Ray Hague:  

All of you out there, who attend Fairfield High School between '68-'72 (I think I gave the dates correct), there is a CLASS REUNION on Oct. 12, 2024. Can you "Dig It?" It will be a "Bummer" if you don't attend. Let's get our "Grove On" and "Hang Loose." You can crash at my "Pad" as long as you don't "Bogart" that joint. Just kidding about crashing at my pad. Stay "cool" and let's have a "Blast." Forgot to mention, go to the FH web page to see all the info and pay to attend. That's my "BAD." Yes, I had to sneak that in. PLEASE SHARE AND PASS ON THE WORD REGARDING THE REUNION. Let's rekindle some old friendships. Hope to see all of you there! October 2022, The remolding of the kitchen and both bathrooms to ADA specifications have been completed. It has been fifteen-plus years for the wife to be able to go from the kitchen to the dining room in her electric chair. The smile on her face said it all. Hope everyone is doing well and enjoying life the best you can. Stay upright as long as possible and enjoy my friends. EMOTIONS IN DARKNESS BY RAY HAGUE I'm spinning out o control like a storm with a torrent of emotions; a tornado of insane rage, uncontrollable anger, bouts of tears, and feelings of fear. The fire of rage burns inside me like the flames of hell. The virus engulfs all and cares not. It feasts on the living like vultures and leaves a scorched earth of headstones. The feeling of helplessness washes over me like a flood of despair. Watching all the lives lost and hearing the cries of the loved ones grieving is deafening. Their voices are ringing in my ears. I pray for God's help. No hands held, nor words of love shared, as they take their last breath. Their last thoughts must be, "Where are my loved ones?" They are with you in spirit only, denied to sit at the beside. They have died alone, afraid, and in vain. I cry out for the loved ones grieving who now dwell in the darkness of loneliness and grief. They are left with the pain of loss. The rivers of tears filled with emptiness flow to the Dead Sea. How do they heal from the broken heart scarred by death? How do they learn to live with the loss? The depth of their love for those lost is their salvation. It is the eternal candle in the wind. I pray that all, the sick, the ones lost, and those grieving, take comfort in God's loving embrace, whoever you perceive it to be. I am overwhelmed by all the uncertainties and pain this virus has wrought. My heart aches in the blackness that surrounds it. The scars of the heart from the wounds left empty are all that is left. As I lay in bed, I sleepwalk in the shadows of the dead. I pray for answers but they do not respond. I pass by all the names on all the tombstones and wonder why. The unbearable grief is too heavy to carry and at times I fall to my knees, crying in helplessness. I rise and stand on weak legs to be strong and not be afraid. I cannot give in. I cannot give up. I hope that through these dark and forbidding times, our resolve is strengthened, our compassions are nourished, and our empathy shared. I pause to wonder if all of this could have been avoided if we knew the truth and we cared for each other. I pause to wonder if all of this could have been avoided if we stood as one. Remember and never forget the 1,000,000. I have written a poem titled War's Children. This is my 46th version. Here it is and I hope you enjoy it and it causes the reader to reflect on what war does to everyone. If you like my poem, please pass it along to anyone else. WAR’S CHILDREN By RAY HAGUE The earth is crying, God’s children are dying. The apocalypse of war gathers in the heavens, raining death upon war’s children. War is man’s inhumanity onto itself. It pays no penance and feels no sorrow. Hate, fear, and ignorance are the triad cornerstone of war’s existence. War is an infliction of man’s sickness that spreads like a plague. As vultures feast on flesh, the ripples of death prey upon war’s children. War exploding all around, bleeding children fall lifeless to the barren ground. War’s children are drowning in the river of blood as their bodies flow to the Dead Sea, staining the earth blood red. War’s bloodshot eyes stare coldly into the broken mirror of death. In its blurred reflection, war sees the lifeless children and it adjusts to the blindness. War scars the earth and wounds men’s souls. Where have all the children gone? See our children crying, feel our children dying. War’s illusion of power poisons our minds and blackens our hearts. War speaks through serpent’s tongue with truthful lies. Sitting at the Apostles’ table, war shall break bread and feast upon the flesh of war’s children. War shall drink death’s blood wine and toast its waste. War is paid in silver coin and war’s confession of blood it will taste. War wears the jagged crown and from the splintered cross, with nails in hands, looks down upon war’s children. War sees pain and suffering but offers no salvation. War steals the children’s innocence and seeks no forgiveness. Standing at the altar with chalice in hand, war holds no communion as the wine spills. War is the disciple of death and death is war’s commandment. Where have all the children gone? See our children crying, pray for our children dying. The trail of tears that war’s children must walk is trampled from the blood of despair, hopelessness, and abandonment. All that remains are the footprints and dust that once was a child. Amid the chaos of war, we hear the wailing mothers calling out their children’s names. Their cries echo into the silence of darkness. Like corpses, we blindly march past the crying mothers, emotionally numb to their pain. The lessons from the tears of blood, shed by war’s children have faded to a distant past, swallowed by each passing day. As each day becomes yesterday, their cries go unheard. The lives of war’s children shall become nothing more than extinct memories. Their stories lie beneath the ashes of every child’s dream. Where have all the children gone? See our children crying, bless our children dying. Through the eyes of children, war stares inside the very depth of its decayed soul and smells the stagnant emptiness of death. War’s children hear the screams of the forgotten children who have long since passed, and fear fills their hearts. War’s children desperately want to escape death’s entangled web but are paralyzed by its very nature. War’s disemboweled children are destined to the lost and found, for they cannot find their way home. Who will hold the children’s trembling hands as they slip into darkness? You or I? Life looks into the children’s tear-filled eyes, life hears their screams, life feels their fear, life is tormented by their pain, and life weeps. Where have all the children gone? See our children crying, touch our children dying. War’s children have been baptized by the sins of war. They may now lay their heads upon their tombstone pillows to rest. They shall be covered by death’s eternal blanket to sleep without fear. As war’s children pass through death’s graveyard, their souls shed a tear. War’s children are not defined by their death, but in life by who they touched along the way, and how they are remembered. The children’s death songs are heard in the swirling wind. The children’s cries become deafening, as the chilled wind blows by. The echoes of children crying, children dying, becomes faint and distant, as they take flight upon heaven’s wind. War’s children no longer cry out, as their fear and pain are eased by God’s gentle and loving embrace. Where have all the children gone? See our children crying, hear our children dying. War’s children escaping death are left with a gift that is stronger than fear itself and greater than death. That gift is hope. Where have all the children gone? Remember...Expand for more