God’s Eternal Ink I dreamed I was in Heaven where an angel kept God's book. He was writing so intently I just had to take a look. It was not, at first, his writing that made me stop and think But the fluid in the bottle that was marked Eternal Ink. This ink was most amazing, dark black upon his blotter But as it touched the parchment it became as clear as water. The angel kept on writing, but as quickly as a wink The words were disappearing with that strange Eternal Ink. The angel took no notice, but kept writing on and on. He turned each page and filled it till all its space was gone. I thought he wrote to no avail, his efforts were so vain For he wrote a thousand pages that he'd never read again. And as I watched and wondered that this awesome sight was mine, I actually saw a word stay black as it dried upon the line. The angel wrote and I thought I saw a look of satisfaction. At last he had some print to show for all his earnest action. A line or two dried dark and stayed as black as black can be, But strangely the next paragraph became invisible to see. The book was getting fuller, the angel's records true, But most of it was blank, with just a few words coming through. I knew there was some reason, but as hard as I could think, I couldn't grasp the significance of that Eternal Ink. The mystery burned within me, and I finally dared to ask The angel to explain to me of his amazing task. And what I heard was frightful as the angel turned his head. He looked directly at me, and this is what he said . . . "I know you stand and wonder at what my writing's worth But God has told me to record the lives of those on earth. "The book that I am filling is an accurate account Of every word and action and to what they do amount. "And since you have been watching I must tell you what is true; The details of my journal are the strict accounts of you. "The Lord asked me to watch you as each day you worked and played. I saw you as you went to church, I saw you as you prayed. "But I was told to document your life through all the week. I wrote when you were proud and bold, I wrote when you were meek. "I recorded all your attitudes whether they were good or bad. I was sorry that I had to write the things that make God sad. "So now I'll tell the wonder of this Eternal Ink, For the reason for its mystery should make you stop and think. "This ink that God created to help me keep my journal Will only keep a record of the things that are Eternal. "So much of life is wasted on things that matter not So instead of my erasing, smudging ink and ugly blot. "I just keep writing faithfully and let the ink do all the rest For it is able to decide what's useless and what's best. "And God ordained that as I write of all you do and say Your deeds that count for nothing will just disappear away. "When the books are opened someday, as sure as Heaven is true; The Lord's Eternal Ink will tell what mattered most to you. "If you just lived to please yourself the pages will be bare, And God will issue no reward for you when you get there. "In fact, you'll be embarrassed, you will hang your head in shame Because you did not give yourself in love to Jesus' Name. "Yet maybe there will be a few recorded lines that stayed That showed the times you truly cared, sincerely loved and prayed. "But you will always wonder as you enter Heaven's door How much more glad you would have been if only you'd done more. "For I record as God sees, I don't stop to even think Because the truth is written with God's Eternal Ink." When I heard the angel's story I fell down and wept and cried For as yet I still was dreaming I hadn't really died. And I said, "Oh angel tell the Lord that soon as I awake I'll live my life for Jesus, I'll do all for His dear sake. "I'll give in full surrender; I'll do all He wants me to; I'll turn my back on self and sin and whatever isn't true. "And though the way seems long and rough I promise to endure. I'm determined to pursue the things that are holy, clean and pure. "With Jesus as my helper, I will win lost souls to Thee, For I know that they will live with Christ For all Eternity. "And that's what really matters when my life on Earth is gone That I will stand before the Lord and hear Him say, well done. "For is it really worth it as my life lies at the brink? And I realize that God keeps books with His Eternal Ink. "Should all my life be focused on things that turn to dust? From this point on I'll serve the Lord; I can, I will, I must! "I will NOT send blank pages up to God's majestic throne For where that record's going now is my Eternal home. "I'm giving all to Jesus I now have seen the link For I saw an angel write my life with God's Eternal Ink!" And God's people said, "AMEN!"

