She rode on a white horse,
that unforgettable day
she sat, back straight
head held high
the reigns in her hand
dressed all in white
like the lady warrior
she had pride in her eyes
a fight in her spirit,
our Joan of Arc
She rode on a white horse
and led us,
we marched,
flags waving, banners high
our hearts beating defiantly,
strength and hope and pride
and our warrior rode
like she was riding into battle
so brave,
our Joan of Arc
The first thing I want to say is that I don’t want any comments about the Pope or Mary or purgatory or confession or anything like that. I have questions about and problems with those as well, but this post is not about them.
I myself am not Catholic. If asked why, I would probably say my parents raised/are raising me as an Evangelical. But when I am old enough that my parents do not choose my church, I will still be Evangelical. Why? Because I believe it follows the Bible most closely. And if I learn otherwise, I’ll do something about it. (Not sure quite what yet.)
FIRE
Fire is something that’s always there.
It can dry up water, it will eat the air.
It licks ‘round the wood in the fireplace
Its countenance is bright with a burning face.
Its colors, of blue, yellow, and red.
Melting gold, silver, and lead.
It runs over everything, wood and leaf.
It runs from volcanos from somewhere beneath.
Fire burns in the winter to keep us from cold.
This use of fire is very old.
It will light a way in the darkest places.
For darkness runs when fire chases.
Don’t say it was for the best
Don’t tell me it was time.
I’ve heard it all before
Don’t be like all the rest
I’ve been trying not to cry
Every time I think of her
Don’t tell me it’s OK
Don’t say that I know why
You say she’s just a dog
I say she was much more
Eleven years of friendship
Now I’m in a fog
Whenever I was sad
She was by my side
Now I’m shattered into pieces
She was my comrade
Dreams upon their gossamer wings
come drifing down upon us
white and sparkling
like falling snowflakes,
glittering
The form of some sprite
or elven-like figure
tiny feet barely touching the surface
the sill of the window
silent, they creep
their delicate features,
angled in expressions of kindliness,
mischief,
happiness,
caring
touch as light as baby's breath
or soft raindrops upon skin
or downy feathers
They hover, silent,
or dart playfully above
Top Five Favorite Things....
Music:
1. Kutless
2. Pillar
3. Falling Up
4. Jeremy Camp
5. Seventh Day Slumber
Authors:
1. God
2. Brandilyn Collins
3. Terri Blackstock
4. Tracie Peterson
5. Colleen Coble
Food:
1. Enchiladas
2. home-grilled hamburgers
3. home-made pizza
4. Ice-cream
5. French toast
Books:
1. Bible
2. False Positive
3. Trial by Fire
4. Capture the Wind for Me
5. Abomination
*Prologue*
~Battle Cry~
Fuhlay whipped his sword out from its sheath that hung on his right leg, and the long silver blade caught the midday sun and it seemed to glitter.
A brilliant wave of color
Covering years of dirt and grime
Like learning afresh what was learned before
What you thought was forgotten in time
The whirr of the wheel going ‘round
Winter front and dusky sky
Pleasing the eye as I paint them
Coming to life, side by side
Muscles stretching
Plié and pouncing, sweat dripping
My body awakens with
Each reach for the bucket sitting
Just there. Who would have
Thought that painting
A wall touched by time
Could be so invigorating?