If I were an angel, I'd fly right down to you.
I'd quietly suggest all the things that you should do.
I'd wrap my wings about you, to let you know I care.
Then leave a kiss upon your neck, so you could feel my presence there.
Although I'm not an angel yet, someday I will be.
When I've passed the tests of life and gained the
victory.

No tears will run down my cheeks, those tears have been dry now for nearly two weeks.
That smile that once spread across my face, my laughter and my warm embrace.
It seems those things have been replaced.
That smile is now turned upside down, and I wear an unhappy frown.
I think it's time to go off on my own, to find my place and call it  home.
Maybe I'll travel and see the sights, enjoy the beach on some quite nights.
I want no one to come with me, alone I can discover myself and be free.

The time I have alone, it's always after dark.
I type by candle light, the brightness from that spark.
I don't want to awaken, those who are sleeping near,
So quietly I type out, my thought's, my hopes, my fears.
As if someone may read them, and maybe understand,
that place inside my mind, that deep yet shallow land.
My thoughts are mostly happy, but sometimes they are blue.
For I do not understand, the things people say and
do.
Some words, they say just cut me, straight into my heart,
time does not erase those words, they never do depart.
Sometimes these things that people have done or have said,
come rushing to the fore front of that place
within my head.
I know that we should always, forgive and then forget,
but its really not so easy, when people say things they regret.

Today is not a promise, tomorrow's not yet here. So treasure every moment and conquer all your fear. Step into your future with your smile on, it also would be helpful if you sing a happy song. If you feel discouraged and like you're gonna drown, just look into your mirror and know that I'm around. In your eyes and in your heart, deep into your soul. We are two halves, although apart, together form a whole.

✿⊱✿⊱╮✿⊱╮This morning an angel left me a note, and upon my wall these words she so sweetly wrote.

You are a star in Gods eyes, 
so please don't believe the enemies lies.
If some should judge you and try beat you down,
remember God is King and He wears the wears the crown.
God knows the real you,
the person deep inside. 
He knows them too, 
and nowhere can they hide.
No one knows your story, your struggles or your strife,
But God saw it all, He knows your entire life.
Each will give account for all that has been done,
Their shame will not be able to look into the eyes of the Son.
God will right all of the wrongs, So just be patient now.
For as I once had told you, every knee will bend and every head will bow.

That note upon my wall, no one else could see,
 for that angel had written it, especially for me. ✿⊱✿⊱╮✿⊱╮

My gift to you is the one you don't see,
For it isn't located under the tree.

I could not buy it at the store,
They never have what I'm looking for.

My gift to you is in each day,
not just this time of year.

It's in my smile, my heart and soul,
and sometimes in a tear.

My gift is love, and is greater than all
of those packages wrapped in gold.

It comes from God and shines on you,
to brighten and lighten your load.

So if today no presents you see,
please don't forget the gift from me.

Encourage your children, love and protect.
For one day what you gave you will surely get.

Now you are just beginning see, the damage that was done to your family tree.

It's not up to me, I had no say. But Look at the things that are happening today.

Are they not judgements for things that were done? Your sins against your daughter and son.

Maybe it's time that you soften your hearts to become who you should have been right from the start.

Encouraging, trusting and believing the best. Wanting me to rise higher than all of the rest.

Teaching me good things and treating me like gold. Knowing you'd need me one day when you're old.

I'd really love to be compassionate to you, but It seems my empathetic feelings are few..

Looking at the people who sit within this fold.
These folks that come each Sunday to hear the lessons told.

Each one of them has a story, of what the Lord has done and all proclaim Him Master, Father, Lord and Son.

The music softly plays, the hymns that we all love, as we sing old time praises to our God above. 

It seems a bit old fashioned, but much needed in this day. We carry the Good Book with us and compare what it has to say.

Now you might find this odd, but indeed it is true. 
Just go back a few years and you can see churches are changing too.

Bending to please a world with music, words and dress.
With bright lights and with big screens, I'm really not impressed.

I like this little church where people really care.
Where they remember my name and notice when I'm not there.

Likewise it is a blessing, to be considered part, of this little church family that has a great big heart.

There are no big assemblies that really can compare, to what I find each Sunday, waiting for me there.

Up in the attic, sits an old dusty case,
It's covered with crayon marks and faded gray lace.

Deep in its pockets, under some  stuff,
lay a yellow paged album, 
with old photos of us.

As I browsed the pictures, now faded from time. I went to a place, way back  in my mind. 

This little brick house with the white picket fence. The house I grew up in, but hadn't seen since.

A home filled with singing and love for the Lord, where out near the fence sat dad's rusty old Ford.

All grown up I went off on my own, always intending to make my way home.

I  planned to visit, but I guess I pushed fate, Time passes quickly and now it's to late.

Upon this note pad I sit here tonight.
For you, a poem I'm trying to write.

I wanted to write a short phrase or two.
Something that expresses, just how much I love you.

The candle is burning and the fire is strong.
With the stroke of a pen, I almost wrote you a song.

I wanted to write about love deep and true.
But no words will come, while I'm feeling this blue.

Maybe tomorrow, in the clear morning light.
My eye's wont be tear filled and obstructing my sight.

Then I will write you that poem / (slash) song,
baby come back to me where you belong.