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Ek Apr 10
By door
You see more
Than the spring drizzle
That cleans your lawn
That lets the scents out of your yard.
You see an opening
Through the drops
That lets you escape the drapes
To April
Mackensie Mar 3
There's something about rainy sunday afternoons
that have made me fall in love.
not any other day or time
makes me feel the same way inside.
The ones where you open up the blinds
and curl up beside the window
watching, listening, never getting bored.

I could stay this way for hours.

There's a calm about them.
That the same force which sustains life can also destroy it.
That it chooses to cleanse the earth gently
and use it's power for good.
I long to step out into it
turn my face up to the sky
and let the drops soak my skin.
So that maybe it will choose
to do the same to me.
Danielle Oct 2018
She supposed it was more than just rain.
It was a touch, light and rough upon the skin.
A harsh tap tap that seemed to echo through the world.
Eventually, it took over as she knew it would.
It felt cool, running down her soul
Not that she wanted the cracks cleaned out.
But the rain was insistent, formidable, and crushing.
It was, after all, more than just rain.
Evangeline Ashe Aug 2018
Invisible wave
sanctuary at world’s end
under ruby skies
Anthony Mayfield Jul 2018
The cleansing
The clean clear cleansing
It’s necessary
The heavy of the day is gone
Pushed down by soft swift hands
The breath is warm and inviting
Such sweet warm encompassing breath
This breath kisses the glass gently
And it kisses me
And I’m covered
And then
And only then I know
I am clean
And I am free
The liberation that comes from a hot shower after a stressful day.
Lyn-Purcell Jun 2018
Raise the crack of dawn
Autumn rain falls hypnotic
Hearts now pure and clean
All summer through
Little brother trees
The gusty
Big sister breeze
Played in the sun
They had ample fun

The little boy trees wore a dusty crust
And shower, they must
Lest their leaves , yellowed
Transpire to rustle in summer heat

A drizzle nor a sprinkle
Mother rain
Chose to shower
The mode she set to power
Drenched and dripping wet
The little boy trees with trembling leaves , sneezed

The cool
Big sister breeze
Lovingly caressed
And blow dried
The little brothers trees

Fresh and perfumed
The little boy trees
Stood tall in trousers brown
Lovely, minty green coloured tees
Summer showers experience on 10th June :)
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
Might there be a fountain
where souls long dead from thirst
find spirits raised to life in floods abounding free,
so that what once walked as corpse,
night-bound and blind, may see?
Old self exchanged for Treasure, diving in
tastes such rejuvenation as can't
be weighed by mortal measure—
wine unlike our earth-grown fruit whose petals fall,
from this Vine flowers the pleasantness of Love Divine
which bathes in healing waters all
who come as humble newborn with bold **** to dine.
"Jesus answered, 'Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.'"  John 4:13-14

"Then Jesus declared, 'I am the bread of life. He who comes to Me will never go hungry, and he who believes in Me will never be thirsty.'"  John 6:35

"On the last and greatest day of the Feast, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, 'If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. Whoever believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.'"  John 7:37-38

"'I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in Me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from Me you can do nothing.'"  John 15:5


Structure inspired by a poem from the journal of Jim Elliot
Laurin Thor Jun 2018
There is a hole inside my chest.
I didn‘t ask it to be there
I don‘t know where it came from
But it doesn‘t seem to care.

Everytime I see a glimpse of serenity
it taints me again:
A corrupting presence
strangling my spine
choking my soul.

What has changed?
Where is the cause?
I‘ve lost ascendancy
over the demons I thought
to have slain long ago.

Again I‘m afraid.
Afraid to speak too much,
afraid to be silent for too long.
Afraid to be me
and afraid to disguise myself.

It seems my fortune has vanished
from my control.
And in dark moments
the only thing that‘s left
is the fear that
something has changed

What once got close
seems to drift apart again
before it could begin to coalesce.
And I stand weak
before my inner chaos.

My mind is a maze
and I have lost the map.
How am I supposed to find my way back
with this chasm in my head?


My confidence is torn.


There is a hole in the sky
and it slowly pulls me in.
Will it erase me or cleanse me?
And will the scourge inside of me
finally die?
Wrote this when I was in a pretty dark place.
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