bare

To merely survive he needs others

To provide him with nurture and care.

But as he grows more self-sufficient,

And aware of the world and its wealth

He schemes by nefarious methods and means

To amass what he can for himself.

His gods become power, material gain

And blinded by glitter and glare,

He forgets that he soon will depart as he came -

Naked, helpless and bare.

For sooner or later through passage of time

By nature, abuse, or disease

The flesh will wear out, then wither away

And all of its functions will cease.

The cycle of man will have run its brief course

Thus ending his sojourn on earth

What measure, then, will posterity use

To mark his true value and worth?

It won't be the footprints in time that he makes

By amassing great wealth at the end

Such footprints can't last on the loose sands of time

They'd be lost in the rain and the wind.

But the footprints he makes by his unselfish gift

Of himself, of his heart and his mind

Like etchings in granite through eons of time

Serve as beacons for those left behind.

 A Day of Infamy Etched on our Souls

Eleven September, Two Thousand and One -
This date throughout time will impart
The pain that was felt on this infamous day
And forever be etched on our hearts.

On this clear, sunlit day in the early Fall
In this land of the brave and the free
Destruction and terror have left evil marks
In the annals of all history

From the dungeons of Hades, through wide open gates
The forces of evil have swirled.
To create a thunderous, lasting impact
That was heard throughout all of the world.

The intent was creation of chaos and fear,
Where massive anarchy would reign.
Our freedom no longer would be our great strength,
And our deep faith in God would be drained.

Like the much shattered buildings that crumbled and fell,
Our people they expected to see
Lose faith and resolve and instantly bring
Them crashing down hard on their knees.

Heinous, barbaric, these terrorist acts
Are intended to create confusion.
Instead, they inspire our people to meld
into a more closely knit union

The extent of the pain and emotional strain
Are too deep for a measure to gauge
But we shall recover, and good will prevail
And our lives can then turn a new page.

They will never break down our determined resolve
They cannot destroy our Will
Despite the chaos and destruction they wreak
And the great human masses they kill

So with a determined resolve we will face
Evil forces and then toll the knell
To send these Satanical agents post haste
Back through those wide portals of Hell.

The Hovering Cloud

Envisioned by me in those Golden Years
Was a pleasant and calm Sea of Life.
But naught but myth was the vision to be,
'Twas shrouded by worry and strife,

Heavy waves blown high by the winds of stress
Add danger to the tranquil sea
And a crisis seems ever ready and poised
In a hovering cloud o'er me.

That hovering cloud, though out of sight,
May oft, without warning, appear
Not always can it be viewed by me,
But its aura I sense to be near

There are times that the cloud will burst open,
Raining pellets of pain and despair
And then like a dream will vanish from view
But its shadow is constantly there.

Like the albatross on the Mariner's neck,
My hovering cloud is nigh,
And its proximity e'er will be felt,
By me til the day that I die.

Like a fixture, its ominous presence, I fear
Is destined to always be there.
I know that the problem I alone cannot solve,
And I ask for God's help in my prayer.

But the burden I cannot ask God to take
And cause it to just disappear.
I'll ask for His strength to help me make
The burden one that I can bear.

Try to Spot the Angels in Flight

The mundane cares of our finite lives

The angels are quickly transcending

Propelled by transparent gossamer wings

In an endless line they're ascending

When dawn's first light from the wakened sun

Forms a line through cross and altar

A phenomenal vision may be lost in a blink

Of an eye with the tiniest falter

This moment of beauty can briefly be seen

Of angels on a heavenly flight

They come into view, and then disappear

And quickly are lost from our sight

You must be patient and quietly wait

For the vision to come into view

And when it appears hold quickly your breath

To catch that brief glimpse meant for you

Lest we Forget

Some sleepless nights I lie awake

And stare into the starless sky,

Then a vision slowly forms before my eyes

Vivid for an instant

Then it fades and dies,

And passes on into the silent night.

I see an endless line of men

With soundless steps go marching by

And what their speechless lips withhold,

Their tortured eyes imply -

A queried glance, a furtive sigh.

"We are the lost, forgotten men

Who gave our lives in pain

That the living may live.

We ask that you please give a thought

For what we did

That we not die in vain.

Our members grow as new wars

Add numbers to our band

And we, the youth, who died too soon

From every nation, we make a plea to those

Who put us here, the leaders, safe at home

In every land,

Lest they forget - our blood is on their hands!"

The Luck of the Irish

A lady entered a Catholic Church

Walked up to the priest and proclaimed,

"I would like a service for you to perform

My old Irish Setter is dead."

The priest then turned to the lady and spoke

Condescendingly with a sad smile

"I'm sorry , my dear, but funerals for dogs

Are not exactly my style.

"However", he said, with his tongue in his cheek,

"There's a church just a block down the street.

They are Protestant folks, but I would predict

They'd be glad to take part in this feat."

"Thank goodness," the most grateful lady then said,

"Now about all this financial stuff -

If I gave fifty thousand or so to their church,

Do you think it would be quite enough?"

The priest, gasping slightly and rubbing his chin

Said softly, "It sure seems to me

That since the deceased was a true IRISH Setter,

A Catholic that fine dog must be. "

"Though some might consider it slightly irregular,

I will reconsider for you,

Because your dear loved one is Catholic,

This service for you I will do."

"And now, concerning that financial stuff -

The donation you graciously mentioned.

Forget the "or so" you were generous to add,

Fifty thousand will be quite sufficient."