See Mike Draw

Per Ardua Ad Astra- For Dad

Soaring through the sky
Climbing, falling
Bursting through the clouds
Twisting turning

Radiant sunlight striking off the metal colossus
Glinting, gleaming
Jet Fuel igniting, increasing the speed
Roaring, booming

Guardians of the sky
Protecting, serving
Observing lands with their almighty gazes
Saving, Supporting

Where would we be without these men?
Those gods of distance and speed
Spreading their wings
Giving us Haven.

We are grateful for these men
Of courage and strength.
We are proud of these men
Lionhearted and valiant.


Through struggles to the Stars
Those men will land among the heavens

Sunrise

As the blood red ball of life rose up in the sky, it consumed all darkness and

smothered it with heavenly light.

Reaching out with its tendrils of luminescence, it could make a grown man feel young

again. This was the epitome of nature as the sun rose higher and higher to give

prominence to the world it surveyed.

My Question To An Old Friend, Nostalgia

Nostalgia is an old friend of mine.

It's hard to know whether he is friend or foe
Sometimes he makes you feel empty, some other times full

He is hard to Ignore, but always visits.

He visits when you least want him to:
After leaving loved ones
After losing something special

He is Hard to Interpret

You never know if he is trying to make you feel good or bad
He just leaves you wanting more

Wanting more
Remembering more
Missing more

My question is

Would i miss you Nostalgia?

Is it? - Sean McGrady

Is It?

Is it the pen that is mightier than the sword?

For words written may be more powerful than a bullet to one person.

It can wound, maybe kill many.

For words can be more destructive than a bomb to one town.

Words written can destroy; sometimes decimate whole cities.

Or maybe, it is the person who holds the pen, the person who holds the sword who can wound and destroy.

Is it the voice that’s speaks for many, or quells?

For it is the voice that can support society or it can bring the society to its knees.

It can wound, maybe kill many.

For one voice can alter the minds of many.

It can bend; sometimes warp the minds of others.

Or maybe, it is the voice that has been warped, who thirsts for others to understand their chaotic mind.

Is it Earth that is our home, or our hell?

For nature has been taken for granted, but Mother Nature has taken life for granted.

She can wound, maybe kill many.

For Gaia can affect more than one culture.

She can drown; sometimes scorch lands.

Or maybe it is man that has scarred these wastelands with eternal aridity

Is it man that helps us survive, or helps us to die?

For us parasites have fed off time, greedily devoured civilization after civilization.

We can wound, easily kill many.

We can crush the life of many, human and animal.

We can suffocate; sometimes murder notions and culture.

Or maybe.

Maybe not.

Sean McGrady