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md-writer May 2
Light ****** the heart
in ways that darkness never can.

Joy speaks more softly than despair.

Love will change what hate

And mercy gives what justice must withhold.
md-writer Apr 30
You set my soul at rest.
Not by relaxing any standard,
leaving any stone unturned that I
should consider.
Just... the way you look at me. With
patience, confidence, and that strangely
tender hint of longing.

How can I hope to give myself to you,
when my daily life is such a
weak and constant trouble?
A constancy, a refuge to relax in
- as you are to me -
that's what I want to be.

But. Storms and God above.
That man isn't me.
Not now.

Sometimes I let myself wonder what you and I
would be today,
if I were a better man yesterday.
md-writer Apr 30
He walks with me.

God the one and only monarch of all that is above,
below, and in-between,
the omnipresent majesty -
He walks with me.

Step by pitiable, dragging step, through murk
as deep as my soul's neck
and drowning in sorrows larger than
any eye can comprehend; and
walking by the babbling brook on
soft and springy green
(and yes, one day up in
the very clouds) -
He walks with me.

Pleased as man with men to dwell,
pleased to die and free from ****,
undergoing all the trials,
tribulations and temptations,
every waking moment I have lived
known because that Man lived too.

Now I lay me down to sleep,
now I rise and start to weep;
now I feel the joyous thunder,
now I cower on His shoulder;
now I lift His name on high,
now His hands are holding me.
Every broken part of me,
every soft and shattered dream,
all are safe in His embrace
and I am quickened in the race.
Because He walks with me.

I am lost and I am broken,
I am weary of the fight,
I am curled up on my bed
and thoughts are swirling through
my head.
I am kept, and I am woken,
daily by a whispered grace
hands of healing lift me up,
and wash the tear stains off my face.
Depths cannot divide, nor heights bring
everywhere I go, there is no difference
He walks with me.
md-writer Apr 30
a torrent rests uneasy
in my soul.
heart unspilled to the ear of
ever-loving God.

why do I stay away
why do I stay awake,
when grace and sweet
redemption wait my
if only I speak
unchaining heart
and soul to be
entered, swept and
renovated painfully by the dead, undying
Savior of my soul.

Lift up your weary, aching silence,
you *****, tired soul.
Let not the halls of God above
lay still, unmarred by the
whimper of this self-inflicting
md-writer Apr 30
sweet balm
so oft denied
come and lay your lips
on my troubled and
shadowy head.

Sleep. That gift
from heaven's throne,
where earth and all
my soul's care slip away -

come. Meet me
gently, sweetly,
lay me down at peace
with God, and self,
and fellow man.

md-writer Apr 30
If only all the sweet
and terrifying
things I say could be untrue,
then little gleams of life peaking
out would be stifled
before they gained a senseless
spark of courage
in the face of undying agony.


So says the ******, if he could
looking back at good things done
to him
by him
for him.

I shake my head.
I am not ******. I am dead.
To death, to sin, to darkness,
and to all the crawling creatures
of the murk.
md-writer Apr 30
innocence lost, my
own vision clouded,
drifting light and tired shadows,
draped upon
the rifts and valleys
of my soul

o desire, you terrible mistress
queen of heart-flung whispers
lit like snowflakes on
a far and rocky
swept up and melted by a
wave more cold than ice
kept warm with salt...

i don't know my own thoughts
i ran a blade across my skin
in wonder at the thought
that it could be an
for anyone. it will never be for me

still i am lost in a maze of light and sparkling fire
all around
i reach for it
but the further i stretch
the emptiness of gall within expands

i'm leaving behind the best parts of me
when i travel into darkness,
i'm tying up and torturing the corners of
my mind
i thought i'd know ahead of time
where all the pain would
take me,
down this sad, **** rabbit-hole

but no one in a million years could
ever show me just how much
i'd like this terror to be
freed from what was
once a
tired freedom left
by broken chains

is there one spark of truth in
a single thing i say?
or is it all the flurry of
senseless dreams
refurbished by a mind that
lives and sleeps and drinks and dies
with words.
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