The world is full of people, you will find, Whose lives are one long whine and one long din, Whose every breath is one long discontent, And every word a bitter discontent.
They find fault with everything they see, And with the people they are thrown with; They grumble at the weather, at the food, And at the way the world is going too.
They find fault with their own lot in life, And with the lot of others; they are never Pleased with anything, and never seem To have a single thing to say that’s pleasant.
They are the joyless people of the earth, And they make life a burden to themselves And to all who come in contact with them; And they are the people who are never happy.
So if you would be happy, keep away From these unhappy people, and try to find Some pleasant people to associate with, Who will make life a joy and not a burden.
Now, I’m a middle school math teacher. The days are filled with the chatter of students, the squeak of markers on whiteboards, and the rhythmic ticking of the classroom clock. It’s a far cry from the carefree days of camp, but it’s rewarding in its own way.
Just today, as I was walking down the hallway between classes, I caught a whiff of something that instantly transported me back to those summers at camp. It was a familiar scent, but I couldn’t quite place it. Maybe it was the faint smell of wood smoke from the cafeteria’s kitchen, or perhaps it was a student’s perfume that reminded me of the bug spray we used to slather on.
Whatever it was, it triggered a flood of memories. I remembered the crackling campfires, the gooey s’mores, the silly songs, and the late-night talks with fellow counselors. I remembered the feeling of being surrounded by nature, of being part of something bigger than myself.
For a moment, I was back at camp, feeling the warmth of the sun on my skin and the cool breeze in my hair. Then, just as quickly, I was back in the hallway, surrounded by lockers and students. But the memory of those summers at camp stayed with me, a reminder of a time when life was simpler, and the world was full of possibilities. A phantom breeze, a whispered sigh, A scent adrift, that floats nearby. No image seen, no sound so clear, Yet memory’s ghost, it holds me near. Carried upon the gentlest of winds, a fragrance emerges, Unseen, unheard, yet stirring the soul’s embers.
Fragrant Memories
The baking spice, of cinnamon’s heat, A childhood kitchen, bittersweet. Grandma’s apron, flour dust, A warm embrace, in gentle trust. Golden sunlight filters through the window pane, Cinnamon and cloves dance in a sweet refrain. Grandma’s laughter, a comforting sound, In her loving arms, solace is found.
The damp earth’s breath, a mossy stone, A forest path, where I’d roam alone. Green leaves unfurled, a sunlit gleam, A tranquil space, a waking dream. Beneath the canopy of emerald leaves, The forest floor, a tapestry it weaves. Sunlight dappled, a gentle stream flows, Nature’s embrace, where serenity grows.
The salty tang, of ocean spray A distant shore, where children play. Waves crashing soft, on sandy white, A sense of peace, in fading light. The rhythmic symphony of crashing waves, Whispers tales of hidden coves and caves. Seashells scattered, glistening pearls of sand, A tranquil haven, a timeless land.
A worn book’s scent, of aged and deep, Where stories slept, and secrets keep. Paper’s whisper, a silent call A quiet comfort, standing tall. Within the pages, adventures unfold, Tales of heroes, both brave and bold. The scent of old paper, a comforting embrace, In quiet corners, a tranquil space.
These fragile threads, of fragrant air, Unravel time, and banish care. A fleeting moment, held so tight, A scented solace, in the night. Each scent a memory, a chapter untold, Whispers of the past, in stories unfold. A tapestry of moments, woven with care, Fragrant memories, suspended in air. In the stillness of the night, they ignite, A scented solace, bathed in moonlight.
In the dark of night, the world is full of fear, The shadows dance and move, and all is drear. The trees are like great monsters, tall and strange, The moon is like a demon’s eye, so strange.
The wind is like a scream, the owl is like a wail, The night is full of danger, and I feel so frail. I wish that morning would come, and chase away The fear that fills my heart, and drives me to my bed.
I hide beneath the covers as the darkness grows around, Listening in the stillness for every haunting sound. The walls begin to tighten like a vise upon my chest, And anxiety arises, driving far away all rest. I pray for dawn to break the gloom and turn the night to day, To lift the heavy silence and sweep the dark away.
But then the morning comes, and all is bright, The sun shines down, and all is right. The trees are like old friends, the moon is like a friend, The wind is like a soft caress, not like a scream.
The owl is like a wise old sage, who speaks of peace, The night is full of beauty, and I feel so free. I wish that I could stay in this bright world all day, And never have to go back to the dark of night.
