The Glory of Heaven

A little sound, a whisper,
From where does it come?
Little voices echoing through the
Halls of time, resounding for those
     who choose to listen
Of purity, of innocence, of wonder,
Where imaginations and dreams
Have yet to be stamped out by the 
     world
Glories missed by many whose ears
Have been shut by the grasp of 
     condescension
Glories yet unheard in many of our
     our own halls of glory
Treasures stored in God's private stash
The voices of children of which the 
     trees are keen to listen
No one has to teach a child how to 
     dream
But when teachings and temperance
     and logic have done their work,
The vibrant colors once painted across
     the sky often fade to gray
Oh!  That dreams and innocence and 
     purity might be preserved!
It is no wonder that God taught us
     that we must all become like 
     children

10-5-13

Autumn

A breeze blew like a wave in the ocean
Rippling through trees
Rustling the leaves
Creating a beautiful transition

Blistering heat has been carried away
And now there's stillness
Sunshine with coolness
What a glorious and beautiful day

The breath of the clouds brings the crisp cool air
Scent of cinnamon
Orange of pumpkin
Drinking in the beauty without a care

9-26-13