Posted in Poetry

The Fleeting Soul by L. M. Montes

In life you are a soul behind a mask,
hiding from the world but yet you seek
true beauty from within a natural set,
displaying gold inside your heart,
giving what you have to all, then part.

In dreams you linger strong and within sight,
but then you move and vanish from my
reach when hands behold your presence,
leaving one to wonder if you are there,
or staying away forever, ’cause you care.

Posted in Fiction, Poetry

Hanging by His Hand by L. M. Montes

The present is but a wave
creeping toward the shore,
then in a breath it’s gone–
backwards evermore.

In life our friends and family,
warm our hearts and stay,
in our minds and in our soul,
then gone to our dismay.

Time’s wind blows at vicious speeds,
our memories we take hold,
that is all we have one day,
when we are growing old.

Alone we feel when most are gone,
as to the grave they go,
where does one lean in nothingness,
no one is there, you know.

But Christ is here and looking down,
and sees our pain that stands,
His love surrounds and comforts,
as you’re hanging by His hand.

by L. M. Montes

Posted in Poetry

Tomorrow’s Gift by L. M. Montes

I went about my day,
then evening came to sit,
wait I did for night so say,
I’ll send your soul adrift.

Tomorrow, we’re promised naught,
just knowledge it could be,
so in limbo I am caught,
afloat with you and me.

At last the morn breaks through,
the sun reflects the dew,
all seems right,
with sun so bright,
then life quick ran askew.

Posted in Poetry

The Past by L. M. Montes

Looming—-
in the shadows of time,
skeletons of a haunted past,
like Satan’s fury—-
they test and tease,
taunting and afflicting until he’s pleased.
This plaguing past that will not die,
shall eat me from way down inside,
it travels—-
flamed obsession—-
My head it whirls and twirls about,
it stalks my smitten soul,
I try to rid these tentacles of time,
but still it slithers—-
there it lurks—-
a staring stranger,
forcing, reaching, grabbing, glaring—-

I’d like to think the past is gone,
but still—-
it shall remain taboo,
always there,
can never undo.

Posted in Poetry

Forgiveness

Photo by RODNAE Productions on Pexels.com

Forgiveness,
a symphony of music
freeing the soul,
A gift,
surpassing all others
because it comes from an enemy,
yet is heart felt.
When forgiveness doesn’t come or isn’t given,
the heart cries,
singing a song of anger, rage, and hatred.

Forgiveness,
a light,
guiding on a righteous path,
leading only to God.
A healing that cleanses,
washes,
so contamination is no longer a threat.
When forgiveness doesn’t come or isn’t given,
the light slowly dies along with the soul.

Forgiveness,
a freedom,
like the eagle taking flight above the clouds,
carried on the whip of the wind.
A rush of adrenaline,
knowing you have the potential to do all
that is right and good.
When forgiveness doesn’t come or isn’t given,
the wings break,
plummeting you to earth,
never to fly again.

Forgiveness,
a dove,
that lay in the heart and soul,
to rest,
bringing happiness within.
A sense of peace,
giving the knowledge that we
will be able to grow as
sweetly scented flowers in
the righteousness of God’s heavenly garden.
When forgiveness doesn’t come or isn’t given,
we flowers die,
becoming thorns among men.

Now,
I release unto you
the greatest gift,
that of forgiveness,
sitting on the wings of a dove
as it grants you peace,
flies you toward your freedom
down the path of light to your
Savior’s loving arms.


By L. M. Montes

Posted in Poetry

Presence by L. M. Montes

Photo by Daniel Torobekov on Pexels.com

Look on sea blue skies and see
a dove that carries warmth from me.
Lie your weary soul on soft smooth sand,
close your eyes,
I’ll take your hand.
Smell the sweetness that painted flowers send,
and know the comfort to thee I do attend.
Listen, to the woosh of the waves,
hear my whispering words
that linger lightly as they say,
look at me,
across the vast expanse of time,
I am with you, in heart and in mind.

by L. M. Montes

Posted in Poetry

Love’s Breath

Photo by Jill Burrow on Pexels.com

Love is joyful,
Love is pain,
Love, a sweet smelling flower,
Pulls me to its scent,
And kills me with its breath.

Love stabs me with sharp petals,
And lashes, with fiery forest green leaves.

With every torturous gasp I take,
I whither.

Love’s entrancing, enticing entity,
Takes me in,
Holds me,
Stabs me,
Caresses me,
Cuts me.

This seesaw love,
It plagues me,
My head it whirls and twirls about,
Love stalks my smitten soul.

By L. M. Montes