A Second Chance…

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A Second Chance…

There are times when I am dreaming

that I believe outside my door is the

gateway to the city of doom; nevertheless

each night when I sleep I open the door

walking into another sphere of everlasting

pain, mentally and physically. No one

pushes me through the gate, I walk willingly,

and I feel confident that I can handle the

tragedy that I know will be waiting there for

me. Tucked deep inside the confidence

there is fear, within the fear there are secret

things, distrust and lies.

 
The darkness is the most evil; a blood red moon

framed by the stars hangs above me. Hearing

strange tongues frightful and shrill, filled with

anger, strikes fear into my heart. Sometimes I

weep as the outcries reach my ears, as I do not

have a stainless claim to my own life. I fear for

the souls, even the depths of hell may refuse

them and they will be lost forever in the

darkness.

 
I question is there hope with death, will we

have memories of the earth and of the lives

that remain when we are gone? The souls

that I hear are loud, their tears are blood red,

and each is crawling in vile mud. I lower my

eyes. will they have rebirth, if they lived in

blaspheming is this terrible wailing their fate.

 
A bitter flood rushed over me as each pass to

their final resting place. They seem conscious

of their nearing doom. It is in this darkness

that each was given a second chance to feel

the love of God upon their faces, they refused.

Afterwards the ground broke from beneath

their feet, and I seem to be sinking with them

to a senseless dreadful shore and I am afraid

that I will not wake from this nightmare.

 

©2018.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

 

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The City of Destiny…

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The City of Destiny…

I have the key to the city of destiny.

Through me, you will find the entrance

to everlasting tenderness, to those

who are lost. I myself have built this

imaginary city from beginning to end

with wisdom and love. It has seen

many dauntless days. The entity of life

said I am deathless; I do not die. I feel

distrust, I am a coward in this city of

destiny.
Will you be fearful if I tell you that this

place is one of doom and darkness, one

of the damned, filled with heartless

secrets? As the darkness closes in on the

city, wailing begins loud the weeping

of unending pain. The voices with

passion filled the night, our souls

dancing in the wind. In this

everlasting night.
A Voice filled the darkness, do you fear

the Lord, the God of many, and then

this voice spoke of hope and death.

There is memory of them on the earth,

those lives that remain behind, and

their outcry does not reach your ears

in this make-believe place. Is there

justice beyond these walls, move

quickly or you will be doomed. The

souls are unnumbered.
I thought the whole city as dead, is

this retreat before everlasting life.

I saw the victims all naked and loud.

Weak and painful, some with blood

upon their faces. I gazed forward

and beg for daybreak to end all this

and me, wake me before it is too late.

Before me is nothing, a fearful abyss.
Then demons rose, one after the other

descending into the chasm. The evil

seed of the demon did this throughout

the endless night. I lay there silent with

an unspoken thought, he will come, and

he will spur justice and fear for those

that are within his reach, those that call

his name.
Then the ground began to tremble. It was

a terrifying sound. The wind rose and a

blood red moon cast its light upon the earth

where we stood. I sank further into the

dreadful dream hammering me with

waves of fear.

 
Wake up!

 

 

©2018.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

A Place of Reality…

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A Place of Reality…

I have spoke of horrifying things, are these

weak words built from understanding. I am

neither a coward nor a saint, my thoughts

are clear, my plan open to change. There are

times when I live in the “Outer Place”, where

no one can get to me where no one knows me

where I will not be bothered by human drama.
There is no place that I can flee; I fear I was

born too early or maybe too late. At night I

dream of heaven, I traveled from star to star.

Do I have a wish in that dark realm, there

looking toward Earth I see the creation. Heaven

was not open to me, nor was Hell; the dream,

the darkness of night, it was a strange descent

into my place of reality.
It is there in reality that I search for truth, as I

dream, I follow a dark stream to the sea, and it

is there that I find a sacred place for me to

dwell. The place that I dwell is not for the faint

hearted, it is on this path that I find my true

worth, within time I find whom I may follow.

There are no more delays to this life; there will

be no more words. I must travel forward on

this hard and dreadful way.

