Year 2


2018 promises to be an adventure in writing. I met the first challenge to write last year. I hope to continue to be inspired.


Bring on the lions, Bring on the bears, Bring on the challenges Bring on the scares. I am ready to conquer. I am ready to fight. I am courage incarnate. I am the Light. Cast out all doubting, Cast out all fear, Cast out all failure, Cast out the year. New is the day, New is the might, New is this year, New is the Light. Do not hold back, Do not look back, Do not regret, But do not forget. Learn from the past, Learn from mistakes, Learn from devoting, to whatever it takes. Shine on, Shine in, Shine outward. Begin. © 2018 Gerald Ealy


Beat the drum slowly, So we can keep the pace. There are so many now, Who cannot win the race. Day by day and year by year, There are those who slip into the rear. Beat the drum slowly, So the race become a march. Feed the masses with plenty, Quench the thirst of those that are parched. Drum out the worst we have in this life, Drum out the pain and strife. Drum out the cruelty and open the gate, Drum out this world of hate. Beat the drum slowly, We are catching our second wind. The march is catching on now, It’s all about to begin. Hearts are beating together, Hands join in strong embrace. We stand at the top of the mountain, We are the human race. © 2018 Gerald Ealy


The Ice King sat upon his icy throne, No Queen beside him to call his own. For within his chest beat heart of cold stone, And so he sat there all alone. He conquered lands with deadly force, But never found satisfaction in it, of course. His cold and calculating mind, Saw to it that nothing was left behind. Then one day as he viewed his land, A patch of green sprouted in a strand. The Ice King glared at this patch of green, It was like nothing he had seen. He sent his forces to wipe it all out, He relished in the roars and the scream and shouts. But then they stopped and the echoes faded, The silence left him shocked and jaded. He gazed once more upon his land, And the green patch continued to stand. The Ice King sent a bitter wind, But when it arrive it seemed to bend, Around the robust patch of life, It cut the wind like a knife. The Ice King ventured forth, And descended from the North. He resolved to rip it out, As he climbed upon his icy mount. His mount melted away, As he approached the display. Which left him with feelings of dismay. When suddenly music began to play. There in the glen sat all of his men, Listening to the musical score. They quietly clappled and smile and laughed, Happily asked for more. A woman played softly, Such elegant notes, The snow began to retreat. And green sprang up under the Ice King’s feet. Their eyes met through the music, She blushed in his gaze, The Ice King felt something that left him amazed. Warmth in his icy cold heart started to spread, It melted his armor and the crown on his head. Enchanted by beauty and notes all around, He fell to his knees and touched the ground. She started to sing as she approached the king, Her voice, strong and sure. Her face, kind and demure. She invoked in her song, The power to undo all wrongs. She guided the king to his feet. As he basked in her voice so sweet. Just a man and a woman, They danced hand to hand, The frost and the snow melted from the land. The king’s heart beat, like no other man. Love now flourished in every valley and peak. He fell ever deeper, whenever they’d speak. The kingdom too prospered, under king and his mate, Happiness reigned as Love vanquished hate, Music played daily in every room and hall, The ice never returned, because Love conquers all. © 2018 Gerald Ealy
© 2018 Gerald Ealy


What is this stuff we are made of? Are we more than skin and bone? Are our thoughts truly our own? Is there a soul? Is that the goal? To find the answers internal, Through deeds of good and infernal. Are we more than beating hearts? Are we more than the sum of our parts? Is there a chance to pierce the veil, To glimpse a vision of Heaven or Hell? Or is there nothing to see? Only time will tell if there is eternity. Or if the cold ground is the reality.   © 2018 Gerald Ealy