Red Roses Red roses were her favorites, her name was also Rose. And every year her husband sent them, tied with pretty bows. The year he died, the roses were delivered to her door. The card said, "Be my Valentine", like all the years before. Each year he sent her roses, and the note would always say, "I love you even more this year, than last year on this day. My love for you will always grow, with every passing year." She knew this was the last time that the roses would appear. She thought, he ordered roses in advance before this day. Her loving husband did not know, that he would pass away. He always liked to do things early, way before the time. Then, if he got too busy, everything would work out fine. She trimmed the stems, and placed them in a very special vase. Then, sat the vase beside the portrait of his smiling face. She would sit for hours, in her husband's favorite chair. While staring at his picture, and the roses sitting there. A year went by, and it was hard to live without her mate. With loneliness and solitude, that had become her fate. Then, the very hour, as on Valentines before, The doorbell rang, and there were roses, sitting by her door. She brought the roses in, and then just looked at them in shock. Then, went to get the telephone, to call the florist shop. The owner answered, and she asked him, if he would explain, Why would someone do this to her, causing her such pain? "I know your husband passed away, more than a year ago," The owner said, "I knew you'd call, and you would want to know. The flowers you received today, were paid for in advance. Your husband always planned ahead, he left nothing to chance. There is a standing order, that I have on file down here, And he has paid, well in advance, you'll get them every year. There also is another thing, that I think you should know, He wrote a special little card...he did this years ago. Then, should ever I find out that he's no longer here, That's the card...that should be sent, to you the following year." She thanked him and hung up the phone, her tears now flowing hard. Her fingers shaking, as she slowly reached to get the card. Inside the card, she saw that he had written her a note. Then, as she stared in total silence, this is what he wrote... "Hello my love, I know it's been a year since I've been gone, I hope it hasn't been too hard for you to overcome. I know it must be lonely, and the pain is very real. For if it was the other way, I know how I would feel. The love we shared made everything so beautiful in life. I loved you more than words can say, you were the perfect wife. You were my friend and lover, you fulfilled my every need. I know it's only been a year, but please try not to grieve. I want you to be happy, even when you shed your tears. That is why the roses will be sent to you for years. When you get these roses, think of all the happiness, That we had together, and how both of us were blessed. I have always loved you and I know I always will. But, my love, you must go on, you have some living still. Please...try to find happiness, while living out your days. I know it is not easy, but I hope you find some ways. The roses will come every year, and they will only stop, When your door's not answered, when the florist stops to knock. He will come five times that day, in case you have gone out. But after his last visit, he will know without a doubt, To take the roses to the place, where I've instructed him, And place the roses where we are, together once again. Author Unknown

He Was One of Us He was born as little children are and lived as children do, So remember that the Saviour was once a child like you, And remember that He lived on earth in the midst of sinful men, And the problems of the present existed even then; He was ridiculed and laughed at in the same heartbreaking way That we who fight for justice are ridiculed today; He was tempted...He was hungry... He was lonely...He was sad... There's no sorrowful experience that the Saviour has not had; And in the end he was betrayed and even crucified, For He was truly "ONE OF US" He lived on earth and died: So do not heed the skeptics Who are often heard to say: "What does God up in Heaven Know of things we face today"... For, our Father up in Heaven is very much aware Of our failures and shortcomings and the burdens that we bear; So whenever you are troubled put your problems in God's Hand For He has faced all problems And He will understand. Author Unknown

Easter Lilies On Easter Day the lilies bloom, Triumphant, risen from their tomb; Their bulbs have undergone rebirth, Born from the silence of the earth Symbolically, to tell all men That Christ, the Savior, lives again. The angels, pure and white as they, Have come and rolled the stone away And with the lifting of the stone, The shadow of the cross is gone!

These next three presentations aren't really poems, but they are very good stories. So I thought I would share them with you anyway! Hope you enjoy them too!

