Memory believes what the heart holds true,
A flicker of light in the morning dew.
It whispers of moments we cannot retrieve,
The fragments of time that we choose to believe.

Before knowing remembers, the soul still feels,
The brush of the past, the wounds it heals.
A scent, a sound, or a fleeting glance,
Can summon a world in a wordless dance.

The touch of a hand, the echo of laughter,
The shadows of dreams we endlessly chase after.
For memory sees what eyes cannot find,
A portrait of love in the halls of the mind.

So let memory believe and knowing delay,
For in its embrace, the past will stay.
A bridge to the moments that slip through our fingers,
Where the heart remembers and the soul still lingers.

Created by
MarkWaldrop 

Memory believes before knowing remembers.                                                                 William Faulkner

The brightest days often follow the night,
When shadows retreat at the dawn’s first light.
Life is a puzzle, a game we play,
With trials that shape us along the way.

The path grows steep, the burdens immense,
Tests arrive, breaking our confidence.
But just as the darkness seems too much to bear,
A breakthrough whispers, “You’re almost there.”

Each challenge faced is a door to ascend,
A chance to grow, a means to transcend.
The trials refine us, like fire to gold,
Pushing us forward, brave and bold.

The game of life, with levels and foes,
Teaches us wisdom as each chapter flows.
Victories come, and the sun shines bright,
Until the next test emerges from night.

But take heart, for this is the way we grow,
Each cycle of struggle teaches us to know
That the darkest moments prepare the soul,
To reach higher levels, to become whole.

So hold on tightly, though the storm may rage,
You’re turning the chapter, you’re turning the page.
For after the night, the dawn will break through,
The brightest days are waiting for you.

Created by
MarkWaldrop

Psa 30:5  For his anger is but for a moment, and his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning. 

The brightest days often follow the night,
When shadows retreat at the dawn’s first light.
Life is a puzzle, a game we play,
With trials that shape us along the way.

The path grows steep, the burdens immense,
Tests arrive, breaking our confidence.
But just as the darkness seems too much to bear,
A breakthrough whispers, “You’re almost there.”

Each challenge faced is a door to ascend,
A chance to grow, a means to transcend.
The trials refine us, like fire to gold,
Pushing us forward, brave and bold.

The game of life, with levels and foes,
Teaches us wisdom as each chapter flows.
Victories come, and the sun shines bright,
Until the next test emerges from night.

But take heart, for this is the way we grow,
Each cycle of struggle teaches us to know
That the darkest moments prepare the soul,
To reach higher levels, to become whole.

So hold on tightly, though the storm may rage,
You’re turning the chapter, you’re turning the page.
For after the night, the dawn will break through,
The brightest days are waiting for you.

Created by
MarkWaldrop

Psa 30:5  For his anger is but for a moment, and his favor is for a lifetime. Weeping may tarry for the night, but joy comes with the morning. 

A Ford Model A at the crossing stands,
Dusty wheels on restless lands.
Its engine hums a patient song,
While the iron beast lumbers along.

The rails hum low, the ground does quake,
A moment of pause for history’s sake.
And then it comes—the mournful cry,
A steam whistle wail beneath the sky.

Two-tone sorrow, a voice of steel,
Echoing stories the tracks reveal.
Of journeys made and goodbyes said,
Of dreams that rode where the rails led.

The driver waits, hands firm on the wheel,
Lost in the sound, the weight he feels.
For time seems frozen, past meets now,
As the whistle’s howl whispers its vow.

When the train moves on and the crossing clears,
The pickup rolls forward, erasing fears.
Yet that steam whistle song lingers still,
A ghostly tune, a memory’s thrill.

Created by
MarkWaldrop

How many there are who rest at ease,
Believing grace requires no pleas.
“Jesus paid it all,” they softly say,
While turning their hearts the other way.

But grace is not a passive song,
A debt erased, then we move along.
It calls us forth, with hands outstretched,
To heal the wounds the world has etched.

For Christ, who bore the cross of shame,
Did not endure for hollow acclaim.
He paid it all, yes, this is true,
But left a charge for me and you.

To walk His path, to share His light,
To bring the lost from dark to bright.
To lift the broken, seek the stray,
And show God’s love in every way.

So let us not forget the cost,
Or why He came to save the lost.
The call is clear, His footsteps lead,
A life of love is what we need.

Created by
MarkWaldrop