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Isaac Aug 2018
What's black and white
And colourful all over?







A good poem.
Written 8 August 2018
Isaac Aug 2018
You right now:
“Weren’t the olden days
The golden days!”

You in 50 years:
“Weren’t the olden days
The golden days!”

You right now:
“Wait, are you talking about right now?”

You in 50 years:
“Sure am!”

You right now:
“How?”

You in 50 years:
“If only you were me for a day,
sigh…
You would see.”
Written 8 August 2018
Isaac Aug 2018
From inside a room of computers
I look out and see
Nature smiling at me.
I look back at my screen.
Written 8 August 2018
Isaac Aug 2018
heart trumps mind
so find it
don't leave it behind
feed it
look after it
for it overflows into
everything you do
most hearts
die
trampled under life
squashed in the dirt
left to rot
when it could have bloomed
when it could have laughed
and oozed with love
but you didn't love it
you told it
you had to make a living
and grow up
but little did you know
you were dead anyway
you left your heart behind
a long time ago
you've been living
but no life
go back
pick that hunk of flesh off the road
nurture that precious thing
put some life back into it
ask it questions
show that it matters
when you get your heart back
you will realise
nothing else mattered
you will realise
you were born to live
your heart is actually beautiful
really beautiful.
Written 7 August 2018
Isaac Aug 2018
To write is to breathe.
Letting out the inner heart,
the inner mind,
the inner life.

Write, for it is good.
Don't wait to be understood.
Just write like nobody can stop you.
Write out your dreams,
your revelation.

Write new and fresh lines.
For there is a whole world in you
to let out.
And time is short.

To write is to breathe!
Don't hold anything in.
Be free.
Be alive.
Written 7 August 2018
  Aug 2018 Isaac
Jesse
A million miles from house,
Still I am found at home.
For a place is merely space,
Where one can still be alone.
A home is something more,
Made with love and care not wood.
Based on faithfulness,
Designed by God as good.
I see in fleeting life,
An echo of my home.
A family called church,
Those whom are God's own.
And as great as this echo is,
Still more is left to see.
This family is great,
Full of saints of history.
They tell of righteous love,
Of joy forevermore,
I listen to their tale,
And hope for whats in store.
I hear from them its glorious,
Where worship will not cease,
Where sorrows are no more,
And there is endless peace.
Where the lion will lay with lamb,
Where every good things dwells,
And the source of all this good,
Overflows like a bursting well.
And as I set my heart,
On this land yet far away,
I feel my hope renewed,
That there I'll be someday.
But for now I will wait,
On this passing world I know,
For His coming is sure,
And with Him comes my home.
Inspired by my friend Isaac Jenkins and the home that the heroes of faith looked forward to. (Hebrews 11:16 NLT) Our heavenly homeland.
Isaac Aug 2018
No poem perfect.

  Each word hand-picked.

    Value camouflaged by defect

      Won't be spotted without respect.
Written 7 August 2018
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