Warm eyes look at the blue sea I am the clouds of idealism Waiting for the green spring Flowers in the wind A widow cries Age is the myth of denial I am younger than time Your hand is snow on the rocks Passion rises from the soul I am passionate about eternity My knee cannot bend to you my dear Your love is too imprisoning
Home is far away Our journey goes through death Your desire for life is a teddy bear The world comes in like a flood Money holds back real peace The seagulls fly in my dreams Cellos weave mountains of hope Every motive a corridor Interrogation rooms Soft facades like a mist Seduction becomes anger Prison guards of lust
I am a documentary film maker and I write the majority of the music for my films. I have my own band and recording and audio-video studio in my home. Much of my music is used in my films. Three of my films are in stores as Dvd's. I also am a poetI am here to meet artists, poets and other musicians as well as other Christians.
He peeped out of his castle very frightened someone may call his name. He knew vice-versa they were afraid of him calling him venomous satan in snake skin. Saying he is the sinner of temptation hissing he nods that’s not
(1) On the road from Jerusalem, while echoes of the horn are still tearing down the walls of Jericho, I recline on a table of sand. Sparrows cry joyfully to me, in a space void of wedding ceremonies, picking up
History remembers King Henry VIII, his mass gallows lovingly called ‘Tyburn Trees’, and victims protesting King’s control on church, but not the grains of sand flown in air by wind. ‘Tyburn Trees’ are nothing new to power dealers, ‘Collesseum’ was
Their fingers gently interlocking, each clasped the other’s hand. In silence whilst they slowly walked, on the soft, warm, evening sand. Just an occasional inquiring glance, into the other’s eyes. Spirits in a romantic waltz, such depth of feeling a