Father's Eyes A teenager lived alone with his father, and the two of them had a very special relationship. Even though the son was always on the bench, his father was always in the stands cheering. He never missed a game. This young man was still the smallest of the class when he entered high school. But his Father continued to encourage him but also made it very clear that he did not have to play football if he didn't want to. But the young man loved football and decided to hang in there. He was determined to try his best at every practice, and perhaps he'd get to play when he became a senior. All through high school he never missed a practice nor a game, but remained a bench warmer all four years. His faithful father was always in the stands, always with words of encouragement for him. When the young man went to college, he decided to try out for the football team as a "walk-on." Everyone was sure he could never make the cut, but he did. The coach admitted that he kept him on the roster because he always puts his heart and soul to every practice, and at the same time, provided the other members with the spirit and hustle they badly needed. The news that he had survived the cut thrilled him so much that he rushed to the nearest phone and called his father. His father shared his excitement and was sent season tickets for all the college games. This persistent young athlete never missed practice during his four years at college, but he never got to play in the game. It was the end of his senior football season, and as he trotted onto the practice field shortly before the big play off game, the coach met him with a telegram. The young man read the telegram and he became deathly silent. Swallowing hard, he mumbled to the coach, "My father died this morning. Is it all right if I miss practice today?" The coach put his arm gently around his shoulder and said, "Take the rest of the week off, son. And don't even plan to come back to the game on Saturday." Saturday arrived, and the game was not going well. In the third quarter, when the team was ten points behind, a silent young man quietly slipped into the empty locker room and put on his football gear. As he ran onto the sidelines, the coach and his players were astounded to see their faithful teammate back so soon. "Coach, please let me play. I've just got to play today," said the young man. The coach pretended not to hear him. There was no way he wanted his worst player in this close playoff game. But the young man persisted, and finally feeling sorry for the kid, the coach gave in. "All right," he said. "You can go in." Before long, the coach, the players and everyone in the stands could not believe their eyes. This little unknown, who had never played before was doing everything right. The opposing team could not stop him. He ran, he passed, he blocked and tackled like a star. His team began to triumph. The score was soon tied. In the closing seconds of the game, this kid intercepted a pass and ran all the way for the winning touchdown. The fans broke loose. His teammates hoisted him onto their shoulders. Such cheering you've never heard! Finally, after the stands had emptied and the team had showered and left the locker room, the coach noticed that the young man was sitting quietly in the corner all alone. The coach came to him and said, "Kid, I can't believe it. You were fantastic! Tell me what got into you? How did you do it?" He looked at the coach, with tears in his eyes, and said, "Well, you knew my dad died, but did you know that my dad was blind?" The young man swallowed hard and forced a smile, "Dad came to all my games, but today was the first time he could see me play, and I wanted to show him I could do it!" SO - REMEMBER RIGHT NOW: Somebody is very proud of you. Somebody is thinking of you. Somebody is caring about you. Somebody misses you. Somebody wants to talk to you. Somebody wants to be with you. Somebody hopes you are not in trouble. Somebody is thankful for the support you have provided. Somebody wants to hold your hand. Somebody hopes everything turns out all right. Somebody wants you to be happy. Somebody wants you to find him/her. Somebody wants to give you a gift. Somebody wants to hug you. Somebody thinks you ARE a gift. Somebody admires your strength. Somebody wants to protect you. Somebody can't wait to see you. Somebody loves you for who you are. Somebody treasures your spirit. Somebody is glad that you are their friend. Somebody wants to get to know you better. Somebody wants to be near you. Somebody wants you to know they are there for you. Somebody would do anything for you. Somebody wants to share their dreams with you. Somebody is alive because of you. Somebody needs your support. Somebody will cry when they read this. Somebody needs you to have faith in them. Somebody trusts you. Somebody hears a song that reminds them of you. "Friends are angels who lift us to our feet when our wings have trouble remembering how to fly."

