The light breaks through in the morning,
restoring hope in the heart of mankind.
The swallows search for their food unhindered,
as the mist clears the sight in every mind.
Crisp and cold is the floor beneath me,
my breath makes clouds from this thin air,
as I marvel at the sounds singing in my heart.
Hope is born out of nothing else but love,
a love that is alive in every human heart.
Every new morning creates a new beginning,
every act of love creates a new chance,
and a new chance is the beginning of hope.
When hope is in the beginning,
written in the dawn of each new morning,
why then, do we search for it at the end?
When all hope is lost,
we cry out for the emptiness in our heart,
yet the hope from the beginning,
has escaped our fragile hearts.
When the red robin kisses the frosty ground,
and a squirrel plays in the winter snow,
a white world drives out every piece of darkness,
like the rising of the sun in the morning.
The song in my heart this very morning,
plays the melody of newborn child,
who laughs in the sight of innocence,
restoring the hope in my fragile empty heart.
In the night a child is born,
in the morning my heart will sing forevermore.
In the deepest darkness,
joy is that little light,
pushing away the pain,
so you can move your feet.
Joy is walking on water,
where the deep black depth,
is far underneath you,
even though the waters,
still roar all around you.
Joy is standing on a mountain top,
where the difficult journey is behind you,
and the view reminds you,
that the impossible was possible after all.
Joy is the rope,
that keeps you from falling down.
Joy is the focus,
that keeps you moving forward,
for dreaming with joy,
instills a deep hope,
that gives you wings to fly,
in the greatest storms.
Born out of love,
joy is the light that feeds us,
with happy memories from the past.
Joy shows us,
that new experiences,
however difficult they are,
can be fun,
in the presence of loving friends.
Joy is an arm around your shoulder,
it is a tissue when you grieve.
Joy in the face of love,
is all we really need,
in a world filled with darkness,
this is joy to me!
As the fallen snow turns into ice, the freezing cold blows me away, forcing an ice-age into the summer, where icicles melt in the desert heat, and water is a burden instead of a relief.
My eyes hurt with burning pains, the tears have turned into dry salt, while fire burns my skin to the bone. I’m blaming the snow-storm in the desert, for its lack of interest in the growing pains. Selfishness is always the beginning of nothing, but when I search for something, selfishness comes knocking at my door.
My life has never been my own, no matter how I wrestled with the universe, it never chose my side in the storm. Now I’m fighting thin air on the steep slope, beating me into the thick trees on the road.
As I lay down in the snow and pray, the daisies cheer me up with their mandolin music, and the sun warms my face with peace, until Love breaks the centre of my soul, and thick teardrops work its way down, for the broken dreams I never wanted to give up.
Bring back my broken dreams, and plant them in the ground, to grow them into rose bushes. So my dreams will never get lost in the snow, and my teardrops are not a waste in the universe. Give them a place in Your paradise, so Your children can find their way home.
Inside the box,
the noose around my neck tightens.
Trying to settle in,
the small nook is too cramped,
and all I want to do,
is to leave this small space.
All eyes tell a different story,
but when they look at me,
all their stories are the same.
Stuck in prejudices and opinions,
war is either neglect,
or fight back.
Who will love me as I am?
Traditions are for keeping,
but not if they suffocate the soul.
When everything is the same,
we are in desperate need of change.
Evolving is teaching yourself to be better,
learning is allowing yourself to grow,
for growth is a never-ending story.
Inside the box,
where I am unable to grow,
I look out into infinity,
where God asks me to live,
in His divine library,
where His great wisdom,
will lead me to eternity.