Juststan

Taking dreams off the shelf, wiping off the settled dust repairing wounded parts of myself; disillusion baking a hard crust; an armour of protection, sealing blocking my trust. Looking at old stillborn dreams, scars not only renewing pain, also the zest of lifestreams the vibrance of being born again releasing pent up inner screams numbed by shackled restrain. Marking off different stages pivotal points clear and stark, some clouded by varying ages, others half forgotten in the dark, a few scribbled on a page, delicately folded into a bookmark. From brimming bubbling success, to stumbling bumbling tripping failure, all parts are more or less that which helps me to endure, when all seems a random mess in a discordant overture.

There are unknown paths to explore, undiscovered hidden thoughts to analyse, to show me ways to love you more, to get me to stop and realise for our love to sail the storms, come through them stronger cant or wont be found in prescribed forms, or the obsession to conquer. Maybe I could try to make a start, by learning to listen, to words whispered from the heart, or wipe your tears that glisten; place your needs above mine, discover your one secret desire, nurture your talent for it to shine a bright beacon of hope amidst the mire. Show my love through my actions, and stop trying to remould; and destroying what was the attraction, rather allow that truth to unfold, by being close to you in laughter and tears, not allowing us to become strangers, by embracing my own fears, and illusions of unreal dangers. All said and done, words strung together, there are still only three which I can say, and they don't say it all. "I LOVE YOU"

This poem is dedicated to "Highway Ministry" - a ministry directed at the trucking industry. Highway ministry is a non-profit organization providing support services, dealing with problems such as alcohol, drug abuse, AIDS/HIV, marital discord and prostitution, to mention a few, as well as a "Highway Prayer Patrol." If you are going somewhere, along these roads we share, to be safe enough to get there, start the journey in prayer; and along the way show you care, by stopping now and then to share. As we travel be it on the busy highways, or off the beaten track along quiet byways; or wherever our hearts yearn to stray, or when our tempers start to fray; and the horison appears bleak and grey, lets take time to stop and pray. When 'tis time to return home, digital memories of where we roamed; of the endless beaches we combed, of things lost and found in swirling foam; from crashing waves washing away sand domes, it will still be great to get back home. For those

"There is a tide in the affairs of men, which taken at the flood, leads on to fortune. Omitted, all the voyage of their life is bound in shallows and in miseries. On such a full sea are we now afloat. And we must take the current when it serves, or lose our ventures." William Shakespeare 1564-1616. Amidst the idyllic isles, from whence they will begin informing, of the drastic changing lifestyles, with the effect of global warming. In this panoramic tranquil setting, set on a path to paradise lost, it would be to easy to start forgetting, of bridges needed to be crossed; that the effects of global warming, like a cancer silently eroded, its far reaching tentacles started forming, the ground for the isles to be unloaded, a second Atlantis about to be born; Ordained seasons breaking from traditions, shall all be lost before we mourn, we could have halted the emissions. Rain has formed mighty canyons, with the power of one drop at a time, so too can millions of companions; sta

It is for me once more that time of the year, when my paternal emotions soar, as the festive season draws near. Doll houses I crafted with care, every year a different style, with a desire to be there, to watch you play with them for a while. Sometimes what I miss most , is that I never got to know you, or the moments to hold you close, and share the wonder of you. Had I but a moment to tell the world, of their greatest treasure; in that moment all truth unfurled, angelic reposes constant pleasure, locks of hair tangled in sleep. Let nothing steal your attention, in gaurding their safekeep, or abuse their unconditional affection. In running here and there, let not thoughtless neglect, make you forget they are there; in that moment I ask this in humble respect. I came across a couple of sites I would like to share. Every year we read about children and animals dying in closed up cars and closed up spaces, refrigarators disposed with doors intact, I think of my own I have never seen, che

Is justice seen to be fair, her scales balanced equitable; when judges dont seem to care, about that which is reputable. Appointed by royal decree, short of only a sceptre to reign, perpertrators liberally set free, victims penalised to even greater pain. That she was raped seven times, her friend suffered assault; the judges heaped other crimes, saying she was at fault; her lawyer was disbarred, doing his duty to defend, in a court system marred, by the way judges choose to bend. A world thats greedy for oil, elects to watch in silence, ignoring the disgusted recoil, at this blatant support of violence. Six months in jail to be spent, the lashes have been doubled, they say for her to repent, without even being troubled. Only one question, If the girl from Qatif, was your daughter judge would your ruling still hold water.