Precious Beauty 

Precious Beauty 

Look…in the horizon there
Mountains stand with a magnificiant glare
They look so close, but yet so far
Standing there holding up romantic stars
If I had that one and only chance
I’d ask this glorious mountain if she’d to dance
I’d take my time to say my prayers
Cause thses precious beauties are, oh, so rare.




The cries of death can not haunt me,
As I have heard the voices of silence.
The darkness of of grave can not scare me,
As I have seen the darkness of minds.
The redness of blood can not shiver me,
As I have seen the color of hatered.
The fast moving winds can not trembil me,
As I have already swolled the floods of emotions.
The thirst of world cant kill me
As I have seen the desert of death.
The lonliness of path can not haunt me
As I have left my destination behind

The Beat Of My Heart

The Beat Of My Heart

My heart beats for you, if only it’ll come true .
If you would only comfort me , and ease my pain.
I could breathe I would be born again.
With each beat of my heart I yearn for you.
With a few small words and things could of been different……..
And with each beat of my heart I regret losing you.
Each beat brings me pain,reminds me you are not near.
Arms outreached, for you

Looking Through My Window

Looking Through My Window

Many a long hour I sit in my chair
The window open to let in God’s good
It’s a picturesque view for all to see
Especially the lovely,

Tall ash tree
In the spring it was late starting to sprout
But at last the buds just opened out
Now it is standing majestic and tall
Covered in green leaves,

From which the birds call
I watch it each day in the breeze blowing
Without human aid it simply keeps growing
Telling us God’s help is always there
For everyone who really cares
So look out of your window,

All day long
Then you will feel like singing a song
Of thanks and praise for the one above
Giving us everything,

Especially His love

Copyright ©2004 

The Old Man

The Old Man


His face shadowed over like a cloud, full of rain,
His mouth was curved, an object of disdain.
He lay there cold as morning frost
His soul, his mind forever lost.
He lay as if though sleeping, upon the old armchair,
His clothes for sleep upon the bed, laid out with gentle care.
His face was free from hardness, in death the old man did smile,
With the underlying happiness that he’d be there for a while.
A breeze leapt up and through the door, rendering the bedroom cold,
It brushed the face of the silent man and took a gripping hold.
‘Twas five days later one called by, and what they saw they’ve sworn,
The wind had been harsh and without care his face was smooth and worn.
A village crowd astounded, treaded through the dilapitated hallway.
But the old mans body had vanished, they knew not what to say.
The crowd turned and left, not one said a word,
The wind it cackled and howled like a ghost,a ghost that no one heard.