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Ben Meraki Aug 2019
"This evening I sat by the river
and watched the sun set on the hills.
Now daylight's long gone, I don't shiver.
Wrapped up in these boxes of pills.

Don't know if I took six or seven.
The wine's gone and it's getting late.
But I'll be on that first flight to Heaven
and honey you know I can't wait"

-

As she shines down on the world far below
she will smile, 'cause she knows
I'll be reading her letter.

But she couldn't tell me that she had to go.
Ask me why; I suppose
that I'd never have let her had I known.

- -

Well since then I've seen eighty-odd seasons.
Now I know how you learned to fly,
and I guess I agree with your reasons
why I couldn't have my goodbye.

It was never enough to adore you.
When I couldn't repel the attacks.
There was nothing my love could do for you.
It was cruel to keep pulling you back,

-

and so I sit here where you watched the light fade.
You've been gone for so long
but I finally get it,

and all I can hear is the promise I made
to stand tall and be strong.
But I'd never have said it had I known.

- -

Now I feel like I'm not far behind you.
I take one step closer each day.
But there's someone here who's just like you,
so I think, for the moment, I'll stay.

When I close my eyes I still see you.
Not forgotten, and never replaced.
But sometimes I swear she could be you
when she puts that same smile on my face.

-

Had I been blessed with your wisdom, I know
I'd have gone with you there.
It'd be for the better.

Can't wait to rest, need to let this pain go,
and I say I don't care
but I'd never have met her had I flown.

- -

She thinks she doesn't deserve me,
that she can't be what I say she is,
and I can't find a way to make her see
there's nothing I could want more than this.

But soon she'll be far in the distance
when I've said my goodbye one last time,
and I don't understand this resistance
to my plans, now I've made up my mind.

-

When I was lost, alone, battered and scared
there was nobody there
to show me it was worth it.

Now suddenly they're pretending to care.
But I've seen through their stares
and I'm leaving this place they call 'home'.
Clinging to positives was all for nothing.
Derrick Jones Jul 2019
The rain came swiftly
Cleansing me of past misdeeds
I dry in the sun
For more poetry and essays, follow my blog on Medium at https://medium.com/words-ideas-thoughts
Thanks for reading!
Ek Apr 2019
Indoor
Outdoor
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 2019
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
And
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
And
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
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