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Lost ones have been found;
Once in Adam, now in Christ
Covered by His blood,
Now reflecting glory bright

Who am I?
That the God who made all things
Took my crown of thorns
To bestow one fit for kings
From the dust of earth,
Father, You created man
In Your image, birthed;
By Your Spirit’s breath, began

Purposed to shine
Your glory all around
Of all the good things
That You made: creations crown.
I read of this little orchestra of players
who made instruments of trash
reminded me how God uses strayers
like Moses, David, and Johnny Cash
recycled their failures into glory.
They found a flash or flicker
of faith to make a moving story.
They gave their flaws to the Fixer.

I see the detritus and lessons of my past
a guy whose mind was all over the place
who soared, swooped, leveled and crashed
was thrown out reaching for second base
whose heart was wounded, erratic and hurt
but had a treasury of teachers on his path
who inspired and encouraged the introvert
to use words instead of physics or math.

Yes, words became my friends
opened vistas of meaning and learning
paid limitless dividends
set my curiosity and wonder burning.
Fragments of imagination
bubbled up like a spring
moments of ****** inspiration
of darkness and light took wing.

The salve of poetry has brought healing
its warm oils and sweet scent
delivered me from darker feelings
gave me vigor when I was spent
gave me drink in the dessert
brought me moments of glory
in a world of hurt
helped me tell my story.

So like those Paraguay players
making music from trash
from all of life’s layers
of flowers and ash
I’ve been to the mountain peak
and to fertile green places
in my true voice I now speak
and swim in glorious graces.
You can search the web for:  Landfill Harmonic, the “Recycled Orchestra” for videos of “this little orchestra of players” spoken of in my poem or you can go to this webpage:
Why should the Light return upon
Our cold and darkened land?  
When, into sleep, we drift and yawn,
So thoughtless of His hand...

We never think: "Someday it may
Forever cease to shine!"
We never thank – with thanks, befit –
For Morning Mercies' rise.

Why should the Light return upon
Our cold and darkened land?
But to awaken life at dawn
As He, in Goodness, planned...

We never, then, have an excuse
To fall into a dream
We never, then, can e’re accuse;
His Glory’s, daily, seen.
Lamentations 3:22-23: "The steadfast love of the Lord never ceases; His mercies never come to an end; they are new every morning; great is Your faithfulness."
James Feb 2
Your awesome power Lord,
Never ceases to amaze me Lord,
With Your greatness and glory,
You write out Your story,
My Lord goes before me,
And lights up for me.
God Your creation,
Bows in amazement,
You control the winds and the seas,
You form the rocks and the trees,
You give provision to the birds of the sky,
You make my soul not shy.
You bring honey from the bee,
Life You breathe into me.
Lord You shine bright,
To the darkness You give fright.
You are cloud by day and fire by night,
You are the light.
God is so glorious and greater than all you problems, focus on Him.

"But seek ye first the kingdom of God, and his righteousness; and all these things shall be added unto you." -Matthew 6:33
MarKat Jan 23
Endurance at its best
Standing still in time
To be made perfectly
To seek its clarity
You can decide
Preparation or
No return make
Sure your aware
When it's your turn.
We endure lots of unwanted feelings people and things but no matter what don't change but the power of prayer is what gets me through each time. In the outcome your changed or numb.
Beanie Jan 11
There are places in the world where beauty is abundant, where the creatures of the earth come together with ease and the horizon stretches far beyond your fingertips.

There are places in the world where the sunshine is golden and warm, the rain is light, and the breeze is gentle.

There are places in the world where children laugh and play without fear, where grandmothers and grandfathers sip iced tea and share stories of when they were young.

There are places in the world waterfalls rush over glorious cliffs, and the moon rises above the treetops, just out of reach from outstretched fingers.

There are places in you where the stardust floats through your veins, where the sunlight touches your flesh and lights you up into your core.

There are places in you where your vibrancy shines out, where you are warm and inviting, where the moonlight peaks softly above your head.

There are places in you where your love is abundant, where your soulfulness is spread like wings, and where your empathy glows like a halo above you.

There are places in you where nothing but love is found, where comfort is given freely, and where your beauty is gloriously plentiful.
A Sad Alex Jan 1
I was a soldier of Rome
and my thoat is now split open
Split it was by a Gaul
Fighting to destroy the Republic.
I hope the earth is nourished by my blood
And life grows from it
For so much has been lost
In this senseless slaughter.
Do they not see the light of Rome?
Civilizations luster?
We bring fire to the shadows of the world
To cast them aside, tear them asunder.
Our cause is just, our will cannnot be stopped
The world shall be roman
We bring justice and order!
My sword may decorate the ground
And my armour my lifeless body
Behind me marches the strength of legions
From it ten more will take my place
For victory! For glory!

I was a warrior from Gaul
Sixteen springs alive
Cut down in my prime
To defend my home
From Rome´s thrist for land
They come forth from beyond the mountains
A ravenous, barbarous horde
They loot, and ****, and pillage
Torching everything they touch
Can they not see our life is just?
And it is peace, not man, who governs this grooves?
We live, we love, we grow
They tend to their business and we to ours.
Yet they now come
And my body may give life to the forests
And from the forests forth shall spring my brothers
To ****! For victory and glory!

I am a crow

I shall feast on them both

Life shall indeed spring forth

The maggots

The flies

And many, many more of us.
I always wanted to try my hand at a poem with historical flavor
GM Dec 2018
The joke is that I practically chose
To be burning, and never get close
I know what I did was so wrong
I couldn't hold my tongue
But even far, far away
I can dream of having her someday
Her mouth is so pretty from here
Wish I could call her "my dear"
Even being so though
I am satisfied enough
Just to dream with her voice
Being away was her choice
So my destiny is just to be sorry
And never knowing the glory
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