“Thanks For Writing Award”

The following award was presented to me by Thelma Cunningham; thank you very much!

Pay it forward:

I have nominated the following bloggers for the “Thanks For Writing Award”:













The further we travel down the path of darkness, the clearer are the steps leading toward the light. 

Separation: my one year

Darkness is but a trace of realization that we are strangers trapped within
a mirror of many forsaken heartbeats.

Beautiful Darkness
When my scarlet tears wash the pain away,
My heart dies, and my soul submits to the vast abyss of darkness.
Hope turns to ash and sadness melds with reality,
For faithful nights are once forgotten and death’s shadow cloaks my sight.
One, two, three tears spill from the window of my soul,
Crying, hopeless, tonight forgotten.
My black filled veins hold fast to this demonic sorrow,
And the spirit of iniquity takes control.
For the bloody ashes of nights fallen cling to my every desire,
And this beautiful darkness seduces my heart with the desolate truths of the damned.

One Last Time—January 1, 2011
A spark, a subtle intrigue into the night,
Once again, I long for the darkness that remains within.
The light, I cut through and through; its bloody smile remains just a tear in my eye.
Night gives way as the beast within,
For I delve deep into my soul to my place of sin.
I look into my mirror and see not I, but a charcoal face withering in the wind.
The ghostly hollows that show through to my soul,
Shatter the light and thoughts upon my skull.
I remove the point and the black sets in,
I lie upon my bunk and float on once again.

Life is but a tear drop in the rain: it will disappear unless embraced.

Into The Light
I stumble amidst the light—a seed of hope, grandeur in wholeness.

December’s ashes fall upon my waking smile,
Alas! The courage to live, to see, to breathe.
Perhaps out of desperation…maybe loss,
Nay! The strength to crawl from the coffin in which I dwelled.
Through Him I live.
I am,

Happiness becomes a fleeting emotion only when we neglect the relationships that bring truth to the naiveté of our existence. At times, solace comes softly on the lips of the wind; other times, it is sought through living a life without parallel to the desolate shadows of our past. I saw the colors of my life wither away as does a sunset fading to gray. Now, however, I see my heart—faithful in truth—give light to the thoughts that trickle upon my soul: snowflakes falling upon the oak that rests my tears. I can live, I can breathe, I can mourn, I can die, but today I have a choice. Today, I can live through Him.