When honour awakes,
ordinary things become vibrantly alive for you.

when you look beyond busyness
what is it that you see?
a world endlessly searching
for what it was meant to be?
a mankind desperately looking
for the answer to its ache,
striving to achieve
some sort of break
from its broken heart
of pain and agony,
hoping to fix this
crippled reality?
when I look beyond busyness
I know what I see
a world waiting for God's return
when he destroys the enemy
a world waiting for the story to turn
to the part where Earth is set free

Seeing no hope of breath,
they swim into their death.

in only three
days I will be
pushed out of
the category
of being super young
my twenties have begun
I secretly hope
that I won't lose the fun
of life and living
getting and giving
dancing to the tunes
my heart is singing
dreaming dreams
scheming schemes
excitedly studying
captivating themes
hoping big hopes
crossing thin ropes
and climbing over
giant big slopes
as the next lot
of years slot
their way into me
I hope I will not
lose my inner child
by becoming mild
may my heart forever
burn free and wild

If I versed God in a game of pool,
Would his style of play be awkward or cool?
Would he miss some shots, just to be kind?
Or sink them all, leaving me behind?
When the game ends, would he leave the room bored?
Or stay back and help me move my skills forward?

Who touches your heart the most
Making you come alive?
Who draws out gold in you
That you on your own can't contrive?
Who raises you to your glory
Surprising even yourself?
Who picks you up and reads you
When most put you on the shelf?
Who transports you to another world
Of magic when they are around?
Who speaks from rich wells deep
That you lean closer to hear the sound?
Who carries an atmosphere of warmth
No matter how cold the weather?
Who connects with you so frightfully well
That you know you were born to be together?
Whoever this gift from heaven is
Pour your whole soul into them.
Whatever on earth the cost is
Give it all up to secure this gem.

more
power
lies
inside
you
than
whatever
you
have
realized

You have a relationship
With everything and everyone
It exists no matter how
Disengaged or how young
You even have one with me
Probably surfacing just now
It has potential to bloom or die
Completely depending on how
You respond to this connection
A poem out of all things
If you act to upgrade it
You could discover what it brings

My youth is nearly sealed,
A letter for anyone to read.
All my choices noted down.
God's judgement guaranteed.
I made so many mistakes,
Though I tried my very best.
Whatever challenges life gave,
I hope I passed the test.
My joy lies in being
Pottery in my creator's hands.
I know he is the only one
Who forever understands.

death is mean
as mean as it gets
snaring precious souls
in hateful nets
pulling them down
to the realm of the dead
not caring what was
or was not unsaid
destroying human flesh
vicious and cruel
choking all hope
of any renewal
while death feasts on
the flesh of those around you
live now to the fullest
before it pulls you to the ground too.

milky way a spot
in the span of the
universe
resting in the hands of
our creator
to be nursed

web of stars spread
generously abroad
could creatures born
into this world
ever become bored?

from the heavens'
full perspective
this planet is oh-so small
though for us humans
who live on it
it is a mega ball

the architect
of everything
looks after heaven and earth
his gentle love so evident
how could I not thank him
for my birth?

honour can be likened
to a bird timid and glorious
flitting to and fro
sometimes arboreous
looking for a tree
to frolic and adorn
which could be you or me
but it only will be drawn
to trees that have
the same kind of bird
but trees with none
will sadly be deferred.

Go look into a mirror
And tell me what you see.
A thriving soul that loves you
Or a soul in misery?
You’ll know which one is true
Whether it be sorrow or it be glee,
And you’re the one with the power
To choose which one it will be.

I look back.
What a magnificent sight!
The colourful journey
of my life.
If I died right now,
I would die in awe
of the story I am in.
Couldn't ask for more.
This whole thing
has been a miracle.
A masterpiece of God,
his artwork so lyrical.
I thank you right now,
for the whole world to see.
It's your breathe of life
that has enabled me
to be me.

Shielded away
From the storm of the day
Tucked in warmth
I have hit the hay
Lying behind
A wall of time
In this moment
I'm perfectly fine
The present is night
Hidden from light
Free to relax
Without a person
in sight.

buried inside
the black dirt of space
stars watch on
from their place
laughing and singing
songs of light
gazing upon
the pleasurable sight
faraway marble
ball of mystery
floating marvel
twirling blissfully
inside a universe
painted with love
everything praising
our God above

A coin is
A simple thing
Not much more than
A filled in ring
But it carries power
To make humans sour
So make sure
To avoid its sting!

Life is so brutal
It mangles the heart
Beaten and bruised
From the very start
In a world fallen
From its original glory
We need to bring Jesus
Back to the story
His voice will heal
And mend your soul
If you give him the time
He can make you whole
Each day is a chance
To let him touch you
If you open your heart
His words will renew

Life is hard
Killer hard
So hard it can **** you
In fact, it will
But that's what makes
It so sweet
Knowing that we
Are all going to die
We have to

We often are blind
To the value of things
Given without a price.

People, poems
Oxygen, parents
Your body and
Wise advise.

Can the truth be seen
through Satan's smokescreen?

Can innocence be gained
once purity is stained?

Can love be born
in a heart that's torn?

Can hope be yours
inside life's wars?

Do not expect the answer from me.
But I'll tell you this:
"Look to God, and you'll see!"

I long to be
Something
To someone
And a nobody
To no-one
But often
The story
Seems to
Cut me
From everyone
And I ache
Alone
Hoping
I will be
Something
To someone

Impatiently sitting on the bench ahead
Cup stares at me as if wanting to be fed
So I grab Cup and find a boiling kettle
Fill Cup with water hoping it will settle
But Cup begins to steam and nag
So I search the cupboard for a tea bag
Choosing one from the others, I quickly drop it in
The water changing colours, makes me throw it in the bin
I think the dark stuff is something bad
And Cup seems to look pretty sad
So I try to swallow the black stuff away
But my method seems to make Cup dismay
Before I begin, something hot hurts my lip
I didn’t realise that Cup could nip
So I hurry towards the kitchen sink
Tip Cup upside down, before I can think
Cup throws up, being upside down
I forgot Cup got sick when moved around
So I put Cup back where he was
I can see that Cup feels better because
Cup is no longer steaming or spewing any more
Come to think of it, I don’t know why I touched Cup at all!

Are you alive
To develop poetry?
Or is poetry alive
To develop you?
When I look at
Those questions closely
I see that
Both could be true.

What about you?

If a fourth wall did exist
Like in the fictional stories you know
How different would you act?
Would you smile and put on a show?
I believe there is a fourth wall
A person who lives outside time
Watching and studying us all
Aware of the thoughts in our mind.
His name is Holy Ghost
He fills this world to the brim.
He waits for people to break
The fourth wall and talk with him.

A choose your own adventure book
Mimics life so well.
If only I could have a look
At other stories life could tell.
I would peak into the different plots
Where reality would diverge.
I’d probably begin to notice lots
Of new problems which emerge.
Though curious, I’ll remain content
With this narrative I am in.
May the future me not want it
To be contrary to how it has been!

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.”

From inside a room of computers
I look out and see
Nature smiling at me.
I look back at my screen.

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.

No poem perfect.

  Each word hand-picked.

    Value camouflaged by defect

      Won't be spotted without respect.

Poetry does not
toot her own horn.

She knows that's what
invites scorn.

It was for honour that
she was born.

Those who have it
she will adorn.

Everything is a memory,
A memory of old.

Right now it is real,
But the truth is it is old.
Very old.