We live in the presence of God, through our obedience.
We live in the presence of God, when love others daily.
We live in the presence of God, when put others first.
We live in the presence of God, when we walk in faith.
We thrive in the presence of God , because he loved us first.
We live in the presence of God, when we die to self.
We live in the presence of God through the Holy Spirit.
We live in the presence of God, because we trust him.
We whom love him lives in his presence always.

The things that we went through were destine to build us up.
To draw others to us so that we can lead them out of the darkness.
Allowing the Holy Spirit to draw them unto him to save them.
To allow him through his Hope to reveal himself to the hopeless.
To allow him to reveal himself through us to those that are hurting.
To reach out to those that are lost so that they may find the Christ.
To reach out to those whom hunger, reveal himself through his word.
So that there shall be many more sharing his kingdom with us.
So that there shall be much bigger celebration to enjoy together.

Explore the world
With your hand in mine
The sky full of stars
They are all aligned
My one big love
He's not leaving me behind

You are...
A song I can't get out of my head
The words I never said
The love I never had
A memory I can't forget
Everything I regret

i think how we need to be loved as adults stems from our childhood (or lack thereof).

if you were abandoned, you need to be smothered, to know every second that you're adored. but as a child you were always alone, so the very love you crave makes you feel suffocated and crawling white knuckled to get out.

and so this war rages inside of us, until we have exhausted ourselves & perhaps those who were brave enough to extend their hands.

©raine cooper

I feelest the thunderstorm rolling in
As tis death is catching up with me;
The waves of brimstone, coldness and the depth of the dark sea
Awaiteth me below mine unworldly feet.



©Brandon Nagley
©Lonesome poets poetry

It's hard to write a poem
When there's nothing going on
It's hard to think of what to say
When you've given most of it away

As poets we never scratch the surface
We delve within, disclose our deepest sin
We crave our pain, declare it's for our art
Yet more often than not have no idea where to start

But start we do and start we must
A deep desire in all of us
To spill out on the written page
What little bit we have tried to save

Ink now is the poets blood
Fragments of self pour from within
Silence is our safety net
To stop us from bleeding out

Although it's hard to write a poem
With nothing going on
We still find words to form a verse
From deep within our marrow bone

Work © Mike Hauser & © Sia Jane

Words unspoken
Her heart is broken
Stubborn to quit  
Her love for him was far too great
She couldn't admit

sitting in his invented prison
where misgivings are never forgiven
restricted to only visits from visions
in his dimension of endless renditions

condemned to exist within mental schism
with his stiffest self sentence given
never forgetting misdeeds and decisions
only existing to revisit volitions

he still doesn't realize
that beauty has a price

he plucks roses and
wonders why they wither
when he's never learnt
to check their roots.

with thorns between his lips,
he speaks softly about
the way love has eluded
him over the years.

his palms like written verse,
scarred and coarse, petals
falling delicately out of
time from his fingertips.

he sees beauty but he
does not see underneath

he has always been
one to see the flames
but never feel the heat.

The secrets of the  universe can wait --
The moon in the window is material.
There can be no persuading the Muses to explain …
To an oyster -- its pearl is a masterpiece.


A butterfly may alight on you --
Whispering secrets of forbidden knowledge
As strange to you as the deserts of the moon --
Forget this -- it is enough to save a child's blink.