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Hello poetry, did you talk to God today
or were you burdened with the world?
did you take some time to pray
as the day progressed,  unfurled?
Did you thank Him for your blessings
and for another day of life?
or were you full of second guessing
brought about with weary strife.
Did you say hello to strangers
or comfort those in sorrow
with no worry of fearsome dangers
but filled with hope of our tomorrow?
Did the thought of God prevail
did you remember to be humble
or did some troubled thoughts assail
to make you halt or quickly stumble?
Hello poetry, did you say hello to Him
and to His precious son that came?
to forgive us all from our sin
and not remain ashamed.
  May 29 Rednaxela Kristin
They said,
"The most beautiful art is
looking into someone's eyes
when they talk about the
things they love.
And I said,
"Or looking at someone you love.
Or maybe, just maybe,
by looking at the mirror
is the most beautiful art
anyone should appreciate."
Appreciation post for myself; for you and for everyone as well. You deserve more than the world has to offer.
in every broken dream, there is an abundance of possibilities waiting to be explored.
in every grave misstep, there is a new chance to stand up and try again.
in every lost soul, there is a compass waiting to lead the way.
in every tiring day, there is solace and comfort at night to lean on.
in every doubtful thought, there is proof of certainty waiting to be seen.
in every guilty conscience, there is someone listening, someone who is ready to accept any change of heart.
in every doom, there is always hope that will eventually rise.
rkc / apr 23, 2021
I need music
Like I need oxygen to breath
Without her I would die
  Nov 2020 Rednaxela Kristin
I am a writer and I've always known it.
Even when my feeble self-esteem conspired against my urge to pick up a pen.
I carried it around
like you carry relics
my pens.
Remained tethered to them.
I write now.
Perhaps because I am not a talker.
  Nov 2020 Rednaxela Kristin
He doesn't burn photographs
He doesn't join therapy sessions
He doesn't smoke too many cigarettes
Nor he drown himself into alcohol
He scratches his wounds daily
And never let them heal
He doesn't try to get rid of the pain
Instead he let it grow on him
He waters the seed of sorrow with his tears
He feeds it with the manure of old memories
He takes it to sleep with him
And nurtures it in himself
Till the moment when every single drop of his blood gets replaced by this pain
Until his fragile heart can bear no more
And his soul starts overflowing with emotions
That's when he dip his pen into this pain
And empty his heart on a piece of paper
He bares his soul for us to feel
He creates poetry that the world would cherish for centuries to come
That's how true poetry comes into existence
perfection is a myth that we try to overcome
anytime, we can do our thing without pressure
certainty might not always be on our side, and
it may take time to gain strength, will, and courage
nevertheless, let perfectionism victim none of us; let us
grow and succeed within our own ways and time.
in this times, let this be a reminder
written 24 apr 2020
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