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I am finished trying to draw water to satisfy my soul,
from holes that cannot quench my thirst.
I try to draw water from holes of different names.
From friends and family.
From the words and approval of men.
From temporal pleasures and materialism.
But they cannot quench the longing for Love
in my thirsty soul.
I am like the Woman at the Well.
Tired of going to holes that I think are wells.
Trying to draw water.
Walking away still thirsty.
Again.
And again.
And again.
Then...
My Saviour and the Lover of my soul
comes to me.
And I drink from Him.
My thirst is finally quenched,
and I will never be thirsty again.
For He is the Living Water.
He is not an empty hole which dries up,
sending me away still thirsty.
He is the Love which my parched soul needs.
He is...
the WELL.
Inspired by the Gospel of John 4:1-45.
To love is to forget
All the pain that you regret
Every time you let your head
Tear your heart and soul to shreds
Never try for perfect.
Perfect will never come to you.

Besides,
Perfect is no fun.

Perfect is no passion,
Perfect is sane,
Perfect is nothing compared to

Laughter over taking risks,
The hot rush of tears when you're afraid,
But the warmth of light and relief
When you realize there's nothing
To be afraid of.

Perfect is nothing compared to

Your face hurting from smiling too much,
And your sides hurting from laughing too hard,
And drowsily dozing off
To the sound and heart beat
Of the person you love,
Mid-conversation.

Perfect does not compare,
To conversations so deep and filled with
Hope and lighting up
The darkest parts of our pasts,
That when you fall asleep,
I cannot help but to think back to them,
And kiss your cheek.

Perfect will not ever compare,
To waking up from a bad dream,
Alone and scared,
Only to realize you should not be scared,
Because you are not alone.

And your cries wake him up,
And he holds you and soothes you
And suddenly everything is okay.

Perfect cannot compare
To having the weight lifted off your shoulders
Just by seeing his smile.

You might think what you have is perfect,
But what we're doing
Is filled with trying
And striving
And going for our goals,
But perfect is nothing compared,
To the you that makes me whole.
I might have insomnia.

Also, I love you, Bluebird.
 Aug 2016 Musfiq us shaleheen
Ari
I glanced at you both,
and no longer felt the jealousy
that would linger
and peel at my insides

You never did treat me right
It was your loss to lose such
an amazing prize
You will always be looking for a piece in me
in every person you're with
Why do say love is blind or is for fools?
You drown your blankets with seas from your eyes. Convincing yourself your chest is not one full of treasure, but needles at war with your heart.

Is this what you call love?
This is infatuation, it's lust, it's desire to benefit yourself with no regards for the one you burn towards.

Will you not learn from nature?
trees revive you with oxygen as you breathe. the rivers feed the clouds and the clouds rain and feed the rivers.

Where is sorrow there?
Where are the needles you curse?

Leave your sorrows, they are not worthy of You. Realise that Love is a circle of beneficence, sacrificing itself for the welfare of others.
Wipe your tears and seek for wisdom for where there is wisdom you'll find truth and love
margin of pen offend
rise up till elliptical
last breath thin swim
fascinated i draw in my breath,
little murmur of content, i am life
and i am death, what is there
to prepare, what to unravel,
what happenstance to know?
how does the tide, desiring only
to rise and fall, to sweep the shore
and then drawback like a warrior lunging
with a sword, the death-cry obliterating
the sky, then pulling his arm swiftly back
the same fire in her heart, unremorseful,
unrelenting, bring me such rest?
i’ll forget all my loves except
for you, die like a warrior for love
because my heart is a rugged shore and
it carries the crashing waves and the
clamour of gulls because it believes in
freedom, and needs to hear the brashness
of the wind and the far distances of the stars.
If you'd been here
When I was young,
You'd not forget
What we'd have done.

We'd climb roofs,
Jump in the river,
****** neighbour's pears,
Then skedaddle,
Laughing with sweat-matted hair,
Wiping off those grown-up cares.

We'd bumper-jump in four inch snow,
And never let our parents know.
Oh, such fun we two would do,
If I could stay as young as you.

We'd skate and bike,
Play street ball,
Act up in school,
Stand in the hall;
We'd hike with jars
Along country brooks,
Read and trade
Our comic books.
Lie in the sand,
Burn in the sun,
Forgetting it was time for home.
We'd never tire of our treats,
And often we'd forget to eat
Because we're having all our fun:
If you'd been here when I was young.

We'd play Tag and Red Rover,
Flags and Chase,
Then have sleep-overs.
We'd swap tomorrow
For daily pearls,
Then swap each other
For pretty girls.

We'd be up to our shenanigans,
Sleep the sleep,
Then start again.
This is the way
We'd have our fun,
If you'd been here
When I was young.

But now you're here,
And I'm much older,
The things we'd do
You'll do with others;
But when you need a  boost to climb,
This old man has a shoulder.
Yes,
I'll sure have lots of fun,
For you're here now.
That keeps me young.
For my new Grandson, Xavier (b. July 23rd.)
Thanks for all your readership and support. I hope you enjoyed the read as much as I enjoyed the write. Peace.
Her passion burns bright
her fire catches me
igniting my soul
aroused by lust violently
her flames engulfing me
consuming my mind
body held in captivity
submitting mentally
enchanted by her majesty
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