Too many Times

Too many times have I posted these poems, too many times we all cry together, too many times we sink with grief, too many times Evil raises its head.

But Our Love for each other always brings another dawn

Let There Be Light ©

 By Michael Casey

Let my tears be my words

Let the candle light be my eyes

Let the flowers in bloom be my lips

Let their scent be my blood

Let the wind be my breath

Let clouds be my mood

Let children’s laughter be my hope

Let widows’ sighs be my conscience

Let a stranger’s prayers be my delight

Let the bees be my wisdom

Let the trees be my strength

Let my patience reach to the stars

Let me be always remembered in your prayers

            

                The Dead and The Living (c)

                           by

           

                     Michael  Casey

     I first saw a deceased when I was nine years old, my father said not

  

     to worry as the dead are the same as the living, only the  laughter

  

     has left them, the sparkle has gone from their eyes, the worry has

  

     been lifted from their shoulders, and their voice has vanished  to

  

     eternity.

     In paradise the sparkle will return for it is the  twinkle  of  the

  

     stars, the laughter will return too for it is the morning breeze and

  

     the turning tides are their sides shaking with laughter.

     

     I treat the deceased with the same courtesy as I give to the living,

  

     though I find the deceased are always more polite. My father also

  

     had a few words to say about the living.

     He said that the living are only the caretakers of the soul ,  yet

  

     they think their existence is everything, that they know everything

  

     because they experience many things with their senses.

     What the living don't acknowledge is that their time is short  and

  

     when I lay their bodies to rest then their souls  continue  without

  

     them, without their strong, without their weak, without  their

  

     beautiful or even ugly temporary form, to where I cannot say, only

  

     that it is a better place.

  

     Percy the undertaker placed the lid on the coffin, the soul was free

                          THE  BEGINNING