We can never tell
until they touch our lives.
What these things will do,
if they will rise us up
or put us down,
we just have to wait and see.
Whatever happens to our lives
we are but pawns in a big game
that starts when we are born
and it ends when we die.
Our lives are guided by an unseen hand.
Some call it fate
others call him God.
We will never know
until our living days are through.
Until then
we will move along
paths chosen for us.
1 June 2008
with every new child born.A rhythm of life itselfthat follows us everywherefrom the cradle to the grave.No one can deny it;it’s the most wonderful sound of all.The rhythm of life,the everlasting kind,come the rain or sunshine.When you wake up in the morning,breathe fresh air in,always enjoy the rhythm of lifefor as long as you can.7…
You may not say anything,but distrust breeds withinat any promise others make.You become always warysaying to yourself silentlyit will never happen again.It makes you lose trustin all those around you,colleagues at workand even some close friends.Sadly it is a fact of life,something we all too oftentake as common place,but it is notand only a few…
it might smell like dried wood,but it tastes mighty good.By then the postman comes to callanother bill through the letterbox does fall.It is no good tearing it in two;they’ll only send a reminder through.Everyday at eight I clock in,that’s when my daily work begins.Lifting boxes up and downand shifting things round an round.Ten o’clock and…
Our hearts beat as oneas raptures of love around us entwine.The world does not existin our paradise where we recline.Our senses smoulderbefore the intensity of love’s fireas we drift into desire.Emotions lift us to the cloudsmurmuring voices reach aloud,giving no passage to timeas our heart entwine.2 July 2008
Picking it up you say helloand the voice answers,“How are you? ”Suddenly you are catapultedto a different time and placeby a voice you used to know.A conversation beginsand the years slip away.It’s nice to hear from a friendyou used to know.The reminiscing makes time slip byand soon the conversation has endedwith a promise of talking…
letters written long agoin the bloom of someone’s youth.They were tied with a pink ribbonand kept preciouslyby someone I do not know.Each letter spoke of love,the yearning of being apart,and how good it would feelto be home once again.How wonderful it would beback in loves arms againaway from a terrible warthat had to part them…
