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tiffany-palacios
tiffany-palacios
Just an eighteen year old girl who is on a journey to her Father's heart and becoming a designer.
Poems2
Followers1
Words325
A scene of Ridicule, Betrayal, Humiliation, Pain, and Sorrow He was whipped His flesh was cut into His body was torn His blood painted the earth He carried the cross up to the mountain of Calvary He was Full of anguish Blood and sweat in his brow He was thrown onto two pieces of wood Dust and splinters entered into his lesions and wounds Into his scourged back They tied him up The Soldiers prepared their hammers They readied their nails into place Their eyes were steadied to crucify And all at once - the first spike entered into his palm he felt the piece of metal as it crushed the nerves in his wrist The second came too soon He felt an excruciating pain throbbing through his arms A burning ache instantly bursted its way to his head The third. His weak and feeble legs were crossed And the last nail was born into his flesh Tendons snapped Muscles tore At last he called out to God "My God, My God why have you forsaken me?" As every bone in his body was being torn apart He slowly melted Two pumps and whoosh.. his heart gave its last beats and exploded The weight of our transgressions were burdensome upon him And so his spirit left him And blood and water poured out of his side They laid him in his grave One gloom day passed mourning took place in his followers hearts While the earth wept A grand shaking began in the ground The veil was torn The stone was rolled away And behold our savior arose Resurrection power radiating off of him And our sins were atoned The ultimate price was paid He gave his life to forever hand us eternity With his death he erased all of our sins He cleared our mistakes He made right all of our wrongs He poured unto us his holy salvation And God transformed one of the darkest hours in history into A moment of eternal redemption This was love. Love was never an emotion, but an action A sacrifice A dying to yourself Putting everyone's life before your own Taking off your crown and getting up from a throne Love was Jesus hanging from a tree, for you and for me He gave it all He forever defeated sin And most importantly He overcame
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Apr 4, 2015
Apr 4, 2015 at 2:29 AM UTC
Heaven's Story
A scene of Ridicule, Betrayal, Humiliation, Pain, and Sorrow He was whipped His flesh was cut into His body was torn His blood painted the earth He carried the cross up to the mountain of Calvary He was Full of anguish Blood and sweat in his brow He was thrown onto two pieces of wood Dust and splinters entered into his lesions and wounds Into his scourged back They tied him up The Soldiers prepared their hammers They readied their nails into place Their eyes were steadied to crucify And all at once - the first spike entered into his palm he felt the piece of metal as it crushed the nerves in his wrist The second came too soon He felt an excruciating pain throbbing through his arms A burning ache instantly bursted its way to his head The third. His weak and feeble legs were crossed And the last nail was born into his flesh Tendons snapped Muscles tore At last he called out to God "My God, My God why have you forsaken me?" As every bone in his body was being torn apart He slowly melted Two pumps and whoosh.. his heart gave its last beats and exploded The weight of our transgressions were burdensome upon him And so his spirit left him And blood and water poured out of his side They laid him in his grave One gloom day passed mourning took place in his followers hearts While the earth wept A grand shaking began in the ground The veil was torn The stone was rolled away And behold our savior arose Resurrection power radiating off of him And our sins were atoned The ultimate price was paid He gave his life to forever hand us eternity With his death he erased all of our sins He cleared our mistakes He made right all of our wrongs He poured unto us his holy salvation And God transformed one of the darkest hours in history into A moment of eternal redemption This was love. Love was never an emotion, but an action A sacrifice A dying to yourself Putting everyone's life before your own Taking off your crown and getting up from a throne Love was Jesus hanging from a tree, for you and for me He gave it all He forever defeated sin And most importantly He overcame
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61
Ripe, bitter, sour and oh so sweet. Dangling off of a Californian tree. Living within peels so stringent and containing cascading juices so pungent. He leaves you wanting, aching to know more. He lures you in with the irresistible sweetest of enchanting songs and ballads. But what you didn't know was, that the ending melody left you in a note that made you feel as though you were drowning in a sea of rotten, forgotten, and lost once loved dreams. You became addicted to his freshness, to the zest of his scent. You became seduced, captivated even. You let yourself become vulnerable and susceptible to his touch. You slowly opened up your wounds. You let your friable bandages flow free. You even let him lead the grand dance. You let him twirl and spin you to the point of reaching a state of trance or reverie. He took you on romantic evening picnics, he brought you to the oldest of antique boutiques, and he even painted you angelic mosaics in oil. Ones comparable to those grandiose and imposing works' of the masters. At last he casted you under his spell and he enticed you once again. He had the charm of a thousand and he was spontaneous in all his ways. He never failed to surprise you. They say he had an oriental descent and this would explain much. But when you least expected it, he touched your wounds. You felt an unbearable pain, and a strange surge flow through you. It burned, to say the least. You almost felt your incisions blister under the effect of his acid. His yellow and aureolin tint seemed only to be a facade. An illusion, a charade to the naked eye. But in that moment you could see through it. You looked at him with pain-struck eyes, full of confusion and disappointment. You couldn't really identify the look in his. You realized that he really had nothing to do with his cadmium yellowish golden tint. You felt as though you were fainting. You were sinking and all the sweet memories you two shared, flooded your sight. But then he said, "look at your wounds" and you did as he ordered. You looked down and shook off the stupor and came back to. You looked at your wounds and became staggered and managed a mere "thank you". For your wounds were no longer swollen and irritated. He had healed you. So when life hands you lemons, don't make lemonade. No, instead care for those misunderstood beings, and tend to their needs. Because the lemons in our lives are all too prevalent and far too misread.
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Feb 3, 2015
Feb 3, 2015 at 3:17 PM UTC
Misread
Ripe, bitter, sour and oh so sweet. Dangling off of a Californian tree. Living within peels so stringent and containing cascading juices so pungent. He leaves you wanting, aching to know more. He lures you in with the irresistible sweetest of enchanting songs and ballads. But what you didn't know was, that the ending melody left you in a note that made you feel as though you were drowning in a sea of rotten, forgotten, and lost once loved dreams. You became addicted to his freshness, to the zest of his scent. You became seduced, captivated even. You let yourself become vulnerable and susceptible to his touch. You slowly opened up your wounds. You let your friable bandages flow free. You even let him lead the grand dance. You let him twirl and spin you to the point of reaching a state of trance or reverie. He took you on romantic evening picnics, he brought you to the oldest of antique boutiques, and he even painted you angelic mosaics in oil. Ones comparable to those grandiose and imposing works' of the masters. At last he casted you under his spell and he enticed you once again. He had the charm of a thousand and he was spontaneous in all his ways. He never failed to surprise you. They say he had an oriental descent and this would explain much. But when you least expected it, he touched your wounds. You felt an unbearable pain, and a strange surge flow through you. It burned, to say the least. You almost felt your incisions blister under the effect of his acid. His yellow and aureolin tint seemed only to be a facade. An illusion, a charade to the naked eye. But in that moment you could see through it. You looked at him with pain-struck eyes, full of confusion and disappointment. You couldn't really identify the look in his. You realized that he really had nothing to do with his cadmium yellowish golden tint. You felt as though you were fainting. You were sinking and all the sweet memories you two shared, flooded your sight. But then he said, "look at your wounds" and you did as he ordered. You looked down and shook off the stupor and came back to. You looked at your wounds and became staggered and managed a mere "thank you". For your wounds were no longer swollen and irritated. He had healed you. So when life hands you lemons, don't make lemonade. No, instead care for those misunderstood beings, and tend to their needs. Because the lemons in our lives are all too prevalent and far too misread.
Continue reading...
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