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 Apr 2017 Sarah Lane
LJ Chaplin
The silence of the night
Encases you,
A dark, silky cocoon
That envelopes all
Feelings of ugliness
And insecurity,
You hang upside down,
Suspended in thought
As the respiration of nature
Breathes in the thick
Black air,
Then as the sun spills
Over the horizon
Like a volcano,
And the faint paint strokes
Of sunlight sets the cocoon
On fire,
All doubt melts away
And you realise
You are beautiful.
Wings spread wide,
A spectrum glimmering
Through each translucent
Fibre,
You take flight
And leave the remains
Of the shell you once were.
 Apr 2017 Sarah Lane
Eleanor K
Potential is not made when you are a child,
Though, at that age, your elders will search for it.
Potential is made when you pick up a pen,
a pencil, a marker, a paintbrush,
For the first time,
Or for the millionth.

Perfection is nearly caught by a camera,
And never by the hand.
But, if paintings looked like a digital picture,
What would be the point of such expression?
If you are looking to draw with such precision,
Look and find another passion,
another hobby, another profession, another way to vent.
If you are looking to find yourself,
to find peace, to find wisdom, to find enjoyment,
Pick up your hand and take the tool.

The artist's style is found through mistake.
A style, is a lack of perfection,
to show the world through your eyes, to alter it.
What you don't understand,
You will toil over, stress over,
hate yourself over, be frustrated over.

Look away from your mistake for a moment.
What is left, is what is yours.
This will change slowly overtime,
As you become better at both strength
And weakness.
The battle between these two opponents,
Will guide your journey.
The art itself is only a mirror of reflection,
Showing all you have done, your past,
your struggles, your joys, your imperfections, your toils,
This is an artist's style.

Pick up your pen,
Your potential is now.
Cloudy skies.
Dark sheets.
A smile.
Warmth.
A kiss,
Another.
A reason to exist.
Lover.
Beautiful.
Bright.
Kind and gentle.
Someone to talk to.
Someone to hold on to.
The person I feel most happy with.
Crank up the music,
Dance in our underwear,
Drink red wine,
and call it a night.
Walk around town,
looking up,
at the buildings.
A hand to hold.
Steps to pace.
A shoulder to lean on.
Thrill,
and excitement.
Someone different.
Someone better.
The one.

I suppose none of that matters now.
Cause all you are is
                              gone.
 Apr 2017 Sarah Lane
Peter Cullen
Every moment, every day,
has been relayed
has been replayed.
With time alone, to watch it all,
as we rise,
and as we fall.

Falling throught the city,
with a demon on my back.
Hiding from the morning light,
falling through the cracks.
Sitting at a bus-stop,
no bus to take me home,
seeking out a thought to please
my mind that sings alone.
My mind that questions everything,
within awoken eyes,
leads to questions
when I sleep,
waiting for the Sun to rise.

Waitin for tomorrow
but tomorrow never comes.
It just relays and then replays,
all you ever thought you were.
Beauty and grace,
Sway from place to place.
As you walk down this unguided line,
Though signs are clear.
And quite charmingly here,
This choice of life's undying rhyme.
So what cradled hand that made you,
By the living breath that saved you.
Not always clear cut or on time,
But isn't quite clear?
That's why life is truly dear,
And cannot replace true love's chime.
I gaze at every human face,
We have all been touched by grace,
How do you use your abilities,
To max out your capabilities?
If we all smiled with our human face,
The world would be a better place,
So we'd all be touched by grace.
Feedback welcome.
I thought of you when
I was sad today, and you
Made a smile appear

Right on my face you
Have replaced, a lost
Moment’s unhappy tear

And within the thought
Of you came a brightness,
Shining as bright as the  
Newly risen sun.

As I quietly reflected upon
The goodness I received,
Realizing your outpouring
Of grace is never done.
A morning prayer
 Apr 2017 Sarah Lane
Tomo
Grace
 Apr 2017 Sarah Lane
Tomo
I believe I was found
by a mystery, unbound
that metal clang against
the blackness in my chest

chains so far removed
by hands holed and bruised
blood and water pour
drowning my yesterdays

the mystery of this
a transcendental bliss
it cannot be contained
and I dare not restrain

this dance in blood
and broken chains
A lyric about the grace of Jesus Christ and my response to it.
 Apr 2017 Sarah Lane
Josh
Grace
 Apr 2017 Sarah Lane
Josh
I rejoice in feeling ungraceful,
for grace is such a silly thing to bear.
I do not still the waded waters of my stay:
I lay unevenly and sing loud.
And try to leave reminders everywhere.

I step closer to the edge out where I play
and peer longingly into the raging seas.
When I die, listen to the voice of morning.
And you will hear me blowing ungracefully
as wind through the trees.
If we spent as much time
humbling ourselves to God's  grace,
as we did worrying about things,
we wouldn't  have to try so hard to be happy;
the smile would come naturally,
and the laughter would be more genuine.
God loves you, all the hardships you go through, are all blessings, it's up to you, because of free will, as to whether or not you grow from a situation.
may peace and love be with you.
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