The Quiet Storm

"A quiet storm, blowing, through my life...". What's that like? Storms
are of course loud and often dangerous, but I am supposed to imagine it
without the boom? Maybe Smokey was talking about some crazy lady that
brought excitement to his world for a moment and then she was outta here
like Vladimir. All flash and glow and wondrous wind, caressing his
imagination to behold a woman's beautiful ways...

Maybe she is my quiet storm, new and strong and alive, but soon to die
away to make room for another. Very interesting, that concept. I have
had the song in my head all day, accompanying a pinched nerve in my back
and a need for sleep. Maybe tomorrow will be another song and the same
ailments?

I am finding a lot of freedom and I feel exceptional as far as utilizing
my talents is concerned. So alive and full of potential. Glad God hasn't
taken anything away. Hopefully the use of my gifts isn't a quiet storm
as well, here tonight and gone tomorrow.

Ellecram Draw's Journal: The Rough Woman

05/18/09 08:28 am:
In the dream I was in a room full of people, like a party. I was seated
on the couch next to a woman, beautiful and rough in her speech. Her
voice grew coarse as she spoke, yet it drew me in. There was another
woman who was seated on the couch at the opposite side. Her words were
indistinct, but she was talking to me. I could only pay attention to the
rough woman, though. She talked and I listened, drawn into her embrace.
As we were about to kiss, I recognized her for the demon she was, and I
pushed her down into the couch. Her eyes were lightening and she
screamed thunder as the room flickered. Then, nothing. It was morning
and I could hear|see rustling against the door. Rushing to it, I was
relieved to make out the sound of mail being deposited. No sooner than I
had realized such, there was a ring on my phone. Crossing the room, past
the couch, I saw that it was a text message, in bold, which read: I
know. A couple spaces down there was an unread message as well, in
bold, which was but one word: Marcel. Whoever had sent it did not know
me well enough to spell my name correctly. But the message was clear
enough. "Marcel. I know."

Upon awakening my head was pounding; a strange and powerful ache that
forced me to realize the dream meant something. It was a message, or an
omen. I don't believe in coincidence. Something is about to happen...
--
Sent from my T-Mobile Sidekick®

Nights Like This

Nights like this you run away from yourself, hiding in mundane forms of
entertainment that can only sidestep the spiritual ennui felt in the
death of the day. Nights like this are masks to the murder of calling;
the crisp break from normalcy and the departure toward mediocrity.

On my shoulders wisdom rests, wrought with careless abandon and cautious
advance, two sides of the same coin, the same answer from a different
perspective. My world on my shoulders.

Of course this night withers, a night like this dies a decadent
expiration leaving memories fondly shaped and colored, to be held on
another night like this, to die thusly.
Marcelle D. Ward

Trippin' On the Past

Often I am reminded of the past, and I see the mistakes I have made all
roll out in some kind of mental parade, in no certain order, flashing
and spinning like police lights. I wonder if I have done the things I
should have, or just the things I wanted to. I think about "what if",
and contemplate the outcome.

I realize when I have finished enjoying the parade, tears or jeers,
nothing can be changed or regained. I was watching the movie "G" and I
was inspired to write this. Not just because of the outcome of the
movie, but the dilemma the protagonist was faced with. If you could
regain what was lost long ago, are you willing to handle the
consequences? Or, is love all we need, as people say? Is there always
that condition that is left unsaid, that if it is not met, love is out
the door?

The past is concrete, the present is malleable, and the future
intangible. I believe in love, and its strength. But to dwell on the
past love until it consumes the present, will inevitably corrupt the
future. So if you must visit the past, don't wear out your welcome. Make
it a short trip.

God bless.
Marcelle D. Ward

A Phi A on the Yard!

I love my A Phi A. I truly do. Really being an old dog know, I have a
profound appreciation for my brotherhood. No matter the year, it is deep
in my heart, ingrained, chiseled, in the immortal walls of my soul. I
will never forget my what transpired for me as well as those that follow
my footsteps. I am glad to know these brothers who continue to walk
onward and upward toward the light.

So much has changed, and yet it remains the same. Back on Millikin's
campus, it's almost as if I don't recognize it. New buildings, new
businesses and new faces...so wonderful to see. Looks as if Decatur's
trying to become a true college town. Outstanding! Alas I am troubled
because Rich Dunsworth and many of his cohorts are threatening what we
have established here with A Phi A, and all we will do in the future.

I know my frat is strong and will always endure, but it looks like other
people are standing in our way. After speaking with the bruhs on the
yard, I find it really imperative that we see what needs to be done...

I love all my brothers, and I know that I will see many of you today.
Come represent and show your support if you can. 06!
Bro. Trenchant, Fall '97, Theta Omicron Chapter.
Marcelle D. Ward

The World Will Explode

The world is gonna explode, can't you feel the rumbling now,
foundations rattling like a ziploc half-full of teeth, streets look like
crags and mountain peaks? Where people don't walk, they can only climb,
preoccupied with the hustle, the hardship, the prison of the mind?

The boom, the blast will be too big to be heard, likely we won't know
when it's time, there will be no words broadcasts will be terminated,
pictures lost behind the glass, perpetually frightened that the next
breath will be the last.

No heights to be reached, no more wealth to gain, no cost for selfish
thoughts to further a name, cause the world is gonna explode in a fiery
blaze, to raze the land from the demon's hand and banish him to his
cage.

Where will the children gather then, their playtime arrested, their
happiness removed, their future ingested, carrying the seeds of hope for
an unmarked cemetery of blackened dust and smoking incendiary?

The world WILL explode, and only God knows which path will open, who
will walk which road, the chosen few, the forsaken mass, but the last
shall be first and the first shall be last. The world WILL explode, but
here is the key: I can live for Christ because He died for me.
Marcelle D. Ward

The Triple L (Love Life Left)

I used to love what I thought was love like I needed love to love
myself, but the heat of love brought deceit in love now there isn't any
love life left.

A ring, a ring on your bones, encircling a digit, remarkably clinging to
me as it did your own, a ring so I was undone. No stones to fret your
fiendish intellect spent wrapped around a notion that held my potential
in esteem: you dreamt big. Hiding your ugliness under satin and perfume,
I learned never to throw pearls to a pig.

I sing of joyous reunion though, a miracle in crossing my past to grab a
future mine, seeking syllables and phrases to repay you in kind, in
time. Settle for silence and guesswork, the remnants of my furniture
and dress shirts, pieces of mail, old rags, to drape about the hovel of
a lovely nag; a lonely hag.

As we part lastly these words spring forth, bursting and splashing my
screen like water bombs and prolific colorful dreams all-in-one, knowing
a pitiful scheme left with other crippled fellows who knew you well but
vanished the same, I believe I played that same game. Yet you have not
figured it out, and in that I hold pity; in that there is shame.

I used to love what I thought was love like I needed love to love
myself, but the heat of love brought deceit in love now there isn't any
love life left.

Keep it regular, and don't be no sucka...
Marcelle D. Ward