A new beginning...
It is like eyes to see,
Ears to hear,
Mouth to speak,
And lungs to breathe.
The sleeping giant is awakening...
Nov 18, 2014
Nov 18, 2014 at 11:14 PM UTC
Sometimes your heart needs to be broken
So you can see what's underneath,
To the flicker and flame of your soul
That you've always been destined to meet.
Sometimes your spirit shines brighter
Through the glimmering light of your tears,
And when you arrive at the end of it all
Love will outshine the darkest of years
Oct 23, 2014
Oct 23, 2014 at 10:37 AM UTC
divine creator, I thirst after you
because I have known the dryness of
trying to fill my thirst with worldly clamors
my thirsty soul cannot be filled with liquid spirits,
but by the life flowing and giving Spirit
help me lord to see clearly
and to love you more deeply,
so my love of you is not only in thought or
empty words.
help me to be honest and see that my
love is lacking when I hate even one
of your many children,
including myself
may your outpouring love
begin in me, so I may
share your life giving water
with those still
thirst
for
you
Aug 6, 2014
Aug 6, 2014 at 10:51 PM UTC
Emma Lazarus (1849-1887)
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 7:52 PM UTC
Emma Lazarus (1849-1887)
A brackish lake is there with bitter pools
Anigh its margin, brushed by heavy trees.
A piping wind the narrow valley cools,
Fretting the willows and the cypresses.
Gray skies above, and in the gloomy space
An awful presence hath its dwelling-place.
I saw a youth pass down that vale of tears;
His head was circled with a crown of thorn,
His form was bowed as by the weight of years,
His wayworn feet by stones were cut and torn.
His eyes were such as have beheld the sword
Of terror of the angel of the Lord.
He passed, and clouds and shadows and thick haze
Fell and encompassed him. I might not see
What hand upheld him in those dismal ways,
Wherethrough he staggered with his misery.
The creeping mists that trooped and spread around,
The smitten head and writhing form enwound.
Then slow and gradual but sure they rose,
Those clinging vapors blotting out the sky.
The youth had fallen not, his viewless foes
Discomfited, had left the victory
Unto the heart that fainted not nor failed,
But from the hill-tops its salvation hailed.
I looked at him in dread lest I should see,
The anguish of the struggle in his eyes;
And lo, great peace was there! Triumphantly
The sunshine crowned him from the sacred skies.
'From strength to strength he goes,' he leaves beneath
The valley of the shadow and of death.
'Thrice blest who passing through that vale of Tears,
Makes it a well,'-and draws life-nourishment
From those death-bitter drops. No grief, no fears
Assail him further, he may scorn the event.
For naught hath power to swerve the steadfast soul
Within that valley broken and made whole.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 7:49 PM UTC
Ignorance yearns for a life that is less
Than discern and desire for what is God's best
In life we take one path, two, three or more
In flippant wantonness because we're so bored
A wider road will bring a host of choices
But too many options can dull the senses
So bruises and scars are tattered galore
But vanished they did when I said, "No more"..
For grace has healed and opened the eyes
And gave me a road to beginning a new life.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 10:37 AM UTC
Sometimes to love is to lose.
Forever single or forever alone, you choose.
Both undesirable, yet not so comparable.
To love yourself is the key.
Don't let anyone else determine who you should be.
To really love is to love unconditionally.
No need to change if you really love me
Make up your mind, who's it gonna be,
Cuz I don't need your love, i'll just keep doing me.
Jul 28, 2014
Jul 28, 2014 at 10:04 AM UTC
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I—
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 8:37 PM UTC
All thoughts, all passions, all delights,
Whatever stirs this mortal frame,
Are all but ministers of Love,
And feed his sacred flame.
Oft in my waking dreams do I
Live o’er again that happy hour,
When midway on the mount I lay
Beside the ruined tower.
The moonshine stealing o’er the scene
Had blended with the lights of eve;
And she was there, my hope, my joy,
My own dear Genevieve!
She leant against the armed man,
The statue of the armed knight;
She stood and listened to my lay,
Amid the lingering light.
Few sorrows hath she of her own,
My hope! my joy! my Genevieve!
She loves me best, whene’er I sing
The songs that make her grieve.
I played a soft and doleful air,
I sang an old and moving story—
An old rude song, that suited well
That ruin wild and hoary.
She listened with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes and modest grace;
For well she knew I could not choose
But gaze upon her face.
I told her of the Knight that wore
Upon his shield a burning brand;
And that for ten long years he wooed
The Lady of the Land.
I told her how he pined: and ah!
The deep, the low, the pleading tone
With which I sang another’s love
Interpreted my own.
She listened with a flitting blush,
With downcast eyes and modest grace;
And she forgave me, that I gazed
Too fondly on her face!
But when I told the cruel scorn
That crazed that bold and lovely Knight,
And that he crossed the mountain-woods,
Nor rested day nor night;
That sometimes from the savage den,
And sometimes from the darksome shade,
And sometimes starting up at once
In green and sunny glade,—
There came and looked him in the face
An angel beautiful and bright;
And that he knew it was a Fiend,
This miserable Knight!
And that, unknowing what he did,
He leaped amid a murderous band,
And saved from outrage worse than death
The Lady of the Land;
And how she wept, and clasped his knees;
And how she tended him in vain;
And ever strove to expiate
The scorn that crazed his brain;—
And that she nursed him in a cave;
And how his madness went away,
When on the yellow forest-leaves
A dying man he lay;—
His dying words—but when I reached
That tenderest strain of all the ditty,
My faltering voice and pausing harp
Disturbed her soul with pity!
All impulses of soul and sense
Had thrilled my guileless Genevieve;
The music and the doleful tale,
The rich and balmy eve;
And hopes, and fears that kindle hope,
An undistinguishable throng,
And gentle wishes long subdued,
Subdued and cherished long!
She wept with pity and delight,
She blushed with love, and ****** shame;
And like the murmur of a dream,
I heard her breathe my name.
Her ***** heaved—she stepped aside,
As conscious of my look she stepped—
Then suddenly, with timorous eye,
She fled to me and wept.
She half enclosed me with her arms,
She pressed me with a meek embrace;
And bending back her head, looked up,
And gazed upon my face.
’Twas partly love, and partly fear,
And partly ’twas a bashful art,
That I might rather feel, than see,
The swelling of her heart.
I calmed her fears, and she was calm,
And told her love with ****** pride;
And so I won my Genevieve,
My bright and beauteous Bride.
Jul 27, 2014
Jul 27, 2014 at 6:49 PM UTC