Exactly as you said. Let them know that whatever they did offended you but you understand that they didn't do it on purpose.

Honestly and openness is always best in any relationship.

If you were married at the time of the accident, you are, by law, entitled to SSI death benefits. But if the divorce was already final at the time of his death, you are not entitled to SSI death benefits.

His children however, no matter what, are entitled and rightly so.

Problem is, should Social Security learn that you knew of her deception, you could be held accountable if they chose to pursue it. Sticky situation in either case.

SSI death benefits do not cover partners that are not married, so when she goes to file for herself, they will likely tell her that up front.

Regardless, she is planning a deception with grave consequences. I would (if the two of you are on speaking terms) advise her that what she is planning to do is a federal offense and as such, she would be held accountable. If she's not filed yet, no harm done. But when you file the application, you sign it, under penalty of perjury that you are telling the truth to the best of your knowledge.

What you choose to do, ethically, morally, or legally, is of course entirely up to you and whatever decision you make, you ultimately have to live with.

It’s Still Too Late To Cry

Fear grips the heart with razors and steel, twenty-three years long past by;
Fortune and fame, seeking the sane, love comes and goes then denies.
A child long ago, lost deep in the pain, cried to be freed, to be saved;
Begging for reasoning, crying for justice, an innocent soul enslaved.
Hands meant to hold, protect, and to love, striking in blindness and rage;
Tears held within, no weakness to grind, the beatings with scars to the core;
Far away gaze, the pain sinks away, not forgotten just hidden and torn.
The molding, the kneading, the firing of youth, into the vessel that's grown;
Bitterness, hatred, darkness ensues, desperately wanting to be known.
Shadows and nightmares, surface with hate, seeking only to soar;
From the depths of the heart that so tenderly loved, now broken and dreaming for more.
Wishing for peace, unconditional love, hoping the day will arrive;
When darkness no longer surrounds and impounds, the day when there are no more lies.
Beyond what was once and no longer may be, yet lingers to taunt and to tease;
A mold to remind that the fire lives on, embracing the next generation's pleas.
Silent screams kiss ancient tears, dusky and cold as they die;
And a tiny voice from two decades past, whispers yes, it's still too late to cry.

Copyright 2005-2008 CZF.

A Friend Indeed

A friend indeed yet so much more, but not enough it seems,
I've felt your presence when alone, I've seen you in my dreams.
And still my heart is so confused, when I think of you,
I've never known such peace of mind, I'm not quite sure it's true.

From times long past it's hard to trust, although I know you care,
I try to see beyond the pain, but I still know it's there.
I hear the words I see your smile, sometimes they're hard to read,
It's difficult to know between what I want and need.

Your touch it makes my heart cry out, my mind says turn away,
It's a never-ending battle, with a road that goes both ways.
I feel such joy when by your side, but when apart not so,
Expressions, feelings, intertwined, not knowing where to go.

I cannot say just how I feel yet in my heart I'm sure,
Piece by piece save all but one, I sense a love so pure.
You've caught a hold, you've grasped it firm and still I feel so lost,
For through the years I've learned of love, it's giving’s and its costs.

I've lived so much, I learned quite young, just what this world can do,
A heart endures more than it should, until one day it's through.
Mine has lived much more than most, but loved as less the same,
Torn and shattered, used and worn, so stone is what remained.

But in this time I've learned much more, than all the years I've lived,
I've reached so deep within my heart, I know now how to give.
Not only have I found the child, I've learned to make her grow,
Into the woman that I am, with so much more to know.

The times to come I know will be, full of pain and tears,
But also filled with happiness, to wash away my fears.
Then the joy may overcome, the feelings from the past,
You've shown me how to use my heart, to love myself at last.

A word cannot say how I feel, though a smile helps to explain,
The love I feel and now can live, instead of fear and pain.
You are a friend but so much more and yet not quite enough,
You've opened up my heart and mind... and all with just a touch.

Copyright 1988-2008 CZF.

My Words Are My Pictures

My words are my pictures, to the past life I've led,
and that which I'm feeling, the pain that I've bled.
The joy that's eluded me, ink stains in blue,
love, peace, and happiness, all ink stains too.

Emotions, experiences, dreams and the sane,
written on paper, all to remain.
Forever for those who will wish they had read,
the moments of time from these photos instead.

Of what will they see when they look at the words,
that tell of the different, the wild, the absurd.
How will they recognize metaphor used,
will they feel lonely, forlorn, or abused?

Written from memories, wishes, and dreams,
not all are painful, just abstract it seems.
Words can elaborate, shame, or confuse,
especially for those who see truth as refused.

My words are my pictures of this life I've led,
but take a good look, then pass on what you've read.
Life will continue to grow and evolve,
and with it my pictures, the mystery they'll solve.

