In the valley of dargons ( The lustorus falls ).

O Niagara, I heard you shout, stamp

your feet, dust raise, darken the face

of the moon, and fallen stars fell to the

ground for an hour.

O Niagara, down south listen to the

wailing jetting mouth, stake was high,

and they drew near. While North West

coast fall in honor, for you your own

equal.

O Niagara, flames of fire, voices of the

deep, like angelic choir.

That is my take today on this poem by your truly.There is certainly hope to live by, be bless.

copyright2011

Fire ( from the lustorus falls ).

Its belly rumbling, and , O God, the volcanic
ashes spud, the dragon is loosed.
The unquenchable sprout forward, your
flames tell the tales of who you are.

The swords of Victorian Knights is no match.
Napoleon on the battles fields is just passing
memories. Juan-A-ore, Alexander the great, you
could mark, on to compare.

Brazen electrifying energy, wave of powerful
thrusts. The ever predominance of those green
eyes, nothing excepted the rolling, such
endowment, antiquity will not find.

Allow us to come close ravages in your
dimensional sparking lights. Falls of fire, you are
what gives us hope in our illusive hour March 16,2011.

That is my take today on "FIRE", certainly there is hope to live by.


copyright2011.

See the falls ( from the lustorus falls ).

Indescribable blest, excellence, onus,

benevolence, live given.

The brightest amongst us will debate

you, the rest of us pause in wonder

and smile.I bet March break is a grant

time to behold you in grandeur's, rode

of splendour, grace and smile. For in

winter you are cover in ice, still greeting,

telling stories of your indescribable blest

March 16,2011.

That is my take today on "SEE THE FALLS" be bless,

for there is certainly hope to live by.

copyright2011.

The replied ( from the strenger's diary ).

Come color girls and Boys whatever your

shades. Come Caucasians, Asians, Arabs,

bring the Indians, all those who is seeking

refuge, and peace.

People of the race, come sit in the thick

mist of this dewy autumn morn. See the
cotton woods, come applaud, sing aloud.

Oh echoing of the musical rhyme swing

you low, carry you high.

For the lovers of Autumn, sweet orison

wail, stars of heaven, clothed in beauty.

For the love of Autumn, play the fiddles

in the mystifying rage. It is righteous in all

its ways.

This poem carry a multi- dimensional pasture.It is a cry for peace in a waring world, and the continuation of the so-called free world extending hands for those who desire its sanctuary. There is certainly hope to live by.

This is my prayer in the mist of hopelessness, and last.