 

©2018.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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The End is Near…

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The End is Near…

The day is quickly fading, the damp air settles around me

as I look out over the pond. I can hear Earth’s creatures

toiling under the fallen branches and leaves. I must face

another bitter cold night, alone. The power of

disappointment overtakes me; the night will be long and

fearful. My mind strains vainly to remember a time gone,

a time that no longer exist.
I lie in a darkness that grows deeper and menacing, fearing

that I might dream of him that I may have pressed too far in

remembrance, fearing, that which is no longer living. I have

lived life and crossed the infernal sea of violence; I have

endured both his fate and mind. I have walled up a world

around me; here my rules overcome his victory. I must stop

this madness and put to rest that moment in time that lies

behind me.

In the darkness, I try to remember the truth of my salvation.

I have seen unspeakable things on this road called life. The

words I speak of now are weak, weaker than those spoken

without wisdom in the past. I rise, my steps in the darkness

sound magnanimous in this bare floored room, and my

cowardness is born. Am I infirmed with fear, I am scared of

the beast living in my mind, in the shadows that cover my

eyes. I dwell within hope of heaven and fear of hell.

O Lord, I stand in the light of your wisdom, I praise your

presence. I fear the hurt of hell. I was faithful, his judgments

were poor and he broke all promises. I aided him as long as

he was on this earth; it was I that lived in anguish not he. It

was death that threatened him, he never lived in dread, and

he broke all of your commands. I must always turn away as

my eyes fill with tears; I beg you hasten my life. No more

words, no more displays, I have lived that rigid and frightful

way too long. The end is near.

©2018.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

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The Nightmare..

 

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Last night, I sensed emptiness, a darkness closing

around me. I wondered did I stray too far off the

path that God had set for me to follow in this life.

The darkness was bottomless and menacing it

would not release me from my fear. Terror like the

cold hands of death and panic assumed a position

around me.

I had let no one know of the fear that had imprisoned

my spirit and soul every night when I went to bed

the darkness suffocated me. I felt hopeless with no

guidance, the hours passed slowly, I do not wake.

When sunlight appeared in my window and the

night was no more, the desecrated black waste

hung over me. What was it that I experienced

during the night, Hell!

I rose from where I lay and found my feet up

on a another path that was unknown to me, it

was a lighted way and when I look back toward

where I had lay there was nothing but rushing

muddy waters. There should be no water where

I slept. My eyes surveyed all that and I stood

quietly in a whirlpool of my own fears. Why

can I not wake from this sleep?

Fear rose in my throat, choking me. I could not

breathe, the light of mercy will never shine

upon me again. I walked through a valley, I

tried to climb out, there was nothing in the

landscape before me or behind me, no sun,

no sky, no trees, no homes, nothing. I slumped

to the ground where I stood. There is no breath,

had creation ended? I lifted my head tossing

back the once brown flowing mane, suddenly

white as a winter’s snow.

I screamed this darkness does not own me,

nor my heart and soul. I had not been

unfeeling in life. Oh Creator cleanse my soul,

deliver me from this inferno where I stand

among the bones of those who have gone

before me. I heard a voice call to me in the

darkness, I wanted to wake from this

nightmare, I wanted to be safe, and I wanted

my spirit and soul to feel the sun as it rises

in the morning.

Here in this darkness my life is shown to

me, and I remembered everything, from

beginning to the soon to be end. I moved

slowly in the dense darkness, my mind

moved from time to time good days and

bad days. The abuse times still burnt into

my mind. There is no hope, no safe place

for me. What is that I see a sliver of

sunlight penetrates my eyes and mind?

I was not dead and I cried releasing

myself from the darkness and void that

had taken over my body and mind. I

live for another day, God has given

me another chance.

 

©2018elizabethannjohnsonmurphree

Charging into the Future…

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Most of you know of the health problems that has challenged me over the past two years, first the heart decided to give me a jolt to my future if I did not change my lifestyle. This past year, 2017, was to bring humility to my life in the way of a stroke. It seemed as if each new challenge was trying to teach me something. The leftover of the stroke after rehab was a continued tiredness, which kept me from doing my daily things such as walking 6 miles with my dog Mason three times a day. Going to the gym, working out on the treadmill and other equipment no less than two hours free times a week. I have had to put all of this behind me and try to move forward with being grateful for the things I can do.

