Poetry & Photos
by Carol Jo Horn


The ancient past spoke,
In early morning waves,
serene days
warm silent nights.
It spoke in tranquil sighs
and gentle breezes.

Yes, mother
I hear your relentless promise
of eternity.


My priest killed himself.
He was not immune to the
Ills of the spirit.
Church was not his rock.
He found no sanctuary from
the battles his mind fought.

My minister was a spiritual man
not a religeous man.
The struggle to be both
Killed him.


Nightmares are to dreams
what fear is to life
We often cannot stop
one from bleeding into the other.

But wake from our dreams
Focus on living
And we banish nightmare and fear.


More of Carol Jo's Poetry
We were excited to hear that one of Carol Jo's poems was read on the radio! She sent us the link and we wanted to offer it here: http://www.krbd.org/poems.html

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