Copyright 2004-2008 CZF.

Abomination

What is the greatest sin that we know;
Fleeting addictions, wandering lust grows.
Gluttonous appetites, gossiping tongues;
Pennies in pockets, misleading our young.
Hypocrites laughing as helping vows made;
While winking eyes promise a good time exchanged.
Frequently visiting, the bar down the road;
Pass by the beggar, but take time to goad.
Just drop in your dollars as the plate passes by;
And say your confessions, so you can deny.
A dollar bill here, a few pennies there;
Smite all the sinners, no mercy to spare.
Smile at the children, but no helping hand;
No food for the poor, no drink for the man?
The mother in prison, she ought to be glad;
Your taxes are paying for her kid's deadbeat dad.
Excuse me, go visit her? Surely you jest!
Why tomorrow is Sunday and I have been blessed!
Obligatory presence, we must sing our praise;
Your god will punish them, eternal blaze!
Forget that old heathen, with no heat or coat;
The finery you wear, the shirt that you bloat.
The two girls that walk down the street hand in hand;
Snickers and insults, in hell they'll both land.
But oh no, not you, your god will forgive;
You know the right people, you know how to live!
Indignant and smiling, proud you're not like them;
No way YOU would be caught, living in sin!

Copyright 2004-2008 CZF.

Prison Song

Step softly on the silenced run, as moonlit shadows cast;
Melancholy whispers to, the demons of the past.
Frightened souls to testify, of sentences long paid;
While echoes wait upon the wires, to grasp another saint.
Barbs and ribbons decorate, the fence that closes in;
Withholding freedom, tucked away, sanctifying sin.
Doors clang shut from deep within, as shackles deeply bite;
The tender flesh of one so young, who could not stay to fight.
Walls of brick and streets of stone, loom ominously close;
As bitter memories of death, kiss sweet the lips of ghosts.
Footsteps on the path to nowhere, bring a saddened bass;
To join the symphony of sorrow, upon each weathered face.
As morning breaks a robin sits, upon the razored fence;
Offering a song of hope, to those who die within.
A song of fire, as withered dreams, forgive the promise made;
Forever souls to wander there, behind the self-made slave.
And so the opus rings once more, to break from right and wrong;
Between the bars the haunting sound, of a wind-cast prison song.

Copyright 2006-2008 CZF.

Justice Or Mercy?

When at the forefront, of jury and judge,
And that you've done, are sighted and drudged;

Eyes peering on you, baring your soul,
Knowing your purpose, counting the toll.

Victims and voices, weeping and nigh;
Closing around you, "JUSTICE!" they cry.

Pleading for wisdom, excuses abound;
Praying for mercy, your crimes are unbound.

Holding the tears of the child you once knew;
Whispers and words of the careless untrue.

Begging for pity, vows to amend;
Promises broken, oceans of sin.

Nodding and gathering, the gavel comes down;
The jury has spoken, the sentence passed 'round.

Standing, awaiting, the judge calls you near;
And loosens your bonds, your freedom is here.

Vindicated with ego and boldness to spare;
You now take your seat, to watch the next dare.

Smiling with pride, the next one walks in;
She who has wounded you, she who has sinned.

Knowing your chance will soon come to tell;
You fidget and squirm, you can't break the spell.

You listen as pleas of mercy are wept;
Pity and sorrow, for all secrets kept.

Until the time comes, your name is now called;
The chance has now come to extend mercy to all.

And slowly you rise, your eyes hold her firm;
Mercy my ass, it's her time to learn.

Head bowing down, a tear from her cheek;
"JUSTICE!!" you cry, "Pity the weak."

Ask not for what, you're not willing to give;
Mercy or justice, it takes both to live.

Copyright 2004-2008 CZF.

One Day At A Time

One day at a time, I awake and start a new day.
One day at a time, I look into the mirror and introduce myself.
One day at a time, I watch the sunrise.
One day at a time, I remind myself that it is a new day.
One day at a time, I remind myself that I make life worth living.
One day at a time, I remind myself, that I am worthwhile.
One day at a time, I remind myself that "I Can."
One day at a time, I remind myself that I don't want to.
One day at a time, I remind myself that I don't have to.
One day at a time, I remind myself that only I can stop myself.
One day at a time, I remind myself that I am my worst enemy.
One day at a time, I remind myself that I am my best friend.
One day at a time, I remember to ask myself what is important to me.
One day at a time, I remember to think of someone else.
One day at a time, I remember to look around me.
One day at a time, I remember to stop and smell the weeds.
One day at a time, I remember to listen.
One day at a time, I remember to sing.
One day at a time, I remember to cry.
One day at a time, I remember that it's okay.
One day at a time, I remember who I am.
One day at a time, I remember where I came from.
One day at a time, I remember where I have been.
One day at a time, I remind myself where I am going.
One day at a time, I learn to like myself.
One day at a time, I learn to say I love you... to myself.
One day at a time, I learn to live again.
One day at a time, I learn to watch the sunset.

