Tuesday, October 24, 2006

The Cold Within

Six humans trapped by happenstance
in black and bitter cold
Each possessed a stick of wood,
Or so the story's told.

Their dying fire in need of logs,
the first woman held hers back
For on the faces around the fire
She noticed one was black.

The next man looking 'cross the way
Saw one not of his church
And couldn't bring himself to give
The fire his stick of birch.

The third one sat in tattered clothes
He gave his coat a hitch,
Why should his log be put to use
To warm the idle rich?

The rich man just sat back and thought
Of the wealth he had in store,
And how to keep what he had earned
From the lazy, shiftless poor.

The black man's face bespoke revenge
As the fire passed from his sight,
For all he saw in his stick of wood
Was a chance to spite the white.

And the last man of this forlorn group
Did naught except for gain,
Giving only to those who gave
Was how he played the game.

The logs held tight in death's stilled hands
Was proof of human sin,
They didn't die from the cold without,
They died from the cold within.

by James Patrick Kinney;Posted by Picasa

Life Posted by Picasa

Lost Posted by Picasa

Far away from home Posted by Picasa

To be continued... Posted by Picasa

Sight for sore eyes Posted by Picasa

Oasis Posted by Picasa

Saturday, October 21, 2006

Embraced back Posted by Picasa

Hues of decay Posted by Picasa

The greener side Posted by Picasa

Me and my truck... dress to match Posted by Picasa

Friday, October 20, 2006

Back to beginning Posted by Picasa

Future Posted by Picasa

Unexpected Posted by Picasa

Monday, October 16, 2006

Till tomorrow... Posted by Picasa

Good night my love Posted by Picasa

Gap Posted by Picasa

Trust Posted by Picasa

Isle of the Lion Posted by Picasa

Friday, October 13, 2006

Play it again Sam Posted by Picasa

Lonely on the top Posted by Picasa

Destiny Posted by Picasa

Shapes of the past Posted by Picasa

Another world Posted by Picasa

Barren Posted by Picasa