Beyond Littleton		Seasoned Seeds
Self-Portrait		Eagle's Passing of Morning's Moon...
It Is Here		A Space of Time
One Desire...		Two Sets of Eyes...
Within the Rain		Realism...

Note: (000, YYMMDD) = the approximate Yahoo Message Board entry number and date.
Spelling, punctuation, grammar, and line phrasing are as originally posted by the author.

O' river of freedom, we seek the strength and power you show from the Great Spirit, Mother Earth's love for life, pray it comes to us, in love, fortitude, and faith.

Peace be with the lost child, who's way is one with God, the road is not darkened or sad, nor left undone, it carries many likeminded, and willing to overcome the shortness, to which became a life, so very, very, young.

EnchantedWords © Copyright, 1999

There are times when one need to search, Way inward the soul, Even farther than where the spirit resides, To make any sense of how death comes, Through a vessel of flesh, Young and naive, Governed by evil’s touch of false wisdom..

Wickedness this way came, Gave to the somber of township, In one short instance of time to moment, More sorrow and ugly horror for sight, A mind has no defense to remove what left. Leaving without anything to reap but souls, A mark for life, Forever will these shadows of credence rest..

Healing through anger will commence, For it is the way goodness follows, The path which is deeply set as far as evil, Well within the spirit’s fathoms of truth, He, only the Great Spirit can bring alive, Makes that beauty begin as a slow growth to vine, Each petal comes out as comfort, then compassion, One emotion after another, blooming, flowered, So it gives a fragrance no other can, Searing the spirit with everlasting love..

The township will not forget the death touch, It will begin anew, Through all of its ways of heart, Every soul will become stronger, Every spirit will give love towards another, Each essence of life will make way for beginning, To that path of which only comes collectively From all setting aside indifferences..

Something wicked has come, Something believed has prevailed, A truth makes it right, A wronged trampling of ground was seen, Flowers come to reap the way of heart, Not seen is what’s left within nature, Where all whispers speak loudly, Nothing will ever be the same as was..

Eagle in air, Soar with me, So I will be strong, Teach me, The winged flight of heart, So my despair of living comes easily, Make happiness abound as does forest’s virtue, Giving me love grown from seasoned seeds..

With each dip in sky, Allow a truth of will to reign, Forever giving what the Great Spirit Was shown to hold from within droplets of rain, Come with me and nourish the soul.

EnchantedWords © Copyright, 1999

Am not the guy of ordinary style, nor allow the fruit of heart to grasp another, without comfort of spirit, from dreamer to seer.

O' red hair I have, mannerism that follows it till I die, welsh makes the soul strong, and wisdom from heart's far realm of light, comes for the person I to be, of which does not relinquish easily.

I am whom I am to be, made of spirit to which many come to, carries inward of some truth, for the humbled way of life, and a touch to someone in need, comes with an ease, my willingness for comfort and peace.

EnchantedWords © Copyright, 1999

Eagle's Passing of Morning's Moon...

The river runs clean and with many turns, flowing over rocks shown with smoothness of time, a never ending balance of power and truth, from Mother Earth’s domain, for forest’s life and animals within it.

There comes a warrior, every eagle’s passing of morning’s moon, so the protection to past ancestors, is kept within the Elder’s generation, then given to the young for growth.

The river must flow for this to happen, no one passes on this day, without giving of "earth" unto the "water," placing of wood into "fire," and stand with "wind’s" touch across flesh, on sacred mountain, filled with spirits of past, triumphantly jeering for peace.

The Great Spirit, through the eyes of a crow, watches from highest tree, as these people move, within the forest and across mountain, back again in season’s way, in need of his touch for strength. The warrior makes a clear path, with each wandering.

A young boy, sets atop a tree’s broken limb, looking out and up into brightly lit stars, wondering of his father’s teaching, for Mother Earth’s habits to give love, through all her domain’s life.

He senses something, with gazing across the horizon, a white buffalo is seen standing, then a woman of beauty, long black hair without movement, from wind’s touch, and asking through his heart, to be strong for the people he is to lead, they need him as the next warrior, for protection and direction, to valleys through the mountains.

Change will be coming, and you my little warrior, will be the next spirit of the skies, whispering the winter’s truth, grasping the summer’s heat, keeping the tribe safe, from the white man ways.

Then there was a shooting star, and she was gone.

The warrior never forgot that night, and still making way through forest, every eagle’s passing of morning’s moon, for his people, and a son which came to him, as a gift for giving his life so young, that boy also looking out into those same stars, wonders of what his father would say, on the truth to being the warrior of skies.

Every night the young boy sets, there is a shooting star, in answer of his prayer, to his father.

EnchantedWords (Owen Black) © Copyright, 1999

Tilt the arm one more time, breaking the spirit of the man, who's strength is not of soul, but of the mindless wonder of Evil.

Cracking is what's heard, splitting the bone till it cannot hold together, leaving the arm dangling, swaying, without any effort to stop, without the spirit to rise, nor have a purpose, of only dying.

There is one spark of conscience, it comes from deep within, makes the path through soul and then, enters quickly, yet silently, through heart.

It is only, that which the Evil, can not sense in own self, until too late, till it is reaping the beauty of life, and will not succumb, so path will be made to death, darkened well of blackness, it only knows.

Broken arm has no will, the spirit does and demands, to take everything man has spiritual, enveloping the aura's lived outside existence, into a vessel of strength, far reaching the galaxies of soul, once again, he shall prevail, stand alone, but prevail, all what Evil is, and does, to remove God's love.

No one is without, nor loss of faith, it is here, rap, tap, tapping, on the door.

EnchantedWords © Copyright, 1999

This moment of time, a quiet and peaceful event of space, brings us together in one spirit. The rocks of earth we set upon, the dirt to which they lay upon, is the foundation our love comes to be shown, as it is in nature.

