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Revin May 2014
Holy, we are born. Holy, is our lives. Holy, is our love. Holy, is our sins. Holy, is our suffering. Holy, is our salivation. Graced Mother bestow us with suffering, cleanse us of divinity.
Luna Lynn May 2014
God* came to me in a rain
and He spoke of Truth you could only seek in His Word
and He sang of songs unheard
of a promise only to His people
God's people
to
Us

And as He spoke I turned my head,
for fear someone might see me praising the rain like the dead
And the lightening struck in disappointment
and it was then I fully understood
How God created man for the greater good
how sin has taken over the land He created to be pure
how He has created people like me to preach the cure

You see
I let the water hit my palm
and trickle up my arm
and I cupped enough in my palms to cleanse my head
Thanked God for *His
water and bread
and cleansed my soul in the Son, the Father, and the Holy Spirit
and I thanked Him from the depths of my heart
and I know that He will hear it

So I will carry out what God has asked me to do
He has given me the gift of words
to write what is real
to write what is true
to pour all of the meaningful promise
right into you

Let the Heavens open up and take a look deep inside
See what God has promised you!
The God of Abraham
The God of Israel
The Father of  Christ
and you thank Him
and you seek Him for all direction
For He will provide you protection

Because God is not in selfish churches tarnished by man
He  is  the water
He  is  the land
He  is  right with you
Right in your hand
Oh ye of little faith...
Do you not understand?
It is  God  I say!
It is  God!
It is  God  who will give us the riches of life

**Stop putting your faith into man!
(C) Maxwell 2014
Many legends there be back in days of old;
Legends of bold knights upon their noble steeds.
This be a tale starring a knight and his steed
As one and the same.

'Twas in the Renaissance city of Poitiers
The prodigy of a holy knight was born;
Sir Nathanëal of the Salomon bloodline,
Lineage of victors.

He bore the heart and voice of an archangel
And the loyalty of a priest to his God.
No other horse he rode but his first and last;
Dear "Divinitus."

Alas, his loyalty had cost him dearly
In the midst of the Battle of Moncontour.
Thus came the end of Nathanëal Salomon.
Or so it had seemed.

By the hands of benevolent sorcery,
Nathanëal and Divinitus lived again,
This time sharing a peculiar physique
Of both man and horse.

Thus, blessed with fur of white and a mane of gold,
Well-equipped with lightweight armour and claymore,
He walked the outskirts of France slaying evil
As both knight and steed.
Here is my very first sapphic which I wrote as part of my homework for Tees Achieve Creative Writing.

---

© Jordan Dean "Mystery" Ezekude
It's hard to think-
this time last week-
I was searching for weeds-
in the cracks of the street-
in front of the church-
Where I once worked-
In the sun, hardwork-
Pulled weeds all day till my hands hurt-

I was working at the shelter when he found me-
said son you need to leave-
move out, get out of this town-
because you ain't happy, and you sure as hell ain't proud.

Back to flint-
crime hole of Michigan-
where I once lived-
when I was a kid-
where the buildings look like ****-
and the streets smell like ****-

It's been six years since I left for Maine-
I've searched flint up and down for a familiar face-
the only thing familiar was the old cafe-
we spent summers here, breakfast everyday.

Lady at the counter asked "sweetie what's your name"-
She was cleaning the tables while I had my tea-
She said they don't pay her enough for this ****.
I said "you still make more than me"

She recognized my face-
I asked her if She remembered any of my friends-
We used to come here everyday-
After school. For burgers and shakes-

I explained, I never kept in touch-
I'm not the type to, And even if I did-
they wouldn't hear from me that much-

I told her what had happened. How I lost my house in flames. I have no where to stay, not my parents, and I don't have any friends.

She said she remembered you. She remembered how we were always
together.

Asked if you still lived in town-
She said yeah-
she sees you sometimes, hanging around.

