Above the waves.

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Currents surged and tossed her,

Sharp prongs tore at her flesh in passing.

She was overwhelmed.

The surge of humanity,

The tide of evil,

The depths of depression.

Disorientated she could not find the light,

The way to the sky she remembered as a child.

Limbs convulsed

She sank beneath the weight of her wounds.

Struggle ceased.

Then,

As muscle relaxed,

Air dwindling,

A force of nature revived.

Her being floated slowly upward

Towards its natural element

Light and air burst upon her

Filthy water streamed from her face

Eyes encompassed by light rejoiced.

She saw an extended hand and grasped it

Yielding all to the strength of its creator.

Magic picture

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There’s a picture in my kitchen that’s magic don’t you know,

It daily changes hues and tints, my pleasure to bestow.

Capturing the hills and trees it renders in its might

The fleeting moods of sky above, the glow of glorious light.

Entrancing in its sunset, bedecked with jewels by night

I gasp when doing dishes, surprised by glorious sight.

You guessed it is a window that frames the vivid theme

Creation of a God who loves to render such a scheme.

 

A new outlook.

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The view from my new apartment.

I’ve often paused on shopping visits to Waitrose to take in the magnificent view from the check out, but never conceived I’d live in a place where I could indulge myself in it constantly. I think my guardian angel was taking notes and passed them on lol!

Remains. (sci fi flash fiction)

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They were almost in sight now. He craned his head to see, the translucent walls of the craft enabling perfect vision. He glimpsed something far ahead a dingy grey/brown splurge on the horizon contrasting with the intense greens with which he had always been surrounded.

He’d never totally believed it, couldn’t comprehend this side of his own humanity, but there it was before his eyes a vast wasteland of decaying iron and concrete. Here and there a feeble tree or bush strove to bring life to the empty mounds, shriveled and corrupted. No, the “trees here were of another nature, bare metal poles and girders, once the support frames of the towers that had been inhabited, what they had been taught was a “city”, a place innumerable humans dwelled encased in glass and concrete, brick and steel. It was beyond his young comprehension.

It was mandatory to make this trip before taking on an adult role in the community, to learn from the mistakes, to take paths of peace, to understand where greed and anger could lead, to be content with the simple life of forest and lake, grasslands and sea. They were safe now, but the lesson had been learned at great cost. It must always be remembered. Hence this trip and so many others as each generation came of age.

The pilot inclined his hand and the vehicle circled whirling back towards the welcoming green haze on the horizon. He of course had no need of the craft, could have been there in an instant. The vehicle was for them, the earthbound, forged of the immense power and light of the being before them. He had always been in awe of the angels.

Our new associates.

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A mamma swan has decided it seems to rear her babies right alongside us. When reporting for our first CVSS day of the season (taking the disabled sailing) we were astounded to find a new nest complete with six eggs right beside the jetty.
The mother seems perfectly at ease with us and all our comings and goings as we help our special sailors into the boats, even leaving her eggs for a leisurely swim in our presence. She seems to know we’ll not hurt her little ones. We are honored by her trust.

Redemption.

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Colour decked, the marbled skies entwine in splendid hue
And echoed in the earth below a rendered scarlet dew.
All earth besmirched with war and pain while heavens gaze on down
“T’was given to the hand of man,” God answers with a frown.
“And rendered up upon that day, he hands it back to Me,
E’en sky above, polluted, foul, which once was wild and free.”
The sins of man recorded here and buried in the clay
The skull, the bone, that once were fair, in dead abandon lay.
The blood soaked down within the soil, the dirt, the filth, the grime,
A thousand belching factory’s smoke eclipse the sun’s dim shine.

And man, what has become of him, the first creations prize,
He’s turned away to hate and sin, from truth he’s turned to lies.
“But see,” God says, on looking down, “some jewels within this flock
Of anguished souls intent on gain, still cling unto the rock.
They shine and glimmer in the dark and round them shines a light
That though the darkness press it hard continues in the night.
In them a seed, though thinly sowed, a hope that lies within,
That to the promise, stained in blood, they set their hopes to win.
To these brave few shall dawn a day when dark is turned to light
For all the evil then shall flee the day I join the fight.”