One day at a time, I learn to look forward to tomorrow.

Copyright 2003-2008 CZF.

How can an angel bargain with God?

Then again, maybe I’m not really an angel. Maybe I’m a fiend in disguise and my whole existence is a just a joke. Either way, I despise my existence. I despise the lack of control over what I have to do. And I despise what I do.
To watch an innocent child surrender to the atrocities and idiocies of the ignorant adults who are sworn to protect her takes strength and ambiguity that only a being with no soul could possibly bear. But I’ll tell you this much; if I had a soul, if I had a heart, I would gladly give her mine and take her place.

So how do I stand in the shadows and merely watch as this gullible little flower wilts in my presence while I wait like a vulture for her to take her last breath? Watching her frail chest rise and fall with each labored breath; listening for the hoarse pleading from her lungs. Just waiting.

How is it that I can creep closer and closer while I feel the fading beat of her heart within my own empty lifeless shell? Lub dub, lub dub, lub dub. Slower, weaker, indistinctively begging for relief, until finally it’s electrical pulses can give no more and I steal in to seize her soul and carry her away.

It is not an easy thing to do, to be sure, but it must be done and I must be the one to embrace the guilt for not stepping in. Yes, even those of us without souls still feel.
With Rubenstein’s Melody in F playing softly in the background, I watch as tiny beads of sweat began to pool into streams that pour down her pale blond hair onto the starched white sheet beneath her. Streaks of crimson began to swell as the crusty leather strap that binds her forehead starts to bite into her delicate flesh and an angry cyan hue adorns the space between her terrified blue eyes and the wispy bangs of her sweat soaked hair.

And those hands. Perfect miniature hands sporting perfect miniature fingers, with perfect pink polish garnishing the perfect little tips of her perfect little fingernails. Hands that should someday comfort a child, caress a loving husband, or create a masterpiece of paint or clay. A tiny silver ring that she had begged to wear until the last minute sits beside her on the vague gray blanket that’s covering her soon-to-be urine soaked body. Little do they know, it is the last minute.

Her pitiful wrists pulled against the strong leather cuffs that mercilessly pinned her hands to her sides as the fragile skin on her wrists began to stretch and tear. Old scars from other visits like this catch the droplets of blood that begin to seep towards the gurney. She knows it will do no good to try, but she pulls and twists until the floor below becomes decorated with snowflake spatters of blood mingled with sweat and tears. Falling so gently, yet with each drop another moment of life lost, surrendered to the elements of science and well-being.

Oh how it would break my heart, if only I had one, each time I see her cerulean blue eyes open wide in fear. Each time I hear her scream out, “Mommy, please don’t! I’ll be good, I’ll be quiet, I promise!” And how angry it should make me each time I see that ***** just standing there emotionless, looking down at the child she claims to love, with blank eyes and tight lips, a woman who doesn’t know the meaning of love. A woman afraid to find out. And I’m the one with no heart, no soul, and yet I wish I could cry for her. I wish I could take her mother instead. I wish…

Forever’s a long time, but each time I’m forced to watch this, it feels like forever all over again. Even though I have existed since the beginning of time, eternity begins again with each child’s soul I am compelled to take. This time is no different, but this time won’t be the same.
She knows what’s coming next. The nurse swabs her little arm with alcohol and ruthlessly shoves a needle full of sedative into her quivering muscle, what little there is of it anyway. Too much though, but she doesn’t know that. A little whisper in the ear to distract her was all it took, a little nudge to her psyche and an adult dose flows into a child’s waiting bloodstream. It won’t be long now.

How many times I’ve stood here and watched her, trying to put myself in her place, wondering if I’m even capable of thinking on her level. Don’t get me wrong; not that her thinking is any lower than mine, it’s just different. Less experienced. Innocent. I’ve often wondered what it must be like, playing with toys, running in the yard barefoot, feeling the grass and mud between my non-existent toes. To hug a kitten or catch a frog, to actually lay there at night and wonder what the stars are saying to each other. To actually wonder and not know…

How I wish I had hands to pull her from them. To take her away to a place where no one could ever hurt her again. But I can’t, that’s not my job. My job is simply to take her.
And so here I stay until the time arrives. Her time. My time. Her mother crosses her arms. It’s always the same. The doctor in his lifeless looking white coat steps to the side of the gurney and smooths her drenched locks. With his fake smile and his smelly breath, he leans close and tells her to relax and in a few minutes, it will be all over and she won’t remember a thing. If only he knew. He looks at the snaky b!tch in her bandanna and horn-rimmed glasses and gives her a nod. I’d like to break her neck for each nod she’s given him in return; but I can’t, it’s not my job.
Muffled sobs become screams of terror as the sound of the machine grows closer. The crescendos and diminuendos clash bitterly as the music becomes louder in a pathetically vain attempt to cover her shrieks. But it is my opus and I will ultimately cause the encore between life and death and it will be me who stands as the sole conductor of this symphony of destiny.