A big part of my life is writing it would seem that I have nerve damage in both arms; this in turn affects my hands. The right hand has a permanent trimmer; the left-hand three fingers are useless, today. Tests were run to give some conclusion as to where I stand with this problem. It would appear that this is permanent, now I began another journey.

I am able to walk perfectly and upright for short distances, if I go to the mall or any open outing. I have to be smart enough to take the Walker that I truly dislike. When you read that karma is a bitch, believe it. I have said in the past that I would never use a walker, wrong, when it was my only means of moving about. It became my best friend.

Which brings me to my new best friend, Dragon, it allows me to transcript all of my writing voice to text and I love it. No longer with the useless fingers are hands and my having to backtrack and correct of words that my fingers typed it. My brain did not tell it to do, Dragon set up quickly. It adapted quickly to my voice and writing style. I am promoting this software to anyone that it would make their life easier, it is user-friendly and it puts me back into this new journey, this new time of my life, it has allowed me to continue doing the things that I love. This software is from Amazon, it is not cheap nor is it overly priced, have a choice of choosing several different types. Thanks to all of you for your loyalty and support, let us travel this new journey together.

EAM2.2.2018

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CONFEDERATE MONUMENTS | FOREST HILL CEMETERY, Madison, Wisconsin.

CONFEDERATE MONUMENTS | FOREST HILL CEMETERY, Madison, Wisconsin.

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Madison, Wisconsin’s Mayor Paul Soglin orders the removal of Confederate monuments at Forest Hill Cemetery . The 140 people buried there as “valiant Confederate soldiers” and “unsung heroes.” The privately funded plaque, which rested on a granite structure, said the soldiers were buried in the Union state after surrendering in a battle and dying at Camp Randall as prisoners of war. Soglin said an “appropriate monument or plaque with the names of the deceased” would be installed, but added that it won’t give “reverence for the Confederate insurrection and treason against the United States.” For years, people were allowed to display Confederate flags in that section of Forest Hill Cemetery. The Confederacy’s “Stars and Bars” would hang on a flagpole at the burial site only on Memorial Day, but the pole was removed last September.

Volunteers had also placed small Confederate battle flags at each headstone for the holiday. A change to cemetery rules in May, however, only allows the flags of the United States, Wisconsin, and Madison, branches of the U.S. Armed Forces and United Nations

Madison receive roughly 1,000 of these southern prisoners. They were held at Camp Randall, then a training grounds and barracks established by Wisconsin Gov. Alexander Randall the year before; one statement of a Union soldier about the Confederate soldier was…
“They die off like rotten sheep. There was 11 die off yesterday and today, and there ain’t a day but what there is from two to nine dies.”

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Union Monument. One of thousands across southern towns and land.

Barely a month after their arrival, President Abraham Lincoln’s call for a larger fighting force drew the 19th Wisconsin Regiment back to battle, rendering Camp Randall unsuitable for securely holding prisoners. On May 31, 1862, the majority of the Camp Randall inmates left for Camp Douglas, a larger encampment in Chicago.
By June, the last of the Camp Randall prisoners had left. The only ones who remain in Madison were 140 Confederate soldiers who died during their stay at Camp Randall, now interred at Confederate Rest. Dead Confederate prisoners were buried at Forest Hill Cemetery. Initially grouped into a mass grave, the dead were later given their own headstones and a more formally organized plot, now known as Confederate Rest. The plot is well shaded and removed from the more populated areas of the cemetery, a quiet and somber reminder of an unsung chapter of Madison history.
No one has discussed the grave marker of Belle “Star” Boyd. Belle as she was known to most was a Confederate spy from 1855-1865. Belle died on June 11, 1900 in Wisconsin Dells, Wisconsin. Belle went by many names, Cleopatra of the Secession, Siren of the Shenandoah. Belles spying career began by chance. According to her 1866 account, on July 4, 1861, a band of Union army soldiers heard she had Confederate flags in her room, and they came to investigate. They hung a Union flag outside her home. This made herangry enough, but when one of them cursed at her mother, she was enraged. Belle pulled out a pistol and shot and killed the man.
Belle has published a fictionalized narrative of her war experiences in a two-volume book titled Bell Boyd in Camp and Prison. While touring the United States), she died of a heart attack in Kilbourn City (now known as Wisconsin Dells), Wisconsin, on June 11, 1900. She was 56 years old. She was buried in the Spring Grove Cemetery in Wisconsin Dells, with members of the Local GAR as her pallbearers.[15] For years, her grave simply read:

stones stood draped with Yankee blue cloths.One by one, the new gravestones were revea

