A New Beginning

I've been feeling very creative lately. Which is awesome for a couple of reasons. First, I have a job that requires my creativity. If I'm not creative, I'm not very productive at work, or my productivity isn't very good. More importantly, my creativity is an outlet for me. Writing poems or music, or taking pictures is a way I can express myself and release. I'm very grateful God made me a creative person.

I've been writing a lot. My writing seems to take on two themes lately; standing up for your beliefs/rights and taking a stand for what's right. This isn't a defend your beliefs, this is a stand up to the man and tell him to back off. To not let anyone tell you what to think or how to live your life. To stand up for yourself and not let any put you down because of it. And then making sure we take care of those who need it. The older I've gotten the more concerned I've gotten with the people around me. The more I learn about the life of Jesus and the more I want to be like him, the more I understand the need to love and take care of others, no matter what.

It saddens me deeply when I hear people complain about how much attention people in need get. I know the older I've gotten the more God has softened my heart (I mean, who sheds tears while watching "Tim Gunn's Guide to Style?).

Anyway, I'll probably post some writings on the Poets Death next week.

This is a poem by Emily Bronte I really like. It's called "To Imagination"

When weary with the long day's care,
And earthly change from pain to pain,
And lost, and ready to despair,
Thy kind voice calls me back again:
Oh, my true friend! I am not lone,
While then canst speak with such a tone!

So hopeless is the world without;
The world within I doubly prize;
Thy world, where guile, and hate, and doubt,
And cold suspicion never rise;
Where thou, and I, and Liberty,
Have undisputed sovereignty.

What matters it, that all around
Danger, and guilt, and darkness lie,
If but within our bosom's bound
We hold a bright, untroubled sky,
Warm with ten thousand mingled rays
Of suns that know no winter days?

Reason, indeed, may oft complain
For Nature's sad reality,
And tell the suffering heart how vain
Its cherished dreams must always be;
And Truth may rudely trample down
The flowers of Fancy, newly-blown:

But thou art ever there, to bring
The hovering vision back, and breathe
New glories o'er the blighted spring,
And call a lovelier Life from Death.
And whisper, with a voice divine,
Of real worlds, as bright as thine.

I trust not to thy phantom bliss,
Yet, still, in evening's quiet hour,
With never-failing thankfulness,
I welcome thee, Benignant Power;
Sure solacer of human cares,
And sweeter hope, when hope despairs!