I drift closer as the doctor cleans her temples and attaches the small white electrodes to her pale skin. Anger begins to flood me as the devilish machine begins to whir and sputter to life. I can feel her heart pounding, the blood coursing through her veins; her fear feeds my hatred and I long to unleash it… but I can’t, not yet.

Helpless, I watch as she tries hard to clamp her teeth shut, but the nurse’s strong hands pry her jaws open, just far enough for the hard plastic plate to slip in where the straps hold it tightly in place. It’s times like this, I question if God really does exist.

Her eyes grow heavy and a dull film takes the place of the blue that I’ve come to love over the months. The sedative is working; soon she won’t feel much at all and my work will be done.

I can hear her heart slowing and I watch as her chest evenly rises and falls. Closer. Closer. The switch is thrown and her delicate little body tenses with each current that is forced through her weakened brain. All because she didn’t behave the way her mother thought she should.

Slower. Almost there. Her hands clenched in hardened fists, her body convulsing uncontrollably, tears from her unconscious eyes, still seeping to the sheets below. Closer.
I can smell her sweet breath as I bend to kiss her with my unseen lips. The kiss of death? Not for her. Not this time. Cast me to hell but I can’t stand it another second.
Every moment of anger from thousands of millennia break the surface of my consciousness and unspeakable power bursts into the room. No more children. No more watching them cower and whimper while they are brutalized into conforming into what someone else wants them to be. No more pain. No more blood. No more tears.

If I am evil, then so be it. I don’t think I’ve ever smiled so much as the surge of my power flows into the minds of the adults surrounding her. The machine goes dead, but it won’t be the only thing that dies today. There will be more blood, but it won’t be hers. There will be more screams, but they won’t be hers. And there will be more tears, but they won’t be hers.

How I did it, I may never know but I laughed as three sets of eyes flew open wide with unimaginable fear. Every nightmare, every campfire horror story, every evil wish. Here I stand before their eyes in all my ghastly, cold-blooded glory. Taking the form of whatever frightens them the most; such power, such freedom.

Cringing on her knees, I watched as the blood began to pour from mother’s eyes. Screaming, begging for mercy, as the putrid life spilled from her onto the floor, washing away the snowflakes of torture that had since dried to the cold tile beneath her daughter. With such great satisfaction, I reached down and grabbed her soul, chucking it to the bowels of the earth where some demon would more than certainly claim it for it’s own. Her lifeless body, broken on the tile, such a fitting end for such a frigid, heartless b!tch.

But something deep within me cautioned that my time was short and that my actions were wrong. Care? Never! My thoughts and anger turned to towards the doctor and nurse. Sworn to help, protect, and heal. Untrue to their Hippocratic Oath to do no harm. Pleading for compassion, begging for escape, crying as they made her cry so many times before. But I am not a merciful being nor am I one to feel compassion. Forget that they are redeemable, forget that they have helped others. In the dim atmosphere that surrounded them, they clung to one another as if by combining their strength, they could avoid the inevitable.
And then a small whimper, a gurgle of life or perhaps the gagging of death. She’s awake and struggling to breath, I can hear her heart slowly tick-tocking away and as I turn to her, I know now why those such as I are not given hearts.
Rivers of blood flowed from her ears and mix with her mother’s on the floor below.

In all my hatred and self-righteousness, in my attempts to cause pain and suffering to those who hurt her, it is I who have hurt her the most. Through the sedative’s darkness she watched me slay her mother. And through my inadequate attempts to save her, I have doomed her, for the machine continues to pulsate with charges of electricity that I fought so desperately to stop.

I do not have a voice to demand that the machine be turned off. I do not have the hands to pull the horrible pads from her head and I do not have the strength to kill again.
So how do I stand in the shadows, weak and unmoving, watching the child I tried to protect, wilt and fade before me? How do I stand and watch the doctor and the nurse, still clinging to one another, knowing they will more than certainly do this to another child? How do I stand and watch the lifeless body of the mother as it lay on the floor, as her tortured child silently screams for her? How do I die, when I have no life?

And so I linger and wait. Not to regain strength, but for my own trial and judgment. I wish I could weep, but I can’t. I watch her as she watches me through her tears. Tears for me? She nods as if she can hear me then slowly closes her eyes. One last beat of her heart, one last breath, and one last shudder as one last burst of electricity surges through her lifeless body.

