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Dear Love ,
After seeing you
I have come to believe that beautiful things are beautiful
Even if we don't understand them
Especially you
Her eyes filled with love
her hand filled with magic
she knows everything
and would do anything for me
letting her dreams go
to make my dreams come true
and will rescue me
from the sea of problems
There's nothing she cannot do
She's my superhero.
Maria Diola
When no one listens, He listens
When no one cares, He cares
When no one loves, He loves
He is God, He is love

Call on Him, come to Him
Come home running
He cares, He listens
His loving arms are open
Care to read Luke 15:11-32, "The Parable of the Lost Son"?
The way you stand
The way you sit
The way you secretly laugh for a bit
You’ve been hurt
You’ve been broken
And yet your heart is wide open
You think no one sees
You think no one cares
But that is really just not fair
Because I see
Because I do
My heart is filled by just looking at you
If there comes a time
that you might lose me
Find me in my poetry
My heart is yours alone Lord,
to do with  what You will;
I only know with You Lord,
it's peaceful and it's still.
Free from a worried mind Lord,
free from a damaged life;
beating just for You Lord,
absent from all strife.
My heart is yours alone Lord,
to keep Your truth in hand;
to keep the narrow path Lord,
in the place that I now stand.
My soul is with You always,
I've turned my back on sin;
keeping Your commandments,
aware of where I've been.
My heart is yours alone Lord,
to sing You songs of praise;
humble and obedient,
until my final days.
I used to read your poems
but lately you don't write
you're silent and aloof
you know that isn't right.
You can't close a door once opened
you can't abolish all your dreams
you're a poet of the heart
mustn't fall apart at the seams.
Say what you can in words
they speak the message true
spoken from the heart
the poems will see you through.
A hermit's not your style
a recluse, you are not
never give up writing
of things that you've been taught.
I used to read your poems
I'd read them once again
if you would send them out
(this one's from a poet friend)

— The End —