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I ask for peace
and You hold my hand.
I ask for mercy
and next to me You stand.
I ask for truth
and I drink from Your cup.
I ask for love
and You show up.

You say You are faithful
though I do not believe
for I ask for all these things
but You say You're all I need.

But when I picture peace
is it not Your hand in mine?
And when mercy is my desire
is it not a craving for Your time?
When truth is in question
do I not yearn for Your Word?
And when Love become the answer
is that not found in You, Lord?

You tell me You are faithful
as I begin to see
that all these things I long for
are all that You would be.
Through anarchy, you gain fame.

Through monarchy, you claim an executive name.

Through trial, you earn a new automobile.

Through a steal, you gain a first class meal.

Throughout it all, you learn that the battle is not worth the fall.

Throughout it all, you learn how to find your natural call.
One of my better poems I think, as it can be very difficult creating rhymes aligned with the same rhyme throughout; without losing any authenticity or creativity. Hope you enjoy.
Piles of papers glaring at me.
Signed, stamped, copied, for time and a fee.
Words and no promises, on the bark of a tree.
While you're somewhere else rapidly growing.

Days pass, we punch clocks, adding the time.
As the papers, they sit in the back of my mind.
She thinks wanting to see you is none but a crime.
While you're somewhere else distantly dreaming.

All the jabber and frenzy of what's wrong and right,
While no one observes our rigorous plight,
The lack of your presence haunts him at night.
While you're somewhere else sharing your laughter.

Your room is filled with your toys and your smiles,
Waiting for you to play in it awhile.
Waging war with the enemy goes on for miles.
While you're somewhere else slowly forgetting.

To say sadness is present does not quite explain.
All the stress, anger, longing inside of his brain.
Constantly trying to distract from the pain.
While you're with those who want to restrain you.

I believe there is good in the hearts of the wise,
Yet, some will use pawns to harvest the lies.
While the ones they need dearly are hung out to dry.
While you're somewhere else coloring pictures.

In the end, we will see you again and again.
No matter how many papers or strokes of a pen.
We love you, bubba, and we WON'T give in.
Cause you're somewhere else, incomplete.
I feel decompressed and lethargic,
as I continue scrolling through my online soul only to see a kind-hearted person now nostalgic.

Why can't we all feel the same?

Why does the world seem to be aflame?

It's because we all try to accomplish being perfect,
and when we spot "convicts" we don't even detect we inflict neglect.

The thought of unity is fading away as is the hippie way,
a late anniversary bouquet whittling away,
a smoking cigarette left around the ashtray, dying this midsummers day.

Why is this thought so crazy anyway?

The change starts internally,
and can only be finished by an honest community,
one where we can all live with our acquired mental immunity.

Finally, peace sets within our unity.
 Jul 2016 Diane Puckett
Varshini
This came out of nowhere,
and it feels like the worst time,
but when I see your face,
time seems to slip away.

You most certainly aren’t perfect,
definitely not for me,
but when I see your face,
the words just flow out of me.

I know I will regret this one day,
and I feel like you might, too,
but when I see your face,
that day seems eons away.

— The End —