Too feeble to collect her soul, like I should have done in the first place, I watch helplessly as it rises from her broken flesh and stands to face me. Afraid to meet her eyes, I look away only to have her reach out for me, the spirit she can’t touch yet her love and compassion more than touch, they give life and I know somehow, that she understands and forgives me for what I’ve done.

Destiny has a strange way of making you see things differently. As I watched her fade into obscurity that even I couldn’t imagine, a small voice whispered, “Come home, your work is done.”


Copyright 2007-2008 CZF

Root Beer Barrels, Lugies, and PaPaw

My PaPaw was the kind of man who could correct me, and the whole while make me feel as though I'd made a wonderful, new, and amazing discovery that no one else had ever come across.

I remember one time when he had taken me fishing at the old Butler's pond back where I grew up near Smithfield, Illinois. It was a tiny little farming town, population three hundred and fifty-four, with two churches, a hardware store, a post office, a little red brick schoolhouse, a gas station, and a grocery store. The town was surrounded by woods and cattle pastures and my fondest memories are of spending time, sometimes days, alone in the woods with nothing but the sky, the animals, the creeks, and the trees as my constant companions.

I grew up unlike most other children. My days were filled with hunting, fishing, trapping, gathering eggs, slaughtering chickens, rabbits, and hogs, and milking goats. Not that we were a backwoods family but rather we were a poor minister’s family that depended on the land for our food as well as the kindness of the parishioners of the church. I learned to clean fish before I was five and could field dress a deer by the time I was seven. I learned to brain tan a hide and make my own winter boots and how to plant corn or set chicken eggs by the phases of the moon.

Ironically, I didn’t know we were poor, I just thought it was the way things were for everyone. It was the only life I knew and to this day I despise the city and long for the quiet and serenity that the country never fails to provide.
While I have many fond memories of my childhood and growing up with the land as my playmate, it was a childhood filled with bitter and painful physical, emotional, mental, and spiritual neglect and abuse at the hands of my adoptive father Ron and his wife Betty.

The one saving grace in my life, other than the woods, was Ron’s father, my PaPaw. So anytime a fishing trip was in order, it was a special treat and this day would turn out to be one I would never forget. Of course Ron and his other kids were there too, but my PaPaw sat with me on the far end of the pond where no one would bother us and it would be our time.

I must have been about 8 or 9 years old, considering the constant chatter that I was putting forth, and my PaPaw, as always, just sat and listened, never saying a word. But of course, he was reeling in fish right and left and poor little me never caught a thing.

I finally asked him what made him such a great fisherman and he smiled his PaPaw smile that said I was in for a "reel" treat. First, he had me reach in his shirt pocket and take out a root beer barrel (this was our "ritual," so to speak; he always kept them there just for me) and as soon as I popped it in my mouth, he knew he had center stage with me. After all, one cannot correctly slurp their tongue around a juicy root beer barrel whilst talking, you see.

He gently reeled in both of our lines and had me bait mine and his both. As usual, the fish had sucked the bait right off mine. They do that you know, when you're not paying attention and just yakking your head off about whatever comes to mind. He took the old worm off of his hook, and when I think back now, I realize that it was a perfectly good worm. But at least the birds got a snack that day. I was a tomboy (still am), and had no qualms about skewering a worm onto my hook... skewer, wrap, skewer wrap, but leave enough of it dangling to entice the fish.

Then my PaPaw did something I'd never seen him do before. He popped a root beer barrel into his mouth! He swished and swirled it around and how he talked while doing this I'll never know. But he explained to me that fish just love a root beer barrel flavored worm.

Hey, I was a kid and PaPaw's word was law. After all, he was ancient and he knew everything! He lifted up his hook, with the still wiggling worm, and hocked the biggest lugie I'd ever seen right onto the worm. He grinned, then instructed me to follow suit. Now mind you, even as a major tomboy I was never allowed to spit. And here I was not only allowed to do so, but encouraged to spit like there was no tomorrow! And so I did. I hacked and I hocked and of course, dribbled most of it down my chin. And my PaPaw, being the outdoorsman and wonderful companion that he was, reached over, wiped my chin and flung it onto the worm. Gross, sure, but still a fond, warm memory that still brings a smile to my face.

We threw our lines into the water, and with my mouth full of root beer barrel saliva, I was finally quiet. Focused on my line, I watched and within minutes, my bobber jerked and suddenly submerged and I felt the pull on my line. PaPaw tossed his line down, and jumped behind me, making all the fuss in the world as I pulled and fought to reel in my catch. He put his arms around me holding my line with me, yelling and hollering about “what a whopper” I had and how if we weren't careful, it was going to pull us both in!!! I remember shouting out, "Help me, PaPaw, help me!" And he did.