Open the doors, let sunlight flood the dust and gloom, And hide no more, escape this cold and empty room. The world awaits beyond the latch, vibrant and so vast, A future built on courage, leaving shadows in the past. The sun upon my face becomes a promise, clear and bold, A new and brighter story that is waiting to unfold.
I should not take the blame Two steps forward, ten steps back, No matter the path, the light is black. I try, I try, with all my might, But shadows follow in the night.
Do not misplace the scars you bear, Or cast your judgments, sharp and bare, Upon a soul that’s not to blame, For all the hurt, for all the shame.
With silent walls and seeds of doubt. You bring the feast but leave me cold, A story left largely untold.
“Don’t speak,” you say, “Don’t let me in,” As if my presence is a sin. You say I shouldn’t be involved, The mystery of me—never solved.
An afterthought, drifting alone, The furthest distance I have known. The tears fall soft, the heart beats slow, Caught in a wind I did not blow.
You hate me—the echo rings so clear, A constant hum for all to hear. You hate me, hate me, in the dark, Leaving behind this jagged mark.
It is the quiet room I build at midnight when the heavy world is finally fast asleep, a bridge between the shadow and the sunlight, and a vault for all the secrets I must keep.
It is a tapestry of dark and ancient magic, where urban realms and phantom worlds collide, a canvas for the sweeping and the tragic, and the truths we are too terrified to hide.
It is a shield against the weight of long tomorrows, a way to capture light within the gray, to anchor joy, to give a voice to sorrows, and mold the things I can’t simply say.
It is the ink that bleeds when hearts are breaking, the steady pulse beneath a restless hand, the quiet art of letting go and making a world that I can finally understand.
I once thought I was your confidante, That you told me everything, But now I see that I was wrong, That I was just another fool.
You tell others things you’ve never told me, Secrets that you keep close, And I am left in the dark, To wonder what I did wrong.
Am I not important to you? Am I not worthy of your trust? Or is there someone else you’ve chosen, To take my place in your heart?
I don’t know the answers to these questions, But I do know that I’m hurt, And that I’m no longer sure, If I want to be a part of your life.
The silence between us grows louder each day, A wall built of secrets and whispers untold, I watch from the sidelines as you drift away, Leaving memories turning fragile and cold.
So I will step back from the shadows you cast, And guard the small pieces of heart that remain, No longer a prisoner to what’s in the past, Learning to walk through the quiet and pain.
Humans possess remarkable minds, navigating the complexities of good and bad, shaping our world through our choices. We hold the unique ability to transform adversity into opportunity, a testament to our capacity for thought, creation, and evolution. Though fleeting in the grand scheme of the universe, these remarkable minds empower us to grow as individuals and leave a lasting legacy on our species. As I approach 50 (a milestone soon to arrive), time’s swift passage becomes increasingly apparent. This realization underscores the fleeting nature of our existence within the vast expanse of galaxies, universes, and history itself. Yet, a profound question emerges: even as mere specks in the cosmos, why are we endowed with such remarkable minds? Perhaps the purpose of these minds lies not just in shaping this life, but in something grander. The yearning for something more, the very question of our place in the universe, is a testament to the power of our minds. Could these minds be a hint of a greater existence, a potential that extends beyond our fleeting lives? So I leave you with this verse, Psalm 139:13-14 says, “For you formed my inward parts; you knitted me together in my mother’s womb. I praise you, for I am fearfully and wonderfully made. Wonderful are your works; my soul knows it very well” There is more to this life.
The Shadow Realm Chronicle Maeve 📚 E-books payhip.com/NancyAnnCreed
Across the sea, a jungle green, A young man fought, a sight unseen. My father, there, in Vietnam’s hold, A story etched, a heart of gold.
The weight of war, a heavy pack, He carried burdens on his back. The sounds of fire, the cries of pain, Aching memories, etched like rain.
But courage bloomed where shadows fell, He faced his fears and fought them well. For comrades’ sake, for duty’s call, He stood his ground, he gave his all.
And when he came back home at last, The war’s grim toll, a shadowed past. Unspoken battles, burdens deep, Yet in his eyes, a love to keep.
He built a life, a world anew, The strength he bore, shone clear and true. My father, soldier, quiet, strong, In him, I see where I belong.
This ode to him, a whispered pride, For all he faced, for all he tried. A son’s respect, a heart’s embrace, For the hero’s journey, etched on his face.