Truth of the common touch in heart we share, is felt throughout our time and moment, a space which becomes strong, withstanding any occurrence life throws at us.

The Great Spirit is our leader in soul, nature guides us on the path of direction, coming as wind’s whisper for confidence inward spirit, bounding all to how our lives entwine each day.

Be well of love’s touch on heart, know of my strong sense to heal, give your love in return for my own peace, we are one in mindset driven forth to everlasting truth, of our togetherness being as the earth and rocks, nature so freely gives to live by.

EnchantedWords © Copyright, 1999

Teach, so words make the mind grow of knowledge, give, so the heart can bestow humility, understand, so the moment in spirit has compassion and willingness to make giving... a gift, and teaching the soul's evolution for expansion, the way is clear and path is non-cluddered, a truth is coming forth, so mind has not the ego's balance, but the infinite degree of love.

EnchantedWords © Copyright, 1999

Through eye comes the view, a scenic vision, a wonderment of love, then a trail of despair, life's road made one turn to many.

Each moment time allows for the mind to think, it gives another short stint of wasted thought, so there can be no infinite exhilaration of joy, supreme deliverance of happiness.

Then the other eye has a notion to bring what the first eye missed, a truth, in that all roads have every intention to be straight, vision of scene is all the same but better, nature sprung a gift to make life uneasy, yet prosperous, an eye looking here and then there, makes the perspective alliance seen.

Two sets of eyes, one for the sight of mind, another for the inner-healing of flesh, but only looking through one at a time...

EnchantedWords © Copyright, 1999

The rain runs as smooth herb gel upon the skin, slow and methodical across the flesh, falling from heaven’s gate for nature and her growth of

the life, the love, those kindred hearts. A quietness can also be felt from surrounding area, it dwells heavy on the soul, a feeling in which the explanation is not one for reason

because the moment is not allowing it to happen, there is no inner-self of questioning, why?

Why the beauty in this presence shares itself in the manner, only I would understand, my, how the rain is falling, so eloquently, calmly, soothing back to thought, an angel just spoke, and I wasn’t listening.

The trees are making their voice heard, whispering the music of sound, leaves and twigs can only make within the song wind caresses itself through, and between, each living part, a kindred of itself unto the presence when one looks at such glorious specimen of species.

Now the truth to what this all gives is in the meadow, a hollow, deeply set in the forest’s domain, she is what all the commotion is about, and I am listening now, focusing on the unbelievable sight, attentive to what is happening.

The angel sets on a log, rain is falling as was, lightly, yet not on her, around her embodiment of low light and essence.

The wings folded tightly against her, an off-white gown moving ever so gently, as if the wind was massaging her legs and upper body with a light breeze, everywhere else a higher wind makes the foliage move more vigorously.

Now, she knows I am here, I stand back behind a blind of trees, bushes, a pocket of comfort, excited and jitteriness coming forth my spirit that can’t seem to pass.

The rain does not land on me any more, nor around any of the area I stand

it falls with the sound of wetness, as rain does, encompassing three senses out of five, I haven’t really quite lost as yet, nothing need to be said, but something is here to be learned, have no clue, no rule of mind in that it be my salvation, or consecration, to witness a sight of this miracle.

She just then looked at me, widespread wings of white and feathered, so perfect, a faith and belief will never be gone again.

And the voice is heard again, there is the wonderment of life given, a truth of love, a beginning for deliverance, then, she is gone.

I’m soaked, the rain has stopped, and she is gone.

The reason is not quite clear as I stand and seek the belief in the honest felt feeling of her beauty, or the truth of an angel’s presence, an essence though still lingers, and that in itself is the light that shines within, I see the path, a road into the future.

Nature, love, life, all gifts to continue an existence of living within a domain, not where I see it to be, a place inside that must be given, nurtured as does

so a seed can grow and become the kindred connection, evolution only shows of science, and not of faith, nor belief

but I have the key to a door, and it will be opened through my eyes, touching others with a belief, as only a prophet can.

So my given direction shown after all, has unconditional rights of passage into the souls I touch, those lost spirits, my own evolution in sorts and all it takes is belief and faith.

I wonder why all have not experienced as I have? Maybe because it only takes someone as me, a deaf mute, blind, and cannot walk without another’s direction of guidance.

Now I see, feel and touch with sight, engulf what is given to me, directing the miracle to peaceful coexistence, of those kindred hearts.

An essence that will flow from me, across the world, bringing the beauty I witnessed, wherever I may go without another’s held hand, but hers.

The angel.

EnchantedWords © Copyright, 1999

One must become death, to make living real, to hope in the end, there is no livable reality.

Truth of flesh, that spirit, where resides well inward depth of a soul's galaxy

it is not what sees, nor beholds, or encompasses for life

it is the wilting, a far reached flower which makes no distinction, or will, to grow.

That is what one is all about, that so called blue spirit, running with red blood, and becomes the evil, that this way comes

it is you, her over there, and that man, dressed in black, with no face, standing in the corner, waiting for me.

A click of the hammer, a quick pop, and the voice is heard with a subtle whisper, you defied death's trust,

oh yes, I loved that.

It is my will to succumb, reaching for the real livable life afterward, of which, there is none, but dirt.

Each moment, as the body slowly comes to rest, sliding and making a trail of blood, an artful distinction of life, is gone, there is one slight thought left,

a small increment of sent impulse for the brain to transfer into the spirit, the last rights, of sort, a message, you fucked up, I am death, and you're my witness for the realism that I lied

so you could come to me, this way, and forever more.

Peace be with the angel, for she has no livable life afterward,

neither do I...

EnchantedWords (Owen Black) © Copyright, 1999