In the Sacred Lights

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In the sacred lights of our love given, it’s amazing

how we receive so much more,

by not holding on.

We are stronger

from the love we share,

and remarkably

our vision becomes clear.

 

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

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75 Arrows

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He shifted slightly in the saddle, letting go gently of the reigns, they both stood there and breathed in the view from the top of the ridge. In his peace, he realized it didn’t matter now.

Even if the government fell tonight, and democracy was swept away, he would still have one of the best trail horses ever made. He loved his Quarter Horse/Belgian mare. And he had his compound bow, but only 75 arrows until he learned how to make his own.

He dismounted and led the mare to the stream. Soon even people would be able to drink from the rivers again, having been cleansed. He was a little uneasy though, about carrying the bow wherever he went. What was it the pastor had said?

“Sometimes we hold onto our weapons, not willing to accept the new being made…..” Yep that was it……he was unwilling to accept the ruins and the new was having a difficult time breaking in. Maybe he just needed more time.

As the mare drank deeply, a noise to his right caught his attention. He swung around the bow, and his right hand instinctively reached back to the quiver……he wondered if the deer knew he was hunting…..

from the Apocalyptic Journal

     

Writing and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

The Angels Know

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The angels know that slavery comes from the hearts evil men, not really from our southern border, and that drugs are shipped sneaking through our ports of entry, stamped with approval.

I wonder if heaven weeps over the poor….needing jobs, needing some food….needing to escape violence….

I sure hope so.

“El Paso has been one of the safest cities for the past 20 years.”

Beto O’Rourke, resident of Texas

      

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies

The Roar and Rage of Winter

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He squinted his eyes against another attack by the icy wind. The snow tore sideways now, containing small chips of sleet, he shrunk his neck even further down into his parka,

with one hand holding onto his hat. He was tired of this roar and rage of winter, the daily fight with the wind.

But he was a tough ole guy and on this day he leaned in, lifting up a prayer, thankful that he had a job to go to,

which meant they both had the medical coverage they needed so desperately.

No ugly wind would ever take his wife. He was a tough ole guy still fighting, the roar and rage

of winter.

 

Poetry and Image © Copyright 2019, ancient skies