VISTAS: An awareness of a range of time, events, or subjects. A broad Mental View.
February 2

Is it any wonder
That the world is filled with pain,
When man sets aside its beauty,
For his own material gain?

Is it any wonder
That lovers' hearts grow dim,
When they do not hold in honour,
The love that's found within?

Is it any wonder
That the homeless often fail,
When they're forced out of house and home
To seek another trail?

Is it any wonder
That nature falls to ruin and rubble,
Because we drain it thoughtlessly,
Allowing it to crumble?

Is it any wonder
That children go astray,
Because we did not take the time,
To show them the proper way?

Is it any wonder
That evil's strong and bold,
When we can't see any goodness,
And we let our hearts grow cold?

Is it any wonder
Racism thrives, my friend,
When we cannot see the person,
Just the colour of his skin?

Is it any wonder
That friendships die and fade,
When we forget the reasons,
Why they first were made?

Is it any wonder
Our world has been polluted,
When we allow our industries,
To strip it and permute it?

Is it any wonder
There's so much grief and sorrow,
That we don't even seem to care,
What will take place tomorrow?

Is it any wonder
We see no value in our brothers,
And we hold ourselves too far above,
The many needs of others?

Is it any wonder

Our world is like it is,
When all we do is grumble,
And no action do we give?

Is it any wonder
We wait in fear of Judgment Day,
When we do the things we do,
Then forget the way to pray?

~ Author Unknown ~


It's truly hard to believe we are into February already, and before I know it will be gone as well.


Love means to love that which is unlovable, or it is no virtue at all; forgiving means to pardon that which is unpardonable, or it is no virtue at all.
- G.K. Chesterton -


ice on the windows
the small almost ticking sound of it falling
wonderment of the coming morning
and what the trail ahead holds in store.


I find myself needing a break, and escape from the prison of the puter, a real life, one where people speak with a voice that my ears may hear, but yet I'm unable to ascertain a way to do thus. Now what?


a waste of life
an inner time to search
a waste of being
an inner time to feel
a waste of hours
an inner cry for want
a waste of days
an inner desire for need


things are coming together
as well as the nerves
the doubts
and the hope of taking care of myself once again


inside of me I'm screaming
wanting answers
answers that never will be given
maybe cannot be given
maybe they just don't exist


Well they say Phil gave them a thrill
when he poked his head from the ground
and took a look around.
He looked left then right
not a shadow in sight
Then he retreated into his den.
All the townsfolk now knew when
The Bells did Ring
For Phil had announced an early Spring


The storm approaches
you can see the dark clouds descending
cloaking you in darkness

You feel the moisture in the air
it slips down over your cheek
you feel the chill upon your flesh

The wind raises
it punishes your soul
beating you and pushing you further

You seek protection
you crave to hide but there is no shelter
the only strength to be found is standing back to back.


Realism...has no more to do with reality than anything else.
- Hob Broun -