My words are but a shooting star
To be seen in all its glory
But as shooting stars fade in an instant
So do my words to be read once
Then fade into obscurity

Wake up. It’s noon. My morning’s here
Stand up. Stretch up. My mind is clear
Walk up towards the usual place
Sit down. Look straight and see my face

Boot up the sleeping tech of fantasy
What time? Grabs phone so I can see
Two hours away from dear midday
The usual heat of hell as well today

Scroll down. Click click. Oh hey, what’s this?
A dog. A cat. Oh, what a bliss
A chat. A post. Some notification
A like. Replies from the online nation

Oh hey. What’s this? Some hours have past
A sigh. A thought. Time fly so fast
Close this and that. Free time is done
It’s time to work. Free time is gone

Move this and that, and animate
Make this. Do that. Oh no, it’s late.
Move fast. Move quick. Must finish it
It’s done. It’s sent. And so I'll eat

Sardines, noodles and some canned foods
Sometimes with rice. Sometimes just goods
When pay is up, take out is fine
A nudge. A chat. It’s now playtime

The League. It’s call. So loud and clear
My friends. My enemies. My champs they fear
Top lane. Bot lane. The jungle is fine
Mid lane is something I have to refine

Oh my. Bright lights. Outside is where it’s from
The Sun, it’s out. And so my night has come
Shutdown. Lay down. It’s time to sleep
Next day. Scroll up. Read and repeat.

Your gracious Light extends
You have Healed my brokenness
On You I can depend
You touched my pain with Loving Hands
Anointing hurts and woes
It's like a warm embrace and kiss
And Love that OVERFLOWS!
Thank you for what You have done
The Healing You have wrought
This kind of Restoration
Can't be obtained or bought
I need no Hydrocodone
I have no need for pills
I have my Balm of Gilead

And I ALWAYS WILL!


SoulSurvivor
(c) 3/10/2016

Jerusalem
The city of Gold
Jerusalem
Where Jesus walked
O’ Holy city,
Holiest of all
The land where Lord
on the Mount of Olives
would stand to talk.
You appear so beautiful,
with beauty so singular
no master wordsmith
could capture in verbal form,
no painter could accurately paint
on canvas with oil colors so vivid
and glorious as its past.
© Sofia Kioroglou

Till you can’t walk
Till you are sore,
Yet still smiling
from the thrilling experience,
Till you are sweating pleasure
from every pore.
Till your breath murmurs
my first name with every inhale
Till my voice is the only sound
your ears need to hear.

i would
rest my head on your breast
and listen
Enjoy the sweet tunes composed by
every noted word you harmonize

Tales of your life stories before they became entwined with mine
Narratives about your dreams
About who breaks your glassy heart
And what tickles your eye-ducts
into opening a flood of tears.

an inner world of wishes
she deserves beautiful things,
The Nubian Queen,
Sunflower Child.

~ New-Black-SoUl #NBS