A fear of The Fear. Unknown to me that I could be. Free of worries that have crowded me. I sat there praying for my safety. As the wind scraped my face and my body. While sitting on a machinery. That was said to be of no safety. In shocking view of my reality. I realized that Fear was just my imagery. It had no way of knowing my ability. And therefore I broke my dependency. Freedom replaced the Fear in me. The Motorbike Freed the whole of me.

Grandparents give us a heritage of one another, an extended family for sharing memories; that is the greatest legacy they can give. The farmland can be sold; stocks can crash with the market. Cousins to catch crawdads with, or help sell lemonade and bait, that is our richest heritage. Rubenesque woman seeks debonair man to dine with. Wine with, spend quality time with. Answer this ad immediately as I may soon be moving on.

Writing is to put words together. the measure of a good writer is in how well he can assemble these words to convey knowledge and thoughts in precise clarity. The Perfect Poet Award for Thursday Poets Rally Week 43. The Beacon of the Spirit. I Want To Be A Billionaire, So Friggin Bad. Subscribe to my Blog! Join 3 other followers.

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What makes us want to share? We read something, feel something, identify with someone like us. We know how it feels to love and win, love and lose confront this thing called life. In this cyberspace world, we have learned we are only limited by the depth and width of our thinking, and our lack of knowledge.

These dreams are like bubbles. Floating on the whims of the winds of the day. Some land in my hair and get tangled there. I wash them out, try to wash them out,. But they come back like a chronic pain. The past is a knife cutting the same wound,. And now there is no blood when I am cut. I have left blood dripping all around me,. You can follow that to find me.