BELLE BOYD
CONFEDERATE SPY
BORN IN VIRGINIA
DIED IN WISCONSIN AND WAS BURIED IN SPRING GROVE CEMETERY
ERECTED BY A COMRADE

There are literally thousands. I’m not going to make you a super long list, but take Vicksburg National Military Park for example. Every single state that contributed troops during the Civil War has a monument to their soldiers within the park.
Union Soldiers buried in the South
A Union Army historian named Bruce Frail undertook the research in Washington and turned up more than 300 pages of research on the five dead soldiers, including their names.”This really amounts to a homecoming of sorts for the families who lost their ancestors and for those of us here who looked after these graves for so long,” Cadieu said as he sttching the color guard load their rifles. “In the larger scheme of things, it not a very big thing, I suppose, but to me it’s a powerful commentary on human kindness and brotherhood – how one man ended a war and honored his enemies by giving them a proper resting place, a home.”After to a clearing in the pines, where five new grave
Five soldiers who probably pined for the same thing died anonymously far from home but found peace – an unexpected home – in an enemy’s pasture.

Cpl. Reed Alcorn served in the eighth Indiana Calvary.
Pvt. Matthew Ross was from the same unit. He hailed from Carroll County, Indiana
Pvt. David Woods He came from Cumberland County, Pennsylvania
Pvt. Henry Stennett was from Carlisle, Pennsylvania, and enlisted at Harrisburg
The story goes that Daniel Lassiter returned home to learn of five fresh graves on his property just weeks after the guns fell silent. He learned the bodies in the graves belonged to Union troops who’d been on a foraging mission on horseback and wagon when they evidently encountered remnants of the Richmond Home Guard. Records show that more than 35 Union Army deaths occurred from running skirmishes and scattered house-to-house fighting that took place in Richmond County during the closing days of the war.

After hearing the story, it’s believed Lassiter expressed sympathy for the deaths of his former enemies and their families, citing the need for the nation to heal its wounds. He pledged that the graves of his former enemies would be marked and never disturbed as long as his family owned the farm.
Lassiter’s promise passed through several generations of his family. In 1974, a man named Roy Moss purchased the property, and he agreed to honor the graves of the unknown soldiers by leaving them undisturbed as well.
On Murphree land in Alabama a Union solder is buried, a fence was put around the grave and a slab covered it. The reason, so no one could defile the grave. Flowers were placed there on every holiday. The soldier was unknown, but we cared for the grave as if it was our own.
The “peculiar institution” loomed large over the first few decades of American presidential history. Not only did slave laborers help build the White House all of the earliest presidents (except for John Adams and his son John Quincy Adams) were slave owners. George Washington kept some 300 bondsmen at his Mount Vernon plantation. Thomas Jefferson—despite once calling slavery an “assemblage of horrors”—owned around 175 servants. James Madison, James Monroe and Andrew Jackson each kept several dozen slaves, and Martin Van Buren owned one during his early career.
Even in my home state of Alabama, arguably portrayed as racist, backwards, and forever confederate, we have over 1,000 Northern Monuments that honor the Northern troops. I understand the uprising in wanting to tear down all of the Confederate Monuments, I understand what the flag represented to the north, but it is our history and we honored both North and South.
I have not heard any plans to remove those 1,000 Union Monuments.
The homes of my ancestors was violated, burned, stole horses, mules, chickens, pigs and cows… and all contents placed in a confederate wagon, pull by confederate mules. All of these items were taken North. On the Vest plantation, Union Soldiers raped the women of all color. My great-great grandparents did not own slaves. Their workers were given their freedom years before the “War” begin.
My great-great grandmother walked the Trail of Tears, moved off their land to barren land. Those caught running away by the Union Soldiers were shot, my great-great grandparents ran off during the night making their way back home.
The southerners that march with swastikas, flags, wore hoods is not my people. The removal of monuments is wrong.
I guess my thought tonight is that my Chickasaw heritage was taken from me forcefully as was my plantation home, animals, and such Trump. My ancestors were raped and left with nothing. I am certain after this  State of the Union Address soaks in…we may want that which was stolen from us. We want our land back.

