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poisoned elixir Nov 2020
you said
my poetry
is rough?
yeah that's
my thought's
tear apart
thought maker
Josh Overson Aug 2020
.After I blind my eyes, you will see for me
When I close my lips, you will speak for me
As I cover my ears, you will hear for me
If I bind my limbs, you will move for me
The way maker, Jesus none greater...

Hold me when I’m slipping over the line
When I’m about to fall, and lose my life.
And won’t You let me put my heart in her hands
Know that I understand, to follow Your plans.
Where you’ll be shaping, and making me.
Now Bound to You, I am free...
Committed to discourage he says “hey.”
No reply from the deepest eyes
Better that I don’t think twice
They love the outside
The inside
The lies of suicide,
The cold knows sympathy
A place inside a place outside
Set in place when we die.
Matthew Sabella Jul 2020
When fear comes in like a thief in the night,
When it grips your throat and lifts you up out of bed,
When your wandering eyes glimpse what your heart has been desiring for months,
When you give in to the temptation instead of looking to the breaker of chains,
This is when your faith is tested, this is when you see how weak you really are.

I sat and I listened.
I sat and I read.
I sat and I determined that I don't like being alone with my thoughts.
I sat and I realized I am scared of my own inner voice.

It caused me to remember past mistakes I wish were not in my head.
It caused me to miss someone even more than I already do.
It made me realize I am not dependent on my maker enough.
But at the same time what is enough?

Can you love enough?
Can you pray enough?
Can you read enough?
Are we ever enough?

In this world we are going to make mistakes.
We are going to hide from the ones we love.
We are going to be present and listen to them.
In this world, it is a dichotomy of light and dark.

When the fear comes and when it takes hold, what do I do?
Do I sway to the left or do I sway to the right?
Which side is the correct path?
Is either way correct?
Do I just need to sit, listen, and pray?

When I enter into the presence, I hope it is enough.
For when I pray those uneven, and negative thoughts creep in.
I get too scared to pray, I get too scared of change.
I am scared of these thoughts, I am scared that they will never go away.

It's *****,
It's messy,
It's a time where sin takes your faith hostage,
But at the same time, it strengthens your faith and requires you to quiet your soul.

Uneven, broken, failures, and grief.
Hope, joy, and relief.
A mix of who I am who I want to be.
A love that passes all understanding,
One that can cure the wound that doesn't seem to ever get clean.
colette alexia Apr 2020
What my hands should’ve felt
You took on yourself
When they strapped to the cross
The maker himself
hazem al jaber Apr 2020
Happiness maker ...

music and colors ...
and a quiet dance ...
sweet poetic night ...
and a warm lap ...
into a bed love ...
where no any words ...
just brighten eyes ...
and lips' whispers ...
to start a great sweet night ...

smile ...
just do it baby ...
to let me get ...
the happiness ...
while i'm looking ...
at your eyes...
smile baby ...
and get your wish ...
to start our great love ...
smile sweetheart ...
we are together now ...
to give you a happiness ...
as you gave it to me ...
from your smile ...

good morning ...

hazem al ..
Michael R Burch Mar 2020
Lean Harvests
by Michael R. Burch

for T.M.

the trees are shedding their leaves again:
another summer is over.
the Christians are praising their Maker again,
but not the disconsolate plover:
     i hear him berate
     the fate
     of his mate;
he claims God is no body’s lover.

Published by The Rotary Dial and Angle. Keywords/Tags: plover, skeptic, atheist, agnostic, Christians, god, creator, maker, fate, mate, berate, lover
Bhill Mar 2020
appearances continue to be the decision-maker
we as animals need optic sensitivity first
what is next

Brian Hill - 2020 # 64
Silver Feb 2020
how lonely it must be to
and know alone
MisfitOfSociety Mar 2019
Out of the womb into the microwave.
Lost in it's soup till it pulls you beneath the grave.

Get this woodpecker out of my head,
I can't hear myself think.
It's voice speaks through the radio,
telling me to go build the anti man.

Seeing life through the anti man's eye,
We are all perceiving a lie.
Hold it in your hands,
Wear it on your heads,
Put it in your arm.
You are pushing yourself into place.

We're killing god,
And we're building the anti man.
We are at war,
With our maker!
Ainsley Feb 2019
when i meet the maker
is  no man but a woman
with a cigarette in one hand and exhilaration in the other
with love in one eye and disdain in the other.
i look at her as she looks at me
she raises an eyebrow as those
sweep over m e
‘why are you here’
the question hangs in the air such as a bird would before it has to choose whether to fly or
‘to meet you’ i answer
she just throws her head back and laughs
the sound of
bells filling the void
though i grow cold and frightened when the sound reaches me
she locks
with me, sending shivers along my spine
then her answer chills me to the bone
her idea her question hangs in the air like an
‘what makes you think i want to meet you’
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