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My Song of Freedom


We marched down in Montgomery Alabama.
Went to Washington with Martin Luther King,
and words of hope, freedom, love and peace,
filled up every song we used to sing.

But our brave new world has crumbled
to our everlasting shame.
Our promises lie broken by the wayside,
and we only have ourselves to blame.

The torch of freedom we once held so high
has fallen from our failing hands,
and our poor world has not known any peace,
since the bloody war in Vietnam.

It was our apathy and our greed,
that derailed the bright freedom train.
All the blood and tears our dear one’s shed,
have truly been spilled in vain.

What would our loyal comrades think of us?
Our friends that now have died.
I fear that we would see deep disappointment
shining out from their cold dead eyes.

We marched down in Montgomery Alabama.
Went to Washington with Martin Luther King.
and words of hope, freedom, love and peace,
filled up every song we used to sing.

If we should light the torch of peace once more,
perhaps strong young hands will hold it high,
and then every voice here on our earth,
may overflow, with a brand new freedom’s cry.

Freedom’s Cry


I examine my reflection in the dusty cracked mirror of the dingy diner’s restroom, in the middle of nowhere, and the first thing that catches my attention are the bags beneath my eyes. Bags planted there by too many sleepless nights, too many nights, tossing, turning, scheming, and going over, and over things that might have been, instead of the way they are.

My gaze shifts downward, downward, to the rumpled suit coat, faintly stained with egg yolks, splotches of red catchup, dabs of yellow mustard from lasts night’s burger and fries, eaten with one hand and the other on the wheel of my twenty-year-old blue ford, that now has more rust than metal, still held together by who knows what. The faded blue tie, frayed at the edges, displaying its own memories of past meals, gravy from Detroit, spaghetti sauce from Chicago, and pulled pork sauce from Toronto.

An all too real record of my constant failures, my constant lack of ever being able to hold onto a job, a constant fading of hope, that ebbs with each new stain, with each city or town I stay in or travel through. The brown pants that have more wrinkles than a hundred-year-old person are next on my list to be disgusted with. At last, my shoes come into view of my weary blood shot eyes.

The question now arises, what has become of me, what have I done to become this, to deserve this cruel, harsh fate. A thought steals into my mind, unbidden, un asked for, unwanted, “Why bother going for this interview? Even if you do get the job, you won’t hold onto it, or the company will fold up within six months.”

It seems that the sad, sad story of my life is about to be repeated once more. One more failure, one more moment of despair to be chalked up on the blackboard of life. I turn to go, and that is when I hear it, away of in the distance, wailing wild and free, calling, calling to me once more, and the days of my youth, and the poems of my youth are brought forward into my memory once more. My heartbeat quickens, my breath grows deeper, my shoulders square, and as hope once more surges through me, I recite the poem that always dispelled my gloom.

In the morning when I arose
weary from a night without rest
I heard a train whistle echoing,
and something wild
surged with in my breast.

It was like the eagle’s cry
as on the wind he drifts.
From my heart, and from my mind
a heavy weight did lift.

No more for me the nine to five.
The days of soul filled pain.
Freedom was given back to me,
by the wailing whistle of a distant train

We have sinned


We have sinned mightily
in the eyes of our loving God,
and fallen far short of His Glory.

We have sold ourselves,
sold our children
sold our children’s children
into the hands of God’s enemy.

We have betrayed our creator.
we have despised Him,
despised the King of Glory.

We have taken up with his enemy
we have bowed down,
we have worshiped,
the one who would take us to hell.

Though we are not worthy,
though we can never be worthy
of his mercy, of his forgiveness,
He has purchased our freedom,
freedom from sin, freedom from death,
and calls upon us to be His children.

Oh you who disbelieve, open your eyes,
and look around at the works of His hands.
Look at the flowers that grow.
Look at the majestic beauty of mountains.
Look at the power of the roaring seas.

Man with all his pride cannot make a tree.
Man with all his false wisdom,
cannot make a blade of grass,
or know how to make an ant.

Oh, you who disbelieve, open your heart,
and know of His unending love.
Oh, you who disbelieve, open your mind,
and learn of His wisdom.

We have sinned mightily
in the eyes of our loving God,
and fallen far short of His Glory.

  • Keeper of the Sword

    It is often a simple thing, the roll of the dice, the turn of a card, or a chance meeting that can change one’s life forever. For Josh Campbell, and Morgan Connelly it was a seemingly harmless chain of events, a fight after school and performing a ritual that neither one of them believed in.

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    Full of fear and excitement Keeper of the Sword (The Sword of Kings) Josh notched an arrow to the bow string, pulled it back to his ear, took careful aim and released the shaft of death, and before it reached its target, a second bolt sliced through the dark. (To find out more, just follow the link.)
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