The Little Things
There are many beautiful things in life that we just take for granted. But when they are gone we realize we will never ever get them back. Things I think are beautiful but take for granted is:
My puppy- My puppy is a 1 year old black labrador retriever with hazel eyes. She just turned 1 on january 30th and is an old lady lol, she loves to lay around but is perfect for our family, she is cute with a hint of trouble but not too much. She is spoiled, she lays on my pillows and any pillows in her reach. She also provided the evening entertainment, drum roll please -drums- chasing my brothers and biting his butt. She doesn't really hurt him, she loves us all, she just gives him a good behind bite.
My family- My mom is a teacher and my dad is a firefighter and EMS, I also have two younger brothers. With the way the world is turning I could loose any of them at any time. I take for it for granted when my dad comes home in the evenings or when my brothers come back inside from playing in the road and front yard.
My life- I want to be here everyday but I know I am in just as much danger as my family but I am happy and content. I know that my life and so many others are beautiful though because each one gives the chance of a new beginning for the world.
You can see beauty everywhere as long as you look around you.
The beauty of a big heart is unlike any other bc it's the purest, strongest and one in it's uniquness. Through the trials and tribulations that are faced head on into the storm known as life takes the shocks and sparks of bolts shot straight to it. The heart who once started out as a young shy one soon learnt to grow up smart and strong through being drowned in floods of thoughts and being poisened from mental toxins, with every shot, stab, punch, pick and poke, the heart is left with bruises, scratches and most of all fear. But the young heart will take all the scratches, bruises and scars to turn them into patches and armor still with enough room to grow strong. Every scratch turned into glowing streams of pumping blood. Every bruise into blue black rocks to show strength with hope. Every struggling breath into more deep fresh breaths meant to be steps moving forward. The young heart through the trials and tribulations of life has grown into a big heart that only some may contain because to go through life's storms, you must build upon the big heart that lies within.
A shopping list
Raphsody In Blue,
sweet and sour chicken balls,
Lady sings the blues,
the peace corps,
the Mason-Dixon crap,
scarface, Eric Clepton,
garden of the gods,
I did it my way,
somwhere over the rainbow,
Brother, could you spare a dime?
breakfast of champions,
fried peanut butter sandwich,
black hole sun,
four more years,
the world according to Garp,
The moon lander,
I’ve got it bad, and that ain’t good,
billions upon billions of stars,
here you are all equally worthless,
sitting on a sack of beans,
blood on the vine and blood on the root,
the blues brothers 2000,
spam spam spam,
that’s the sound of silence,
affordable care act,
keep on trucking,
Take a Lesson From History
“First they came for the socialists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a socialist.
Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a trade unionist.
Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak out—
Because I was not a Jew.
Then they came for me—and there was no one left to speak for me.” (Martin Niemoller)
The above quote was about German cowardice and a refusal to acknowledge the threat that Hitler posed before World War Two and during the Holocaust.
Now, let me ask you this: do you live in Trump’s America? If you do, no matter who you are, let us begin our little quote here:
“First they came for the immigrants, and I did not speak out-
Because I was not an immigrant.
Then they came for people of color, and I did not speak out-
Because I was not a person of color...”
You can see where this is going. Please, heed history’s lessons.
parts of tangled sounds
what an intricate heart
was nestled within this soul
softly embraced . and whispered in the night
sing out your lost stars
collect the feathers
left on a dusty ground
of an angel’s feverish dance
a simple sign...
tell me, do you feel them?
( a lingering smile wrapped in sweet longing )
it's those kaleidoscope dreams,
inhale the color glass
sharp edges swallowed by lightning
and melted into hollow spaces
( flowers grew in your lungs
as you fell into the ocean's waves )
you were lost
you were found
between those parts
of tangled sounds
Devil take me now
Throw me to the pit
Let me lust for battle
For I was born for it
Give me not redemption
But let me wear my sin
As I feast upon my fellows
With a chortle and a grin
I will wear them proudly
The errors of my ways
An angel may ask mercy
But a demon never prays
I swear I’ll never falter
Never hestitate or slack
Lead me not to salvation
Let me fall into the black
Let the gates sit open
For heaven it can wait
I’ll not envy paradise
Over my own chosen fate
Sentence me to hellfire
I need no judge or jury
Forge me as your sword
Let me embody fury
Neither grace nor glory
Can satiate my greed
Take me now, my Devil
For Hell has all I need
“Do you hear that noise?”
I’m sure it’s nothing.
“But what if it’s not?”
“Really, because to me it sounds like a creak of the floorboards.”
So? The foundation is settling.
“Do you want to believe that?”
“I think an assassin is coming to kill you.”
“I don’t know. Just my job to look out for you.”
It’s not an assassin.
“Check to confirm.”
I’m almost asleep, I don’t want to move my head.
“Fine, sleep then. But you may never awake.”
(I jolt my head around and stare into my dark room: no one is there. The night is still).
See, nothing there. Can I please go to sleep?
“All right, all right, just doing my job.”
Thanks, human instincts.
“What was that noise?”
Oh, why again?
In My Hour of Dying...
I will not count down the minutes.
No. I will roll off of her, and playfully slap her bare bottom.
I might even light a smoke. A cigarette used to be good afterwards, back in the old days, the nicotine soothing after the vastly increased heart rate. Besides, why the hell not?
I will definitely sip whiskey, a good bourbon that tingles sweet and smoky like root beer against the tip of my tongue. I will close my eyes as it spreads its familiar fire, flushing my heart and belly with warmth while it slowly leaches through me. But mostly, I bid the toxins come to soothe unsteady nerves.
I will tug into my boots, so that I might die as I lived, tooth and nail.
I will go outside. I will invite The End to meet me beneath the sun, or the stars. As The End chose the time, I shall choose the place.
I will lean my back hard against the rough bark of an oak tree and scratch a dog’s ears. Those ears will be soft, like velvet in my stiffening fingers.
I will look back with fading sight on a life well lived, thankful for those who shared the journey, who helped along the way, and who gave it purpose.
I will recall a line from Shakespeare...
“Golden lads and girls all must,
as chimney-sweepers, come to dust.”
... and I will consider what was written, what the letters and the spaces between them force us to consider; that in the end we are all equal, regardless of station, that we all quiver beneath the wonder of it all, and at what lies ahead.
Finally, I will reach into the back pocket of my jeans for the tattered paperback that is there. I will read a few stained, and yellowed paragraphs. I will find some little bit of comfort in it’s familiar words before marking my place with another folded down corner.
And then, like the untold number of “golden lads,” and “chimney-sweepers” before me, I will lay back my head, relax, and let go of my weary body.
“I too shall come to dust.”