Activities of Gary Bernard

"Dusk's Divide"
With the arrival of dusk, another day slips into history. The cold of night descends, and the city streets pulse with renewed energy.
As the sun sets, a divide is drawn. Shutters close over shop windows, while office lights dim, their occupants eager to leave the workday behind.
Streetlights ignite, casting a soft, golden hue. People hurry by, clutching their coats against the chill. Some seek the warmth of cozy cafes and inviting pubs, offering refuge and connection.
...

He sat in the bright sun as it streamed through the living room window, the warmth kindled memories, lighting his way. In stillness, he felt a turning tide, realizing the greatest gifts he could provide.

Unconditional love, like the sun's constant glow, forgiveness for flaws, helping hearts to grow. Being truly present, through joy and strife, supporting dreams, valuing each life.
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A teenager went to school on Monday morning like any other day. A fellow student with a gun shattered their world in a terror-filled minute.

The "left" offered prayers through tear-stained words. The "right" demanded more guns, louder than cries. The "middle" continues to endure the silence, defending their children while the two sides defend their chosen ideology.
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Those of us who are left might choose to live fully, allowing those who have passed on to continue to be present. Not just sorrow, but joy for having known and loved them.

In every sunrise, their essence is felt, each laugh, a reminder of their joy. Their spirit sustains us, our hearts, their eternal home.
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Oh, what things we might see and hear:

The dreams that sparkle with hope and ambition, touching the stars.
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As we make our way through life, the deepest thoughts, and feelings, rarely expressed to another, even if they are, rarely understood. Only the inventor can truly grasp the depth and weight of their own heart.
In the hustle and noise of daily existence, we wear masks to fit the molds, to play our roles in society's grand play, hiding the true self behind layers of pretending.
Conversations flow on the surface, touching lightly on dreams and fears, but the core remains hidden, a guarded sanctuary of the soul.
Moments of vulnerability come and go, brief glimpses of our innermost being, yet quickly we retreat, to the safety of our solitary confines.
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The unfulfilled promises, The unheralded lives, The bored and the distracted, The unhappy and the angry.

When the bomb hits, what would be lost? Dreams unspoken; futures tossed. Echoes of laughter, now a ghost, In the silence, what hurts the most?
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Among life's paths where fates entwine, We sift through strands, each bond define. Acquaintance first, a simple nod, Paths cross—connections odd.

Yet friend we say with ease each day, As faces come, then fade away. Amid the many, few remain— True ties we build are rare to gain.
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In life's grand tapestry, threads intertwined, We share our joys, our hearts aligned, Laughter echoes, memories unfold, Yet deep within, our stories stay untold.
Our experiences, shared, reach only so far, In the light of day, we see who we are, But in the quiet night, alone, We confront the truths we've always known.
Together we walk, hand in hand, Through fields of love, across the land, Yet within each heart, a secret space, A private journey we each must face.
Excitement shared, yet uniquely felt, In our core, only we truly melt, Wealth and hardship, seen by the crowd, Yet silent battles are never loud.
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In headlines bold, the names we see, Of stars and leaders, famed and free, Their passing marked with grand acclaim, Their stories told, their lasting fame.
Yet in the quiet, shadows deep, Countless souls in silence sleep, No fanfare sounds, no tributes paid, Their lives, like whispers, gently fade.
Each hour, each minute, life departs, Unnoticed by the world's great charts, A mother, father, friend unknown, Their journeys end, their stories flown.
Celebrities' lives, we're told, matter more, Their dramas, triumphs, we explore, Media's lens, it shapes our view, What's deemed important, what is true.
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