In a small town there is a street
Where the chapel and the forest trees meet
And on this street there lives a girl
Who has given all she once prized for a pearl
It is pure, white, and perfect, set in a ring
Radiance, life, light, and joy does it bring
But when outsiders appear, the girl covers her hand
She will not share her treasure with the land.
    What will her gravestone say?

On a sun-bathed cliff, under sky, over sea
There is a boy who knows he is free
To a people who cannot comprehend his choice

Visions of his past,
Times he thought would never last,
haunted him,
Now that his eyes were open.

Grief hunted him,
Pain consumed him
completely now.
What had he accomplished?

A Godly fear took hold
of this man, weak and old,
now dying.
And he begged for Love.

Oh soul which cannot rest until
Every grace is well used,
Which cannot respite 'till it is filled,
With God's sanctifying grace.

In worldly things I see no pleasure,
For all turns to rot and dust,
But seek in God my only treasure,
And thus find my truest desires.

I stand under the sun, yet I’m cold as ice.
I walk on the flatlands, yet I stumble, unsure of my feet.
There is beauty all around me, yet I see only stones, broken branches, and crushed flowers.
The wind caresses the trees and water, yet it strikes me as an arrow.
Music plays in every height, yet it falls deaf on my ears.
Something is wrong with me, I say, shivering. Then, No. Something is wrong in me.
If a soul is a bird, then mine is an ostrich- running endlessly, always searching, never flying or finding.

Methuselah. It’s an interesting name, to say the least. A name which belongs to a rather obscure character in the Bible. He is probably known to most as the man with the longest recorded life span in history. He lived a grand total of 969 years; but that was really not astounding, as most people during his time seemed to live well into their nine hundreds. His own grandfather, Jared, lived 962 years. Adam lived to be 930, and Noah to 950.

Desperation – desperation calls;
And I, a thief, respond,
Forgetting him who watches all,
I steal and despond.

I steal – I take from those I love,
From those I hate as well,
And then the watchman caches up;
I hear my own death knell.

I hear my death and then I see
Two beams of wood brought by,
And crossed to form my own death tree -
And I in sorrow cry.

I cry, but then, on looking up,
I see another come,
Whose brow by many thorns is cut:
My Lord – my God’s own son