The Room..... In that place between wakefulness and dreams, I found myself in the room. There were no distinguishing features except for the one wall covered with small index card files. They were like the ones in libraries that list titles by author or subject in alphabetical order. But these files, which stretched from floor to ceiling and seemingly endlessly in either direction, had very different headings. As I drew near the wall of files, the first to catch my attention was one that read "Girls I have liked." I opened it and began flipping through the cards. I quickly shut it, shocked to realize that I recognized the names written on each one. And then without being told, I knew exactly where I was. This lifeless room with its small files was a crude catalog system for my life. Here were written the actions of my every moment, big and small, in a detail my memory couldn't match. A sense of wonder and curiosity, coupled with horror, stirred within me as I began randomly opening files and exploring their content. Some brought joy and sweet memories; others a sense of shame and regret so intense that I would look over my shoulder to see if anyone was watching. A file named "Friends" was next to one marked "Friends I have betrayed." The titles ranged from the mundane to the outright weird. "Books I Have Read," "Lies I Have Told," "Comfort I have Given," "Jokes I Have Laughed at." Some were almost hilarious in their exactness: "Things I've yelled at my brothers". Others I couldn't laugh at: "Things I Have Done in Anger", "Things I Have Muttered Under My Breath at My Parents." I never ceased to be surprised by the contents. Often there were many more cards than I expected. Sometimes fewer than I hoped. I was overwhelmed by the sheer volume of the life I had lived. Could it be possible that I had the time in my 20 years to write each of these thousands or even millions of cards? But each card confirmed this truth. Each was written in my own handwriting. Each signed with my signature. When I pulled out the file marked "Songs I have listened to," I realized the files grew to contain their contents. The cards were packed tightly, and yet after two or three yards, I hadn't found the end of the file. I shut it, ashamed, not so much by the quality of music, but more by the vast amount of time I knew that file represented. When I came to a file marked "Lustful Thoughts," I felt a chill run through my body. I pulled the file out only an inch, not willing to test its size, and drew out a card. I shuddered at its detailed content. I felt sick to think that such a moment had been recorded. An almost animal rage broke on me. One thought dominated my mind: "No one must ever see these cards! No one must ever see this room! I have to destroy them!" In an insane frenzy I yanked the file out. Its size didn't matter now. I had to empty it and burn the cards. But as I took it at one end and began pounding it on the floor, I could not dislodge a single card. I became desperate and pulled out a card, only to find it as strong as steel when I tried to tear it. Defeated and utterly helpless, I returned the file to its slot. Leaning my forehead against the wall, I let out a long, self-pitying sigh. And then I saw it. The title bore "People I Have Shared the Gospel With." The handle was brighter than those around it, newer, almost unused. I pulled on its handle and a small box not more than three inches long fell into my hands. I could count the cards it contained on one hand. And then the tears came. I began to weep. Sobs so deep that the hurt started in my stomach and shook through me. I fell on my knees and cried. I cried out of shame, from the overwhelming shame of it all. The rows of file shelves swirled in my tear-filled eyes. No one must ever, ever know of this room. I must lock it up and hide the key. But then as I pushed away the tears, I saw Him. No, please not Him. Not here. Oh, anyone but Jesus. I watched helplessly as He began to open the files and read the cards. I couldn't bear to watch His response. And in the moments I could bring myself to look at His face, I saw a sorrow deeper than my own. He seemed to intuitively go to the worst boxes. Why did He have to read every one? Finally He turned and looked at me from across the room. He looked at me with pity in His eyes. But this was a pity that didn't anger me. I dropped my head, covered my face with my hands and began to cry again. He walked over and put His arm around me. He could have said so many things. But He didn't say a word. He just cried with me. Then He got up and walked back to the wall of files. Starting at one end of the room, He took out a file and, one by one, began to sign His name over mine on each card. "No!" I shouted rushing to Him. All I could find to say was "No, no, " as I pulled the card from Him. His name shouldn't be on these cards. But there it was, written in red so rich, so dark, so alive. The name of Jesus covered mine. It was written with His blood. He gently took the card back. He smiled a sad smile and began to sign the cards. I don't think I'll ever understand how He did it so quickly, but the next instant it seemed I heard Him close the last file and walk back to my side. He placed His hand on my shoulder and said, "It is finished." I stood up, and He led me out of the room. There was no lock on its door. There were still cards to be written. I think my personal "People I shared the gospel with" file just got bigger. Please tell others about my site, and most of all, ask them to be sure to read my Poetry Page! Thank You!