Together, we reeled in the tiniest, most pitiful looking bluegill that might have weighed a quarter of a pound. But in his wisdom, my PaPaw fussed over it, saying it was the biggest fish he'd ever seen and what a great fisherman I was!

Then he peered closely at it, studied it, and examined it with great care and said, "Oh my, I can’t believe it! This will never do!"

Worried, I asked him what was wrong. Had I caught a bad fish? He smiled at me and told me that no, my fish was not bad, but rather I had caught the most wonderful fish in the world. In his great experience as a fisherman, he could tell that this fish was very, very special. It was a teacher fish, and God had put it in the water to teach the other fish how to swim and eat and avoid great fisherman such as his Granddaughter.

He showed me little markings on the fish that he explained were “fisherman marks,” where this little fish had been caught time and time again, so he could teach the other fish how not to be caught. He explained that we must throw it back in, lest the other fish never have the chance to learn the important lessons of fish life and how to grow up to be happy, healthy pond fish.

Of course I believed him and, of course, it wasn't true. He had protected me from realizing at the time that I had caught a baby fish and that it was too small to keep. But in the event, had also made me feel like I was the greatest fisherman on the face of the earth because I had caught the one and only teacher fish in the whole pond!

We spent the rest of the day eating root beer barrels and hocking lugies onto worms. I didn't catch another fish, but I got to listen to my PaPaw tell me wonderful stories about nature and listen to him singing old time hymns and children's songs.

I also learned the beauty of keeping quiet and listening not only to my PaPaw, but hearing all of God's creation around me. He would point out the sounds that the quail made and the grasshoppers as they jumped from grass blade to grass blade spewing their disgusting tobacco juice through the air. We would listen quietly and could hear the snakes slithering and sliding into the water and quickly ducking under the waves looking for food. We could hear the flutter of bird's wings flying over us, and the nestlings chirping in anticipation of their mothers returning with their lunch.

After awhile, we put our poles down and he would point out different clouds, explaining what they meant for the upcoming weather (and he was never wrong). He taught me to tell time by the position of the sun and how to recognize the smell of rain in the air.

Days like that were few and far between, but my Grandfather taught me so much about life in those simplest of times and situations. His favorite saying was, “Don’t let a little life get in the way of living.” I’ve lived by that statement for as long as I can remember. No matter what has happened in life and no matter what choices I have made, I’ve learned from them and have used his teachings in every aspect that I can think of. He taught me to love life and to look at things in a different, logical, yet simple manner, and see things for what they are, not for what I’d like them to be.

I could go on and on about my PaPaw. I sincerely believe if it weren't for him, I would be so bitter and angry with Christianity and with those who profess to be Christians. But he was a true Christian, one who took the message of Jesus to heart. And he didn't just talk the talk. He walked the walk. When he died, I wasn’t able to go to his funeral and it took me nearly twelve years to finally visit his grave.

He always called me “My girl.” I don't remember him ever calling me by my name; it was always "My Girl." And in a world full of pain and uncertainly, filled with abuse and neglect, he made me feel as though I was the only girl in the world and that as long as I believed in myself, I could do anything and be anything.

He was right. And he did it all with a simple root beer barrel and a mouthful of spit.

Copyright 2007-2008 CZF.

Darkness

Darkness rings, while irony sings, as I watch you walk away;
Broken dreams kiss silent screams, while destiny comes out to play.
Promises shattered, egos flattered, forever a lyrical farce;
Frightened displays, of turmoil and rage, buried deep in a fragile heart.
Two souls conjoining, eternal embroiling, to enlighten love's wry façade;
Reality's learnings turn immortal yearnings, into a bitter gray shod.
Questions arising, a blackened horizon, a tear is all that remains;
As once again the darkness rolls in, and the curtain goes up in flames.

Copyright 2006-2008 CZF.

Two Minutes to Dawn

Two minutes to dawn, the horizon's hue glows,
Flourishing with promise, a whisper of hope.

Two minutes to dawn, the dreams fade away,
The sleepy mist rises to greet the new day.

Two minutes to dawn, seduction draws near,
A kiss from a star, blissful romance endears.

Two minutes to dawn, an opus soars high,
Roses the altos, sopranos the flies.

Two minutes to dawn, the wind rushes in,
Gentle percussion upon each darkened limb.

Two minutes to dawn, the night world retires,
Climbing safely within, their own love's deep fires.

Two minutes to dawn, as the light briefly winks,
Shimmers of freedom, in the horizon's pale pink.

Two minutes to dawn, the night bird sings,
As morning draws near, its heaviness brings.

Two minutes to dawn, a heartbeat fades way,
Beneath the cloak, of a promising new day.

Two minutes to dawn, as the sun's vast glow,
Breaches the darkness, the vanity grows.

