We hear it all the time.  It’s about the only thing that a majority of “main-stream” Americans and the political elitists agree on.  The middle class pays too much in taxes, but the rich don’t pay enough.  “Tax the rich!” they cry.  “Make them pay their fair share!”

Too many of us buy into this lie.  I hope that if you are among them, that you will consider my argument and rethink your position.  Here is a fundamental principle of life:

You cannot help the wage earner by tearing down the wage payer.

The things in my left pocket are scattered and few:
Tissues for wiping a tear or two,
A note to remind me of some mistake,
A tourniquet for when I break.
At the bottom is where you'll find
The bit of dignity that I resigned,
All tied up with a silver hair.

The world is changing; it grows dark. Sweetness is turning to bitterness; joy to sorrow; life to death. A shadow is falling. Few are not touched by it. Living in secret. Living where none know of them. Waiting, planning, preparing for the time they will strike. It will be the saving of all, or the destruction of all.

Peace and justice for all, they say

But then they go and just flush you away

You who are the most vulnerable of these

It doesn't even matter that you would like a chance to breathe

To breathe, to laugh, to sight, to grin

And now I will never get to see you

Until we meet oneday in heaven

But I promise I will work for you

And pray for you

So the rest of your generation, our generation

Do not end up aborted like you

When faced with a decision

Of difficult degrees,

I tried to solve it on my own,

And so pride drove me to my knees.

My heart was weak and sad,

And in my indecision

I bowed my sinful head and asked

For God to be my vision.

I waited hours, days, and weeks,

But just when hope was lost,

He answered me and gave me peace

To follow Him and pay the cost.

Now I shall never doubt Him

For He has spake to me

The words that never shall grow dim -

Chapter Fifteen: Thankfulness
    A quarter of an hour later found Jeffrey outside the cabin. Archie stood across from him.
    “Jeffrey, I’m sorry, too, for the loss of Keegan. He was a friend to us all.”
    “Yes, sir, I know.”
    “At ease, Jeffrey.” Archie commanded. “I hate seeing a boy who has suffered so much death stand so stiffly that it seems as if nothing can heal that hurt.”
    “Mr. Archie, sometimes I wonder,” he paused, “if there is anything that can heal my heart.”

So, you may or may not know that i am the author of the work in progress (of awesomeness) Hot Air Balloon. (Pleeease tell me you actually read it...)