A Tear to the Eye Barbara was driving her six-year-old son, Benjamin, to his piano lesson. They were late, and Barbara was beginning to think she should have canceled it. There was always so much to do, and Barbara, a night-duty nurse at the local hospital, had recently worked extra shifts. She was tired. The sleet storm and icy roads added to her tension. Maybe she should turn the car around. "Mom!" Ben cried. "Look!" Just ahead a car had lost control on a patch of ice. As Barbara tapped the brakes, the other car spun wildly rolled over, then crashed sideways into a telephone pole. >Barbara pulled over, skidded to a stop and threw open her door. Thank goodness she was a nurse- she might be able to help these unfortunate passengers. Then she paused. What about Ben? She couldn't take him with her. Little boys shouldn't see scenes like the one she anticipated. But was it safe to leave him alone? What if their car were hit from behind? For a brief moment Barbara considered going on her way. Someone else was sure to come along. No! "Ben, honey, promise me you'll stay in the car!" "I will, Mommy," he said as she ran, slipping and sliding, toward the crash site. It was worse than she'd feared. Two girls of high school age are in the car. One, the blonde on the passenger side, was dead, killed on impact. The driver, however was still breathing. She was unconscious and pinned in the wreckage. Barbara quickly applied pressure to the wound in the teenager's head while her practiced eye catalogued the other injuries. A broken leg, maybe two, along with probable internal bleeding. But if help came soon, the girl would live. A trucker had pulled up and was calling for help on his cellular phone. Soon Barbara heard the ambulance sirens. A few moments later she surrendered her lonely post to rescue workers. "Good job," one said as he examined the driver's wounds. "You probably saved her life, ma'am." Perhaps. But as Barbara walked back to her car a feeling of sadness overwhelmed her, especially for the family of the girl who had died. Their lives would never be the same. Oh God, why do such things have to happen? Slowly Barbara opened her car door. What should she tell Benjamin? He was staring at the crash site, his blue eyes huge. "Mom," he whispered, "did you see it?" " See what, Honey?" she asked. "The angel, Mom! He came down from the sky while you were running to the car. And he opened the door, and he took that girl out." Barbara's eyes filled with tears. "Which door, Ben?" "The passenger side. He took the girl's hand, and they floated up to Heaven together" What about the driver?" Ben shrugged. "I didn't see anyone else." Later Barbara was able to meet the families of the victims. They expressed their gratitude for the help she had provided. Barbara was able to give them something more - Ben's vision. There was no way he could have known-by ordinary means-who was in the car or what had happened to either of the passengers. Nor could the passenger door have been opened; Barbara had seen its tangle of immovable steel herself. Yet Ben's account brought consolation to a grieving family. Their daughter was safe in Heaven. And they would see her again. A Prayer For Angels I prayed for the Angels to guard you night and day. I prayed they'd hover over you and keep all harm away. If you hear the swish of wings or feel a gentle touch. I know God heard my prayer today and loves you very much.

These next two presentations are to Honor all the Veterans who are serving, and have served our country with Pride, to Preserve and Protect our Freedom, for all Americans!!!

