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Bryan Allen Apr 2014
The death of past nature
Cold life on a barren field
Ready to be reborn

A wide living field
A net of variety
A speck on the earth
Bryan Allen Apr 2014
At times you flow around me,
With a breeze of cold chills to warm waves.
I can hear a whisper of you past my ear,
As you carry the smell of a reborn spring.
When you start to die down I can't see your presence,
But I know you're still by me.
I can feel you when you're invisible,
By the goosebumps you bring to my skin.
And together we move forward through nature.
Bryan Allen Apr 2014
Dear God,

I wanted to tell you that we're grateful.
All the things you do that we may not even see.
We go through our daily lives paying no attention,
But you are there nudging us forward.

Like a supporting father pushing us to our goals.
You are like a warm blanket letting us move on
As we bathe in the beams of your sun.
Your creation.

A man wins the lottery,
He is overjoyed by the money.

A loved one near the edge of death,
Someone thanks the technology behind it.

We can't seem to decipher what really brings us these things.
And maybe it's because we can't be exactly sure.
But if you are to call yourself a Christian.
A believer in our savior and a worshiper,
Why do you not praise these parts of life?

Or life itself?

I wonder about you in everyday miracles,
Little things that make a whole day better.
And most may not pay you mind when you do,
But they would if they had the time.


I just wanted to say thank you,
But then I think again,
Maybe something else gives us these miracles,
But I still go on calling you friend.

I wonder.

I wonder why you gave us what you did,
And why we still have it after we abused its power.
We're pawns of the world awing in your greatness,
And without our king, all hope is lost.

God.

King.

Savior.

I wonder who you really are.

For if you're nothing but an imaginary figure,
What have we been praising?

And why do we convince ourselves of your existence?

Father.

Lord.

Creator.

Thank you for allowing us to be what we have become,
And comforting us in times of foolishness.
Bryan Allen Apr 2014
Curiosity is a silver eyebrow,
Raising itself to question the world.
It stands upon being asked something,
Curiosity is an eyebrow being curled.
Curiosity is made of silver hairs,
Of the aged people of this life.
Living longer than the vibrant colors,
That haven't yet faced struggles or strife.
For curiosity is a silver eyebrow,
A feeling making the world unfurled,
an aged question wondering why,
We do what we do in this world.
It's horrible but it's as good as it'll get.

— The End —