Two minutes to dawn, bitter memories fade,
Expression of hope paint a brand new shade.

Two minutes to dawn, the time has come neigh,
To release the past, to embrace a new life.

Two minutes to dawn, with no time to spare,
A lasting impression, a new cross to bear.

Two minutes to dawn, a vow to behold,
A clear sky to soar, to passages untold.

Two minutes to dawn, has since passed by,
No longer to dream, nor continue this lie.

Copyright 2005-2008 CZF.

Don’t Break My Heart

Don't break my heart, just go if you must, but don't keep me lingering on;
Waiting to hear your voice just once more, waiting to hear your sweet song.
Waiting to feel your warm strong embrace, hoping you'll walk through the door;
Waiting and hoping yet knowing the while, you'll take my heart just as before.

Don't break my heart, be honest with me, tell me your heart is not mine;
Tell me you tried and could not find the words, tell me love faded with time.
Tell me you love me but love's not enough, tell me I'm not what you sought;
Tell me your heart wept with each angry word, with each tear that fell when we fought.

Don't break my heart, it's stronger you see, than you gave it credit to be;
Stronger than watching you drive away mad, knowing you'd come home to me.
Stronger than words you said out of spite, stronger than sorrys you said;
Stronger than I would have ever believed, not frightened but healing instead.

Don't break my heart, don't say that you'll stay, we both know you want to free;
Free to explore and free to implore, free to be long far and see.
Free to expound on your heart's desires, free to roam and to soar;
Free to dream on and pray that you'll find, the love in the romantist's lore.

Don't break my heart, it's sad you'll not know, the beauty that lies deep within;
The beauty that loved you, the beauty that sang, the beauty that whispered love's end.
The beauty that wept when it knew you were gone, the beauty that held memories;
The beauty that kept your soul warm inside, the beauty that sanctifies me.

Don't break my heart, just go if you must, but as you go take this one thing;
Destiny has, an ironic small way, of bringing the winter to spring.
And as you roam on your quest for true love, look back on the once in awhile;
For I will be gone and all that will remain, is a mirrored glimpse of my smile.


Copyright 2005-2008 CZF

The Providence of Passion

The night sky sings with earnest desire, as the cascades of starlight blaze;
From a blackened horizon the night air chills, with a whisper of ice on the dew.
While passion arises, awakened, inflamed, walls once resilient plunge way;
A timid heart murmurs, afraid to believe, this ardent integrity true.

A gentle caress and a tilt of the chin, brings a tear that is soon whisked away;
As decades of heartache, mistrust, and betrayal, collapse upon the night wind.
With each fear unconstrained, with each tiny sigh, with each touch that trembles and quakes;
A wounded heart quickens, releases its fear and renews hope in love once again.

Soft whispers of delicate sensual assent, no silhouette left unexplored;
Crescendos of fervor and deepening breaths, encompassing passion entwines.
Erasing the ties that bind and control, allowing the senses to roam;
Beyond all capacity, returning no more, the past left forever behind.

As destiny beckons and tempos expound, fragile reasoning lingers at bay;
Souls unite and embellish in quest, of a melody fitting the dawn.
The harmony of providence, an opus of fate, together to hearts beat as one;
As loving eyes gaze and strong arms embrace, eternity whispers, “come home.”

Copyright 2005-2008 CZF.

Voices of your Tears

Silence can be deadly, but words can kill as fast;
You can't escape your sentence, when you're bound by your own grasp.
Emotions you can't bear to feel, a face that you can't see;
A company of solitude, you beg to be set free.

You open your eyes wide with fear, as you start to fall asleep;
Watch the sparrow fly away, with the soul that you can't keep.
Look up to the sky at night, and wish upon a star;
The key is placed inside your hand, but you're afraid to reach that far.

A sentence placed upon you, but you can't remember why;
A lifetime if you'll write your name, but you would rather die.
Voices in the dead of night, listening to them bleed;
Reach into the well of souls, your crime will set you free.

You've locked yourself away so far, time doesn't mean a thing;
Survival of the living dead, now you can hear them sing.
Calling out your name with blood, you try so hard to hear;
Are they songs of deadly freedom, or the voices of your tears?

Copyright 1986-2008 CZF.

Acceptance

Mirror, mirror in my soul, who is it I may be?
A child long lost, a woman scorned, a soul to hide from thee?

Frightened of the world around, at what I may become,
hidden deep within my mind, no where left to run.

Painful memories tease and taunt, threatening to control,
powerless I fear to be, to lose my very soul.

Yet buried in the bowels of hate, a spark of life remains,
strength and courage, passion boils, the voice to shout my name.

For I am strong, too much to die, abandon hope not I,
No more a struggle to avoid, no more an eye for eye.

