Invictus…

I have so much I wish to say, but can’t seem to find the words…yet. So, instead I’ll post this poem.

Out of the night that covers me,
Black as the pit from pole to pole,
I thank whatever gods may be
For my unconquerable soul.

In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud.
Under the bludgeonings of chance
My head is bloody, but unbowed.

Beyond this place of wrath and tears
Looms but the Horror of the shade,
And yet the menace of the years
Finds, and shall find me, unafraid.

It matters not how strait the gate,
How charged with punishments the scroll,
I am the master of my fate:
I am the captain of my soul.

William Ernest Henley

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When You Are Old…William Butler Yeats

 
When you are old and grey and full of sleep,
And nodding by the fire, take down this book,
And slowly read, and dream of the soft look
Your eyes had once, and of their shadows deep;
How many loved your moments of glad grace,
And loved your beauty with love false or true,
But one man loved the pilgrim Soul in you,
And loved the sorrows of your changing face;
And bending down beside the glowing bars,
Murmur, a little sadly, how Love fled
And paced upon the mountains overhead
And hid his face amid a crowd of stars.
 
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Walk With Me…Hold My Hand

Walk along the beach with me
Hold my hand
Let’s feel the sand between our toes
The water chasing us with each crashing wave
 
Walk along the beach with me
Let’s watch the sunset
Sing silly songs
Laugh at ourselves
 
Walk along the beach with me
Let’s sit in silence together
Hold my hand
Listen to the roar
 
Walk along the beach with me
Hold my hand
Only for our joy and comfort
Not for any other reason
 
Walk along the beach with me
Let’s not miss this moment
In a wisp of wind it will be gone
Hold my hand
 
Smile…breathe…be there with me.
 
"Walking my Favorite Beach"

“Walking my Favorite Beach”

Maya Angelou, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

A free bird leaps on the back of the wind
and floats downstream till the current ends
and dips his wing in the orange suns rays and dares to claim the sky.

But a bird that stalks down his narrow cage
can seldom see through his bars of rage
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.

The free bird thinks of another breeze
and the trade winds soft through the sighing trees
and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn and he names the sky his own.

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams
his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream
his wings are clipped and his feet are tied so he opens his throat to sing.

The caged bird sings with a fearful trill
of things unknown but longed for still
and his tune is heard on the distant hill
for the caged bird sings of freedom.”
― Maya AngelouI Know Why the Caged Bird Sings

Abundance

The-GratitudeProject.com

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A beautiful and empowering prayer for a Sunday morning!

Abundance Prayer
From The Light of God that I Am.

From The Love of God that I Am.

From The Power of God that I Am.

From The Heart of God that I Am.

I Decree-

I dwell in the midst of Infinite Abundance. The Abundance of God is my Infinite Source.

The River of Life never stops flowing. It flows through me into lavish expression. Good comes to me through unexpected avenues and God works in a myriad of ways to bless me and let me, in turn, bless others.

I now open my mind to receive my good. Nothing is too good to be true. Nothing is too wonderful to have happen. With God as my Source, Nothing amazes me.

I am not burdened by thoughts of past or future. One is gone. The other is yet to come.

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Why am I this Way?

It has taken many years to become comfortable, and actually love myself and the person I have become. I don’t mean this in a narcissistic way at all. After many years of neglect and abuse by so many people in my life, I was the queen of low self-esteem, so this “loving myself” is a relatively new feeling, and is allowing me to grow.

However, I don’t always appreciate the overly romantic, extremely passionate side of myself, the side that can sit here and start crying over a Barry Manilow  song, or a John Denver song…I break down every time I listen to “Yesterday When I was Young” by Roy Clark. What the heck is wrong with me? I can deal with the huge amount of empathy I carry for others, even though this can also result in tears. I believe we can never care too much about others, and empathy is necessary for this. I can almost deal with the dreamer side of myself when it comes to love and romance…but, why must I insist on it looking like a movie script? Now, don’t think that I’m not a realist when it comes to what life is really like, I’ve had my share of awful reality placed upon my shoulders in my 5 decades on this Earth, but all of that movie romance stuff must be based on someone’s reality, no?

I also believe that blogging here on WordPress has not helped to quell this romantic, crazy, dreaming, wanting to be loved passionately side of myself. In this artistic environment I have found that there are real poets, real dreamers and seekers of beauty, and I have seen real passion, whether in words, photographs, drawings, and all the rest. So, why is it so hard to find the satisfaction for these desires in my real life? Is there something inside of me that lives in a “Wonderland” that doesn’t really exist, or have I spent my life looking for it in all the wrong places, in the wrong people? Sigh.

Oh gosh, “What a Wonderful World” just came on the radio…I best take my questions, and go grab my tissue box.

Midnight City

A Summer Breeze drifts warmly through my window carrying the sounds of the night.
Lonely voices of the sleepless souls rise from the street below
Sounds of joy and pain riding on the wind
 fading like moonlight in the city
Momentary silence,
street lamps hazy in the heat
The trees whispering their prayers into the night 
A siren screams through the darkness
blending with a baby’s cry
Solitary sounds
Cars passing
A man walks alone feeding his sorrow with wine
©Kim Hood 2013