What is a Veteran? Some veterans bear visible signs of their service: a missing limb, a jagged scar, a certain look in the eye. Others may carry the evidence inside them: a pin holding a bone together, a piece of shrapnel in the leg or perhaps another sort of inner steel: the soul's ally forged in the refinery of adversity. Except in parades, however, the men and women who have kept America safe wear no badge or emblem. You can't tell a vet just by looking. What is a vet? He is the cop on the beat who spent six months in Saudi Arabia sweating two gallons a day making sure the armored personnel carriers didn't run out of fuel. He is the barroom loudmouth, dumber than five wooden planks, whose overgrown frat-boy behavior is outweighed a hundred times in the cosmic scales by four hours of exquisite bravery near the 38th parallel. She - or he - is the nurse who fought against futility and went to sleep sobbing every night for two solid years in Da Nang. He is the POW who went away one person and came back another - or didn't come back AT ALL. He is the Quantico drill instructor who has never seen combat - but has saved countless lives by turning slouchy, no-account rednecks and gang members into Marines, and teaching them to watch each other's backs. He is the parade riding Legionnaire who pins on his ribbons and medals with a prosthetic hand. He is the career quartermaster who watches the ribbons and medals pass him by. He is the three anonymous heroes in The Tomb Of The Unknowns, whose presence at Arlington National Cemetery must forever preserve the memory of all the anonymous heroes whose valor dies unrecognized with them on the battlefield or in the ocean's sunless deep. He is the old guy bagging groceries at the supermarket - palsied now and aggravatingly slow - who helped liberate a Nazi death camp and who wishes all day long that his wife were still alive to hold him when the nightmares come. He is an ordinary and yet an extraordinary human being - a person who offered some of his life's most vital years in the service of his country, and who sacrificed his ambitions so others would not have to sacrifice theirs. He is a soldier and a savior and a sword against the darkness, and he is nothing more than the finest, greatest testimony on behalf of the finest, the greatest nation ever known. So remember, each time you see someone who has served our country, just lean over and say Thank You. That's all most people need, and in most cases it will mean more than any medals they could have been awarded or were awarded. Two little words that mean a lot, "THANK YOU." author- Father Denis Edward O'Brien USMC

A SOLDIER'S CHRISTMAS TWAS THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS, HE LIVED ALL ALONE, IN A ONE BEDROOM HOUSE MADE OF PLASTER AND STONE. I HAD COME DOWN THE CHIMNEY WITH PRESENTS TO GIVE, AND TO SEE JUST WHO IN THIS HOME DID LIVE. I LOOKED ALL ABOUT, A STRANGE SIGHT I DID SEE, NO TINSEL, NO PRESENTS, NOT EVEN A TREE. NO STOCKING BY MANTLE, JUST BOOTS FILLED WITH SAND, AND ON THE WALL PICTURES OF FAR DISTANT LANDS. WITH MEDALS AND BADGES, AWARDS OF ALL KINDS, A SOBERING THOUGHT CAME TO MY MIND. FOR THIS HOUSE WAS DIFFERENT, SO DARK AND SO DREARY, THE HOME OF A SOLDIER, NOW I COULD SEE CLEARLY. THE SOLDIER LAY SLEEPING, SILENT, ALONE, CURLED UP ON THE FLOOR IN THIS ONE BEDROOM HOME. THE FACE WAS SO GENTLE, THE ROOM IN SUCH DISORDER, NOT HOW I PICTURED A UNITED STATES SOLDIER. WAS THIS THE HERO OF WHOM I'D JUST READ? CURLED UP ON A PONCHO, THE FLOOR FOR A BED? I REALIZED THE FAMILIES THAT I SAW THIS NIGHT, OWED THEIR LIVES TO THESE SOLDIERS WHO WERE WILLING TO FIGHT. SOON ROUND THE WORLD, THE CHILDREN WOULD PLAY, AND GROWNUPS WOULD CELEBRATE A BRIGHT CHRISTMAS DAY. THEY ALL ENJOYED FREEDOM EACH MONTH OF THE YEAR, BECAUSE OF THE SOLDIERS, LIKE THE ONE LYING HERE. I COULDN'T HELP WONDER HOW MANY LAY ALONE, ON A COLD CHRISTMAS EVE IN A LAND FAR FROM HOME. THE VERY THOUGHT BROUGHT A TEAR TO MY EYE, I DROPPED TO MY KNEES AND STARTED TO CRY. THE SOLDIER AWAKENED AND I HEARD A ROUGH VOICE, "SANTA DON'T CRY, THIS LIFE IS MY CHOICE; I FIGHT FOR FREEDOM, I DON'T ASK FOR MORE, MY LIFE FOR MY GOD, MY COUNTRY, MY CORPS." THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER AND SOON DRIFTED TO SLEEP, I COULDN'T CONTROL IT, I CONTINUED TO WEEP. I KEPT WATCH FOR HOURS, SO SILENT AND STILL, AND WE BOTH SHIVERED FROM THE COLD EVENING'S CHILL. I DIDN'T WANT TO LEAVE ON THAT COLD, DARK, NIGHT, THIS GUARDIAN OF HONOR SO WILLING TO FIGHT. THEN THE SOLDIER ROLLED OVER, WITH A VOICE SOFT AND PURE, WHISPERED, "CARRY ON SANTA, IT'S CHRISTMAS DAY, ALL IS SECURE." ONE LOOK AT MY WATCH, AND I KNEW HE WAS RIGHT. "MERRY CHRISTMAS MY FRIEND, AND TO ALL A GOOD NIGHT."

