Pacificmelody's Blog

I've got the computer keys to the kingdom!


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What Will We Leave Our Children

beautiful-love-natureAs vile as we
Are beautiful ~
Still ~
I think the
Human race ~
Has earned the
Right
To go on ~

If you judge us
As a whole ~
And not by the
Evil causes
We’ve espoused
From time to time ~

The great majority ~
Though not as
Silent
As it once was ~
Is made up
Of those
Just like us ~

Who want the
Same things ~
Feel the same
Emotions ~
Bleed the same
Color ~

Can we not try ~
Here in this
Eleventh hour ~
To choose what
Is best
For us All ~

Will you not
Join together ~
So that our
Children
Will have
Air to breathe ~

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The Look of Love

tumblr_m6ay3rlMei1rnx591o1_400.jpg golden haired manOnce in a dream
I saw you pass by
On the other side
Of the road

And I thought you
Beautiful
With the sun all golden
In your golden hair

Since then I’ve looked
For you everywhere
Till I began to think
That you were only

A figment of my
Fertile imagination
The ultimate in the
Unobtainable dream

Yet now you’re here
My dream’s come true
And you look at me
As I first looked at you


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Only an Illusion?

shepherdess-fixd-lgI was noticing a scratch on a piece of furniture when an old memory surfaced. It was of a story I’d read many years ago, written, I believe, by a Unity minister. The details may not be exact but the gist is close enough.

She told of visiting a dear friend who was not easily able to get out. It was a pleasure to come to her home, which always seemed filled with interesting and lovely objects, everything shining with a patina of polish and loving care. And over all, the lady spread her mantle of charm and gracious welcome. Her invitations were sought and prized, and her guests uniformly left her with reluctance – and happy memories.

And it came to pass that the friend died. The minister had been left a small bequest – a painting she had once admired – and on impulse had gone to the home, where she knew the lady’s sister would be sorting through her things. She wanted to visit once more the place of which she had such fond memories.

It came as a surprise to her when she walked in, that the rooms were not at all as she recalled. Everything was shabby and a little worn. The paint was peeling, the upholstery faded. The pretty little shepherdesses and their swains, the lovely china plates, all were revealed in the harsh light to be inexpensive souvenirs. It seems the lady had imbued her modest possessions with the grace and beauty of her inner being, so that everything and everyone around her, became a little finer through being in her company.

As an epitaph, you couldn’t do much better. Fitting words for a life well lived.