No, all I want is world peace.

EAJM

 

Living in the Moment…

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Hello everyone, it has been quite a while since I have posted anything on the blog. Health and winter problems, health getting much better, winter in Wisconsin is up and down. No snow, but extreme cold. Wisconsin with ice, snow, rain, cold also comes the flu season, the common cold and a host of other viruses.
Even my four-legged son Mason came down with an ear infection. That may not sound serious; however, he will not let anyone touch his ears. Therefore, he has to be put to sleep to clean them out and put in medicine. Mason will be six years old on January 31. I know that is still young but this breed can have many problems. Time goes quickly and there are times I think about my life without him. He has been an Angel sent to me from “above”.

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I have been laughing about the complex that I live in; it is filled to the brim with “old” people. My laughter is obliged as I am the same age of many, but… We have a central community room, which I never go too. The main lobby is another gathering place during “mail time”. I have discussed with some about the decorations; Thanksgiving décor was up the day after Halloween. Christmas décor was up before I had eaten all the Thanksgiving left over’s. Christmas night all of those decorations came down and Valentines went up! Trust me, Easter décor will appear before the Valentine chocolates are eaten.
How do I know all this…I go to the mailbox about midnight when everyone else is in bed, because of winter I walk Mason in the hallways.
I think the focus here or the main words are independent living. It is not a nursing home, but it is a facility that caters to the elderly. It makes my children happy that I am where there are many things that can make my daily life easier and they do not have to worry about me. I have a sign on my main door that reads, “Do not disturb”. I have a reputation I have been told that of a hermit. I do not want to listen to stories about age, aches and pains…I have my own.
They have “Happy Hour” on Fridays, 4 to 5 PM, you have to be there at four O’clock and you are ushered out the door at 5 O’clock. I went once, then took my bottle and went home. A one-hour Happy Hour just does not do it for me. Nevertheless, such is my life, I am happy.
I am currently working on my new book with no titles at this time; it is all printed out waiting for me to do proofing. This is not an easy job, as most of you know. Either, I hope to devote some of the winter months when I cannot get out to my painting. This book will be a work of fiction based on fact, which I have decided to do. There are a few family members living and I want to respect their privacy.
Therefore, the winter months are here. I will wane away the time on self-made projects. Sharing these moments with my readers, my followers is another great joy of mine.

Realm of Peace…

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Once again the New Year speeds by and one week of winter weather has our town wrapped in a cluster of snow and cold where going outside is not a thrill.  The Holidays over, many having to return to work, the downside of the season grips us as well, leaving many with a gloominess that is hard to get rid of…

 

I was thinking about a conversation I overheard during the holidays and from it came the poem below.  I believe that we are the masters of our own universe; that if one has lived allowing others to control their life; then break the bondage and learn to be the master of your own world.  If one had rather let another control their life and the reason is that it removes them from any responsibility; sadly this may cause one to live behind a wall of truth, living a lie.  There is no magic potion to take that will bring back the world of no responsibility, it is clearly dead and at some point everyone has to pay the price that life imposes upon us all, that is to be responsible and find some measure of happiness while there is time.

 

May all of you be blessed in the coming days of this New Year, remembering that you are important and deserve to be happy.

 

Realm of Peace…
Life may be that of a pawn, caring for others and boring toil; moments of memory shows no beauty and grace, and chaos is written in the lines upon their face. Chaos is painful as life rewinds, unfolding, sadly to a different time. As weakness causes one to hide behind the veil of truth where they are miserable, lost, waiting for a magical being, an Angel to bring happiness and wealth into one’s life.
Voices speak, penetrating the unhappiness suffered through time; like waves beating upon the shore and passes quickly, as sand returning to the sea. Between the swirls of time one may ask, “Who I am”; defeat the ache of disappointments and this miserable burden will go away. Who in this anguished world possesses your soul? Look pass the ruse of your own life and rise to carry yourself into a peaceful realm of tomorrow.

 

©2018.elizabethannjohnsonmurphree