She set a glass down-
Poured some tea-
Shared a cup with me-
She said I don't want to be involved with you-
Asked her what she means.

Welcome home. She said.
She winked. Again.
Napkin and a pen.
Gave me an address.

Out past the green light,
Past The fairgrounds.
I drive out and around.
And found my self nearly out of gas.
Every light stayed green as I would pass.
There was never any traffic in this town. Or at least none that would last.
Drive past old miss myrtles.
Her house was covered in vines.
She used to leave her window open,
Set there fresh baked pies.
I wonder of she's alive.
I found your house.
Boarded up.
Two men came out.
Undone zippers and button ups.
One laughed and smirked, pretty girl.
Worth every dime.
The veins in my neck popped and i clenched my fists at my side.
You walked out side.

You stood there, so beaten.
It's clear that you've eaten,
Some fists in your life.
You walked back in side.
It's too late to hide,
The black bruises, your eyes.
Don't try and disguise it's too late for make up and lies.
Drugs and money on the table.
Your life's a pond that stands still.
One drop or touch,
And you shake and waver, the flavor is enough.
Holes in the roof.
Teeth on the ground.
Trash and needles,
Radio blaring loud.
Outside traffic.
Busted lips, white noise.
In a crib, a witnessing
little boy.
Thought of you more and more.
Saw a sign, you were what I came home for.
Not your arm full of scars,
Or face full of sores.
All my friends have left and gone.
Numbers lost.
Seems like this whole town is dead.
Every street lights stuck on red.
Nathan K May 2014
I still hope
That even my tiny hands might shape something
Great
But I sit in the mire
Playing with mud
Deluded by such grandeur that I am
A worthy creator
Shake my fists at God
“I am better!”
“I can do just as good of a job as You!”
All the while sinking deeper in the filth
I surround myself with
Hysteric laughter
“I can be God, I can be God.”
But my tiny hands can never make
Never make something of worth
Lasting through the ages
Laughter fades as I bow my head
Murmuring,
“I am God…”
Sink lower into the mire
Neck deep
“I am God…”
A pile of sloppy clay in front of me
“I am God…”
But what can a *** tell of its Potter?
What can a painting say of its Painter?
Can they say that they outshine the Hands that shaped them?
Can they say they are the Hands?
Nay, they only reflect the glory and the beauty of the Creator.
So help me, O God.
Because my pride is dragging me down
I am but a beautiful ***
Molded by an even more beautiful Creator
Still being molded
My tiny hands can do nothing
On their own
But even tiny hands can do great things
With big, strong hands to guide them.
Philippians 4:13
Isaiah 64:8
John 15:5
Dr Mike OConnell May 2014
Brian Patrick

Tall, knowledgeable, caring, jovial and holy
Respected by many; exalted by others
His road – the road that should be taken
Irish of course, but not of the old sod

The unattainable, becomes at once, attainable
Your reckoning lightened by his words
The Black Robe is a tale to be told by all who believe
Believers they may be, but not for ease of living

He, The Black Robe, beckons you to seek his countenance
Consolation is offered within the folds of his robes
You accept the gift without hesitation of belief
Your belief in the blood sacrifice of the unbelievable

The comfort of refuse offered by The Cassock
Truly blackens with the deceit of the unholy
All too friendly for men and boys
The betrayal all too familiar for me
© 2014 Brian Patrick
Zead Apr 2014
and as the eclipse meets the eye of a fish
so does the Holy Spirit stand in your midst
please go and find for yourself, that one day you may realize
how much more there is than what meets the eye
does the fish ignore what is outside of the water or does he respond
by any chance is there any astonishment in that consciousness of a fish
but before you think of it
decide for yourself whether you would gain from it or not
would that fish desire to know about it or even try to live for it
'*** little does that fish know
that eclipse is what controls the tides
i think God doesn't show himself to everyone because many would choose not to follow;acknowledging the grace of God. ignorance is bliss
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