Standing tall, with my mind clear, for justice my heart pounds,
No more the victim, no more tears, no walls coming down.

Mirror, mirror in my soul, who is it I may be?
I am power, I am strength, I am life for thee.

Copyright 2004-2008 CZF.

Path of Lies

The road goes on, in never ends, give up before it's too late;
Turn around and walk away, don't try to give, just take.

You can't find what you're looking for, until you close your eyes;
Blacken out the world around, and walk the path of lies.

Search on, search on, down the deadly trail,
seeing things that don't exist, never win you fail.

Search on, search on, the fire inside you dies;
You're on the road that never ends, you're on the path of lies.

You sit and wait for day to break, but darkness grows so strong;
Voice speak but no one's there, what must be right is wrong.

There is no choice of where to go, there are no reasons why;
You've gone too far, you can't turn back, you live the path of lies.

Search on, search on, down the fatal path;
Dreams of things to never be, suffer your own wrath;

Search on, search on, the nightmare never dies;
Face your soul and realize, you are the path of lies.

Copyright 1990-2008 CZF.

If Death Were To Visit Again

Glistening flecks of crimson warmth, waver in dusk’s soft glow;
Whispers of sanctuary ‘neath the gracious oak, its leaves like tears softly fall.
A haunting opus, the air trembles dim, evening’s cloak reminds me once more;
The haven I cling to beyond distant hill, hails laughter at death’s final call.

Soft in the coldness, yet shadows do cast, the clouds hide the scars in fragile smiles;
Grandfather’s smile like the sun gone astray, oh to hold his strong hand once again.
Shimmers of hazel, brown, and pale blue, in each tiny eye I once saw;
Hope for the future, unquestioning love, never knowing the ache kept within.

Seeking the past to make sense of tomorrow, sweet lies in the promise of love;
Unable to reconcile anger unknown, relationships cast by the way.
A lost mother found all too soon death’s kiss calls, and my soul cringes further behind;
The façade I’ve created to bury my tears, ‘til a mask hides the part that I play.

From the steel of a gun and a razor’s quick edge, from a stitch here and there I’ve long healed;
But the words and the loneliness, strike to the soul, leaving deep wounds left unseen.
Broken bones mend and walls become strong, impenetrable indigence prevails;
Protecting the vulnerable indiscernible child, who hides in a silent scream.

Beyond the drink and the powders that numb, beyond the pills and the pain;
An infantile being flutters to life; love is exhumed as hope grows.
Though children are lost and loves gone before, destiny looms on morning’s first star;
Thus an Autobahn life rounds the corner to greet, a daisy in place of the rose.

One day at a time, the past soon gives way, and moments are lived for today;
Weeping to heal, laughing to love, a voice for the child lost long ago.
A heart to share, a life to live full, once imprisoned by fate, chains fall fast;
A lakeside to listen to newfound ambitions, a universe of complexity slows.

A glance now and then to what once held me tight, a wonder of what might have been;
An abyss of chances to go back and find, what I could have chosen to pass by.
But the who and what I’ve grown to today, holds firm and reminds me what was;
Is how I became the woman I am, it’s not worth the risk to deny.

As the poet once penned, “I’ve taken the road less traveled,” and by far that’s true;
For without who I was and without where I’ve been, without the choices I’ve made,
Would I have the loves in my life and the spirit, would I have the children who died?
Would I? Could I? Not questions for me, for I have and I can and I’ve paid.

So as time continues to weaken the flesh, time also strengthens the soul;
Yesterday but a memory, though lessons have been cruel and still sting.
No regrets we lay down by looking behind, no power by looking ahead;
For today is beholding and passing us by, today is the song we must sing.

So long as breaths draw and so long as hearts beat, this day demands to be lived;
The circle of love stands the test of time, overcomes the doubt and the sorrow.
Let death sing its song for this child sings her own, no longer a silent victim in chains;
I’ll live for sanctity of only today and death you may kiss me tomorrow.

Copyright 2005-2008 CZF

Still Waters

Glistening with promise, the water lies still; as dew on the dusky night wanes;
Seductively whispering, the time has drawn near, with dawn down the heartache has lain.
Crimson crescendos dance softly upon, the surface as ripples deny;
The mirrored reflection of solace and then, the nighthawk bequeaths his last cry.
An opus of crickets lull the nightlife to sleep, as the killdeer arise to the dawn;
While new life stirs timidly 'neath covers of hedge, soft nuzzles to comfort while gone.
Caressing with hope, the gentle breeze sways and prairie grass bends o're the plains;
With visions of laughter the morning dove sings, a sonata soft like evening rain.
When suddenly bursting with radiant gold, the heavens in harmony collide;
As a heart once thought wounded beyond destiny's reach, awakens in still water's tides.

Copyright 2005-2008 CZF