I am marked Scorched by a burning cross Turned and never returning Shackled in fires ever burning Global Warming - the scarecrow lies

Still I am, so still, so quiet So unknowing, rarely showing - my wicked sides So different, you won’t get me by mere sight - sniff me out or take a bite Be you a doctor of Body, of Mind or Soul Try to understand you fool, you believer in black and white  It wont get you any closer to the truth Good luck to you I will prevail in the everlasting shades of gray

I used to travel the world, sitting in my grandfather’s lap. He had an old Texaco map, and I an imaginary friend. The world was very flat back then, his fingers cold, so stiff so hard. Turning pages, going off somewhere new, with Amelia by my side. The travelling did eventually stop, old age and poor health got the better of him. I lost my way the day that he passed. Will she ever come back to finish her task? To guide the lost boy back on his path.

Sometimes you run out of words silence takes over silent until your breath and heartbeat becomes the voice wispering you need no words you need no words you need no words and then and only then you are at peace Translation of the Swedish Poem Det Behovs Inga Ord

The killer queen With frizzy hair I love her To bits for Time eternal A hellish beast In high heels For my eyes A lavish feast The river song Will never die Backwards going with Forward past Our crossing paths Still pending

Father, father The snow is falling I’m cold No flowers blooming In the dark You’re warm I hope Not alone Purgatory’s bliss

Morning, a new day dawning.  the sky is blue , the sun is new   birds sing in trees against a soft breeze A yawn or two, rise to see what this day will brew Copyright © 2013 SaFire

                  Standing on the precipice in contemplation  The four children to the Wind beckon.  In their soft whisper voices  Beseeching, to step over the abyss Stepping forward to peer over the edge  Heart thumping with trepidation  Don’t look down, look up to the Sky Its sovereign beauty luminous With anticipation, imagination  Fly With wings, rising Soar  Step over the edge. Take off. Take flight! Wing, Flutter Soaring, Fleeing Take to the skies. Floating On the Wind for an instance

I flew last night My soul taking flight From an outstretched hand Of this earthbound vessel Like a cannery eager To see a world beyond me I flew away with open glee Horizon cresting  Orange meeting yellow Stories enfolded In faces and places My soul saw wonders too vast to behold Despite Dark Spirits descending Like vultures of prey, Light’s simplicity Held supreme in the heart of those in the trenches I flew yet higher, to the stars I soared Listening to the harmonious song Of

 I remember the times Waking up at the break of dawn Nestled sweetly in your arms Listening to your quiet Snoozing, in sweet harmony With the happy chirping of the early birds When we would make Blueberry pancakes on Sunday mornings  Stayed in bed all day long while Reading the paper, a book or watching TV.  When we needed to be close, we would Dance, slowly all night long, Holding each other in our arms While swaying to the songs of love on the radio We often sang the words to our favorite

Harshness beat down on a parched land Hard ground cracked and shriveled  Having nothing and receiving less Sporadic in its giving back Uninhabitable and uncultivated What could grow within this wasteland so hostile? Nothing but the bleak, whose fiery is silent, weak. Few can endure in these conditions Only those who adapt will survive. The Desert Flower raised her head through the cracks Despite the desolate, she remained   strong within the severity. Stood firm against unforgiving w

A wind gust, heavily- laden with the sweet smell of honeysuckle, Stirred the gray-black feathers of a robin perched   on the iron railings of my balcony, chirping happily to its mate. Another warm breeze that didn’t stir him or me while I sat In my yard chair enjoying the lazy afternoon. I sipped on a cold  Glass of chardonnay and  stared mindless at the cloudless blue skies And the tips of tall green trees, communing with nature spiritually, all while listening to soft jazz.  Yet another gust

I stand next to an Oak tree Feeling its strong presence Touching the texture of its bark   The grooves and pathways, Seeking the wisdom of its  centries Sentry in this field Witin the rough and the smooth The knowledge I have not   opens me to its  enlighten Whispers  in the hushed of the breeze Centuries, sentry in this field Watching beings pass unaware Or simply stare, not one seeking or thinking I’m cognizant Yet, this being before me, examining her from within, and  without, excites Her

Parte de una serie de relatos sobre los siete Pecados Capitales.

Poema parte de una serie de siete textos sobre los pecados capitales.