Below is a poem sent to me by a dear friend. I really think it says it all. May we never forget...

Was Your Flag Flying High On September Eleven? Was your flag soaring high on September Ten? Or did it not seem so important back then? You raise it now as you play our nation’s song. The question remains: For how long? Was your patriotism showing on September Nine? Or had it been hidden away for quite some time? You proudly profess it now, more than in the past. The question remains: How long will it last? Would you stop and help a stranger on September Eight? Or did you pass him by, not wanting to be late? You volunteer now no matter what the venue. The question remains: Will it continue? Did you support the officer of the law on September Seven? Or just complain about the violence on the news at eleven? You now boast on how they are the best in the land. The question remains: How long will it stand? Did you appreciate our firefighters on September Six? Or curse, when slowed by their trucks, put you in a fix? You now call them heroes and the cream of the crop. The question remains: When will it stop? Were you a recurrent blood donor on September Five? Or just expect it to be there, to keep "you" alive? Now to give, you stand and cheer for hours in a line. The question remains: Will there be enough next time? Did you respect our military on September Four? Or applaud defense cuts on the congressional floor? You now salute and honor them like you give a damn. The question remains: Will it be another Viet Nam? Did you sacrifice for your neighbors on September Three? Or did you just think, there’s nothing in it for me? Now you console and comfort them in their sorrow. The Question remains: Will you be there tomorrow? Were you praying for world peace on September Two? Or were there more important things you had to do? Now you go to church, the synagogue and mass. The question remains: Will this too, just pass? Were you united behind your president on September One? Or still angry because you thought Al Gore had won? Now you denounce bipartisanship, all for one cause. The question remains: When will this also pause? It was tragic what happened to our Nation on September Eleven. We saw a glimpse of hell; for answers we looked up to heaven. We found the lining behind the cloud and made some good from that fateful day. The questions remain: What did we learn and how long will it stay that way? © 2002 -Ken B. Lemons USAF(Ret.) Used with permission - All Rights Reserved.

Here are two more beautiful poetry presentations. Just click on the links below and enjoy!

This concludes my poetry page presentations. I hope you found at least one poem or story that you truly enjoyed. Please don't forget to visit my WTC Dedication Page, if you haven't already, and my Photo Page. But, most of all, please sign my Guestbook back on my Main Page and leave comments if you wish! Thank you for stopping by, and please check back often for updates!