To keep the lamp alive,
With oil we fill the bowl;
'Tis water makes the willow thrive,
And grace that feeds the soul.

The Lord's unsparing hand
Supplies the living stream;
It is not at our own command,
But still derived from Him.

Beware of Peter's word,
Nor confidently say,
"I never will deny Thee, Lord," --
But, -- "Grant I never may."

Man's wisdom is to seek
His strength in God alone;
And e'en an angel would be weak,
Who trusted in his own.

Retreat beneath his wings,
And in His gace confide!
This more exalts the King of kings
Than all your works beside.

In Jesus is our store,
Grace issues from His throne;
Whoever says, "I want no more,"
Confesses he has done.

Hear the following prayer
in the timbre of gratitude:

I've had enough with all the bags
in which I carry my things,
with bright screens that sting my eyes,
and with the musical strings.

My ears are sore from the machines
that change and amplify the waves;
so bring me the thoughts of poets and
bring me the prayers of saints.

Whisper the wisdom of years gone by,
of life spilled out in the streets.
My heart is weary, the weight of this world
has brought me to my knees.

There's only one thing I ask
for which to dull the pain;
bring me the thoughts of poets and
bring me the prayers of the saints.

streams of salt and H2O leak
down reddened cheeks and condense
in a golden beard. a war-torn nation,
half-a-world-away, crystallizes clear as dayspring
in an insomniac's screaming and fragile psyche
at half-past-three in the morning.
what strength must a seven-year-old posses
to persevere amidst the perversity of cluster bombs?
munitions bought and paid for with the taxes
we fork over to the United States. will her blood one day
stain our hands with crimson? will her mother's?
a girl who just wanted to read, to escape
the tragedy that inundates our surroundings,
to a magical realm of pure imagination.
where we can summon spectral stags
to save us from the misery of humanity
and learn to disarm those who would harm  
us with the charm, Expelliarmus!
the bastion where i found the first seeds that grew
into a rebellion opens its doors to you, Bana.
there's a crater where your house used to be,
rubble strewn in Aleppo, Syria. but know that Hogwarts
will always be there to welcome you home.

Have you heard the sea cry...
you have the destruction it can bring.
Silent yet deadly.
But have ever heard it cry.
Pry, pry, pry
I have done
but have you ever heard it cry?
It's soft but strong...
the cry of the sea has long been forgotten

That focused look in your eyes,
And the slight furrow of your brow
Sends a spiral of butterflies
Fluttering in my stomach.

And the warmth of your hands
On my skin,
And the comfort of your arms
Around me,
Reminds me
That I am just as human
As anyone else,
And I have needs and wants
As anyone else.

And hyperventilated
Breathing
From a nightmare
Where I was bound and trapped
All too real
Because at one point it was real,
And it saddens me
That sometimes you have to see me
With fear in my eyes.

But the comfort of your breath
On my neck
And your words
In my ears,
And your eyes
Locked on me,
With your hands
On my skin or
Fingers tangled in my hair
Regulates my breathing
So that I may fall back to sleep.

Your voice is loving
And calming
And suddenly I am
Filled with warmth
Even for a moment.

I am far from perfect,
But I am beginning to think
That you are okay with that.