Phoenix

A foretoken given by day of Light
Descending through dark of night
Gray of ash upon the crest seen
Raked over coals down between.

In the shadows, reasoning of choice
Still and silent, as one with no voice
Fire was blazing with indignation
Roaring with the cry of damnation.

Understanding has gone amiss
Devoured in this burning abyss
Judgement echoes off the mount
For all to see, I stand in account.

Friendship once stood by my side
Fled with the wind, to run and hide
Partaking not, in decisions made
Yet it was not I, who felt betrayed.

Burned out by the fan of flames
All that is left, very little remains
Like a Phoenix, state of ruin I’m in
From ashes, resurrection will begin.

Patricia A. Moore
August 24, 2010

Wildflower's Heart Of Gold

Customs of community, social behavior, unmet
Uncultivated flower, civilized, not as yet
There truth be told, she's merely a weed
Insidiously she’ll produce treacherous seed

The rose, the lily, ones of upper class, high prestige
Take preference over her and therefore precede
Forbidden to attend such a formal garden estate
In the wild you can feast upon her golden plate

Comely to some, but outcast, in the eyes of elite
Due to their exalted standards she does not meet
Gathering her bedding amongst the lower class
Happiness, contentment exceeds, expectations surpass

Her position carries not reign upon pedestals high
Nor does she seek exaltation in the platinum sky
Illuminations of life, destiny cries as a silvery lake
A silhouette, shadow brought forth by light to make

Beauty rides down the path on chariots of love
Grain of sand, a pearl forms, grayish white sphere of
Whispers in the cross winds of riches untold
Found lying beneath, in Wildflower's Heart Of Gold

Patricia A Moore
July 24 2010

I Am Your Child

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Jesus, Jesus, Jesus
How wonderful thy are
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus
The bright an morning star

Thou art my savior
The one that paid the price
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus
The Way, The Truth, The Life

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus
Thou art the shining light
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus
Watching day and night

I am your child
I will follow thee
My light will shine
For all the world to see

Jesus, Jesus, Jesus
How wonderful thy are
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus
The bright an morning star


Thou art my savior
The one that paid the price
Jesus, Jesus, Jesus
The Way, The Truth, The Life
The Way, The Truth, The Life

Lyrics -Patricia A Moore
June 24, 2010
Music -Joyce Close
Vocals- Joyce Close,
Edward L Salisbury ,Patricia A Moore

Sweet Wildflower by Colin Moffett

I climbed the mountainside
Clambered over rock and stone
Felt the peace of solitude
On its peak silently alone

Then I saw it blooming there
Though its leaves were torn, tattered
The wildflower of the mountain
With strong winds cruelly battered

I could see it struggled hard to live
Of its plight I took some pity
Mountain wildflower why bloom here
Come to my garden in the city

There you will live in calmer clime
Your life will be more at ease
No strong wind will harm your there
Your face kissed then by gentle breeze

I seemed to hear its voice reply
On its face a raindrop tear
I cannot go to a city garden
For my home is on the mountain here

God has planted me where He would
Here my abode the mountain high
If you took me from its slopes
Then alas my heart would die

Here I am nearer Heaven’s home
He has blessed with such a view to see
Of all the places I could have been
This was the home He had for me

Battered yes and bruised my leaves
Yet the sun shines on my face
Remove me not for not His will
That I should ever leave this place

I descended from the mountainside
Over me again its peak did tower
Pondering over the lesson I had learned
Taught to me by the sweet wildflower



Colin Moffett

Lambaste

Sleep was not to be, my dearest companion at night
I played the game, toss-n-turn, my bed I did fight
Why would it evade, does not it hear my call
Am I always active, not in a dormant state at all

Waiting for its arrival ,praying please make haste
But seldom will it come,leaveing me to feel lambaste
I’m a would-be sleeper, always wishing that I could
Communication with me and sleep,sadly misunderstood

I lay on my pillow, counting cute little sheep, O’ my
Remembering the time, I use to get some shut eye
What I think I’ll do now, is pull out my dear ole gun
Start shooting those sheep, that's constantly on the run

Would not that be nice, a leg of lamb or lamb chops
Then the sheep would think twice,next time, better stop!
Dancing in the air, performing their lovely theatrical show
Was delicious tasty mutton,over and over my head they go

Although we could get along together, plenty of fine
If they would quit running, through my poor weary mind
Whosoever came up,with the idea of counting sheep
Must of lost more then enough, Good night sleep!!!

Patricia A Moore
March 28 2010