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Atrisia 14m
Imagine traveling for miles and miles

walking in and out of life happening

one goes west where another goes south

one chooses life and gets death.

another doesn’t choose and time goes on.

We think we are so clever.

“Eureka! I know what to do now!”

and yes its true we do.

but for one that’s been through this and that.

and never pauses to take stock of it all.

they would whistle.

but if you trapped the wind in a jar.

it would be quiet.

drop its jaw in awe.

life in depth is simply complex.

it’s sometimes best to sit and watch –

the magic unfold.
nothing really matters, bohemian rhapsody. so do the things that matter.
In this short life
We only have so many chances to make things happen
So shine unabashedly
Make your presence known
Radiate love
And die with it
Desire 2h
Who was he?
Was he a sinless man, perfectly divine,
with a human body, heart, soul, and mind?
Was he a son and brother, relative and friend,
who chose to live and die, to rise, and ascend?
Were miracles performed? Did he multiply fish and bread?
Could he really heal the sick? Did he really raise the dead?
Was he a teacher and preacher, or was it all pretend?
Was he really crowned with thorns, judged, and crucified before men?  
Did he die for sin and suffer severe sufferings?
Was he a prophet, priest, and servant King of kings?
Did the earth quake, and temple tear, after his puncturing?
Was his glory reclaimed, and his honor received?

At the Father’s right, did he take a rightful seat?
Were his works redemptive, revered, and rendered complete?
Did the Twelve die in vain? Or did they precisely proclaim?
Do archaeological findings further support or negate the frame?
Was forgiveness his to give - or life - to those who believe?
Were the first-century claims true and correct, or falsely conceived?
Did early churches around the world conclude similar creeds?
Were plenty prophecies fulfilled, or were they too inadequate to concede?

Tablets, tombs, and temples found.
Inscribed stones, scrolls, and ancient ground.  
Charts, maps, and timelines studied.
Cultures — clashed; religions — muddied.
Doctrines debated and theories changed.
Some-thousand-years have passed. Still, this question remains:  
Who was he?

I’ll admit with all honesty, I know not all his ways.
I’ve questions unanswered; I’ve actions untamed.
I’ve a heart that knows failure, brokenness, aches, and pain.
I've a life that requires repentance; realignment everyday.
Yet, where my knowledge ends - thats where sincere faith overtakes.
I’ve a lot more to learn, yet, I've experienced a lot more grace.
How would you answer the question if you were asked this today?
Who was he? Who is he? What would you say?

Unapologetically and unashamed,
with confidence and boldness running through my veins,
in all fairness, humility, and meekness,
he is my strength, when I'm at my weakest.
My heart believes in full, and then sings my soul:
my Lord, my Rock, my Savior, my God.
Thank you, King Jesus.
Con 14h
I found my favorite part of life:
in all its randomness and uncertainties,
we always find our favorites along the way
and we personalize those for ourselves.

It's lovely; we take our own scraps from everything
-- may it be genre of movies, delicacy, fragrance, people --
piece them together,
then own a wholeness that we are.

Although, wholeness is just a euphoric concept;
Some people may feel it, many may be patiently building theirs.
Being complete is a great feeling but it's ceasing life.
Be quirky and wanting -- this is the beauty of life, after all.

I love listing my favorites as much as waiting for the new ones.
This is inspired by the time in the past that I was told I will always be his favorite girl. That could change, but I so appreciate it.
I've cut open my eyes
And to my surprise,
I found an old carousel projector
With millions of upsidedown pictures inside.

The machine starts to whir,
And my life flashes by,
Every memory frame by frame,
On these convenient little slides

Every laugh, and every smile
Every absence of joy,
Those slides seem to last longer on this carousel of poise.
My friends were talking about writing poetry and it's admittedly been awhile since I've written anything so I decided ***** it one more wouldn't hurt, I was gonna touch it up a bit here and there but tbh I can't be bothered, it was also gonna be longer butttttttttt :p (also if someone says carousel of poise doesn't make any sense too bad deal with it I do what I want)
With what the world gives me
You make me stay
With the rocks in my shoes
You make me run
With the tears in my eyes
You make me smile
With my burdens
You make me breathe
With such ease
You take me away

*Notes*
Reverberation
of  bells echo
Distance and lucid
Lulling to me ,
A familiar
unknown
Church on the other
Side of town

I am less holy
Tonight, Getting darker
By the hour.

I dreamed

of you once
On a cold barren night
& here you are
Wavering, languid,
never remaining the same.


Cold Santa Barbara Air
Blowing
Into the small top floor
Apartment

Needle in my green vein
Bleeding , eyes closed
& consciousness vast-
Fading in
And out,\

His breathing louder, rising
Like the waves, crashing,
into me
Like the waves.  

I am lucid tonight.
born to escape
This life, for
We watch the distant
Sea in awe
And sing lyrical tunes in a vacant
Apartment at dawn and we leave our homes
Only to miss them.

We never belonged here in the first place,
It never felt like home.

My limbs are long and sore
From a falling unto the earth



we were born to escape
And then you try to breathe
If there's some air left around
Let it be consumed by me
For I am sinking and just a bit of me is left to live
I cry, and breathe, and then wipe my tears
Cause I can do nothing about it
I have to live with this
Looking up at the sky
The clouds are so beautiful
Moving round & round
How I could get lost in them
Floating along this life
Like the lightest feather
No worry for tomorrow
No dread for the end
Of a fleeting life
Lawrence Hall
Mhall46184@aol.com  
https://hellopoetry.com/lawrence-hall/
poeticdrivel.blogspot.com

                             The Death of Our Old Hippie Truck Driver

                                      For Brian, of Happy Memory

                     For every star that falls to earth a new one glows.
                     For every dream that fades away a new one grows.

                                                 -Rod McKuen

Suddenly there was cancer eating away
At what was left of his star and his dreams
That second star to the right was suddenly closer
And we can’t know what that far shore is like

But he had often seen the rainbow’s end
Shining across the windshield of his rig
Over his mountains and his magic lands
Interstates according to Peter Max

For years he rolled to the beat of ‘68 -
No more runs, now; his logbook’s up to date
Brian, now forever young, may you be blessed with a clear road forever.
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