A Net Full of Butterflies

To know what bravery means we must crawl inside the shaking knees of a soldier standing behind enemy lines, that has no choice but to face what he has feared.

To know what prejudice means we must crawl inside the closed eyes of someone who cannot see beyond the wall of hate they have themselves built

To know what trust means we must crawl inside the open arms of a child that holds on to their faith in the unseen with all the might they have.

To know what grief means we must crawl inside the heavy tears of a mother that cries when faced with children at joyous play, for she is only reminded of the child she has lost.

To know what love means we must crawl inside the full heart of a person who has lost everything for the sake of someone else, and done it gladly.

To know what strength means we must crawl inside the still back of a paralyzed man who has learned to accept his frailties.

To know what loneliness means we must crawl inside the weary voice of an old woman whose words are only silenc…

What a seagull never told you about why he flies away is the farther up you fly the broader the view you get of the shore you left behind.

What a wild horse never told you is some chained up fences can be jumped.

What a river never told you is getting off the flowing path may mean your whole world may pass you right by.

What a pine tree never told you is those that stand together never fall alone.

What a valley never told you is that sometimes the safest place to wait out the storm is right where you are.

What a sunset never told you is if you leave today behind does not mean you cannot come back and start all over again tomorrow.

What a pigeon never told you is sometimes the thrown crumbs don't come right to us we must go to them.

What a sparrow never told you is the leaver sometimes loses the nest.

What a goldfish never told you is maybe the bowl you are swimming in is just where you were meant to be.

There are times my feet are eager like a river
clumsily following the path easy to flow.
And my eyes are caged like two birds
never reaching the place they were meant to go.
There are times my heart is wavering like a tall oak
that in the storm is so easily swayed.
And my tongue is flickering like a fire
unable to stop the smoke from it's flame.
There are times my hands are reckless like the ocean
never knowing when to hold to the shore or just let go.
Yet, the tears that fall again and again
become the cement of my soul.

Theme Thursday



If standing before the vastness of the sea
you cannot find from within yourself
just one grain of hope rising up
as you look at the ocean holding up the sky
like a banner for all to see
revealing that there is somthing greater
and more powerful holding everything
together...
...if in just that one moment you cannot
find just one grain of hope then
like a lost grain of sand...
...you may never find it at all....

Imperfect Prose with Emily take a look you will be blessed.


You would not walk the edge of the highest bridge without holding on to the rails.
Nor would you ride the ocean's wind without holding on to the sails.
You would not climb the tallest tree without a good firm grip.
Nor would you receive an offering without unwrapping and holding the gift.
You would not set up a ladder and climb it on shifting sand.
Nor would you accept a trophy without holding it in your hands.
So why would you walk the trials of life empty handed your whole life through?
For, Jesus holds out His hand, and He is something to hold on to.

We cannot reach the measurement of the distance between one bitter heart unto another. Nor can we calculate the moment of transformation fron tenderness to callous, yet like some shells deep inside the ocean, every hard heart has cracked places that could break, we just cannot get close enought to see.

Like a wasp in the open window beating upon the upper plated glass, we are not always certain we have ventured off the beaten path.
Yet, unlike the clever wasp whose instinct helps him to get free, we can stumble across the truth and still not realize what we have seen.
For ignorace is silent like the anxious lightning beats the thunder,uttering not a sound. So do we, travel through life unaware we are lost, until we have been found.

Her melancholy eyes are like a stagnant forgotten pool. It's deep reflection draws you in like a mirage is to a fool.
It is a mysterious journey into a lifetime of pain with just a glance,somewhere between a world of woe, and a moment of a chance.
If you follow where they lead, there is no turning back. The load you carry will be greater, and you will miss more all you lack.
You must break free from this deep pool before your own demise,
for if you are not careful, you will drown in her melancholy eyes.

A closeness like that of a mother to a child
resembles being near to a rose garden;
Her sweet fragrance is strong, but her
oh so close thorns
always cut us more deeply.

One Shot Wednesday



I suppose the ocean learns it's longing from the shore that it must meet.
Yet, the soil feels it's constant touch from the roots below the trees.
And perhaps the dawn finds it from the horizon for which it always yearns.
Yet, the flame feels it's close quiver from the embers as they burn.
Maybe the eagle captures it's meaning from the need to reach the mountain and all it's charms.
Yet,for me I truly found it in one child within my arms.

Imperfect Prose with Emily take a look you will be blessed.



It is strange what one forgets, and what one chooses to remember, like sifting fresh milk for cream, the liquid falls through while the thick cream remains at the top, tart and strong, ready to be used for another purpose. It has been over 30 years since her death, though the memories of my mother are faded, they are also frequent. Her brief life a constant reminder to me of life’s frailties, for I lost her long before her death to mental illness.
Being a child I was ignorant to the lack of normality in our lives. All I had known was seclusion and her fits from grandeur to gloom and despair. And though I can no longer recall her voice, I can still hear her words, and feel her silences, like echoes from a deep canyon.
Ever since I was grown with a child of my own, I have been all the more aware of the oddity of that time and the vacancy of the relationship I had with her. I had spent many of my younger years hating her for th…

The follower is like a leaking faucet that just keeps dripping and dripping until someone comes along and turns off the valve.

The fool is like a puddle in a busy pathway that gets stepped in time and time again.

The dreamer is a like a arctic glacier that lives in constant longing for a spring that it has never known.

The hero is like a high flowing fountain that's fervent spray touches all who come near.

The leader is like the tide that has the power to pull the waves in and send them back out again.

For all mankind is like a thousand differently wound rivers, yet each one is reaching toward the same ocean.

If we could live the life we wish our parents did,

maybe our children will!

Poets United Think Tank Prompt #24 Wings
It takes a whole factory to assemble artillery for the bullet's round,
but just one pull of the trigger to bring a sparrow down.
It takes many months to build a mighty bridge,
but just one earth quake for it to crumble and unhinge.
It takes the death of many soldiers to bring the battle to an end,
but just one terrorist attack to make the war begin.
It take a lot of time to establish reputation of dignity and concern,
but just one little lie to steal away the trust once earned.
It take a determined village to raise up a good women and good men,
but just one disguised villain to utterly destroy some of them.
For it takes a whole factory to assemble artillery for the bullet's round,
but just one pull of the trigger to bring a sparrow down.

Imperfect Prose with Emily take a look you will be blessed.
In a perfect world, would there be an absence of mercy, grace, and compassion, for they were no longer a necessity?.......

Or possibly would it be a perfect world because they were in abundance?

It has been whispered in my ear yet forever is such a mighty word we use with such frequent casualty flinging it around like a kite on display
with the recklessness of dreamers and earnestness of poets
as if we could truly contain the stars in a tin can
we chase forever's essence as if it could be caught
it has been written before me yet religion is such a fragile word
we say with such power
shuffling it around on desk tops like legal documents
with the harshness of scientists and disregard of fools
as if we could truly contain the stars in a tin can
we try to see the face of God
ignorant to the revelation that we have already seen the sparkle in His eyes.

The river is a drifter always leaving behind what it once had, never comprehending the purpose that returning has. For the distant shore behind it has so much to teach, and so the restless river is still learning how to reach.

The forest is an anchor always holding to the hope of freedom it does not have, never truly grasping the purpose for which the roots do stand. For the wind that bends the branches has so much to teach, and so the settling forest is still learning how to reach.

Mankind is an idealistic dreamer always seeking the perfect path, never understanding the purpose that falling has. For the stumbling blocks before us have so much to teach, and so mankind in his searching is still learning how to reach.