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Kyla 6h
lying on a road of cars,
empty beneath the sky of stars
I ask the God who made them,
He who said do not fear
Who am I?
Where go I?
Why am I here?

My God, oh my God
I feel so endlessly lost
My God, oh my God
Neither leave me nor forsake me
Whatever my cost
Cadmus 1d
πŸ›

If my trust in God’s love were complete,

My prayers wouldn’t beg for change,

they’d whisper thanks for the earthquake .

β˜”οΈ
Faith isn’t always a peaceful acceptance. Sometimes, it’s a whispered rebellion dressed as prayer. because belief is easiest when life is kind, and hardest when we’re asked to live without answers.
(A realization of otherness)
Frenzied shaking has taken my soul
I am crushed by the burning of gold-brined teeth
My unclean lips draw back in a grimace
As I rest my head against the beam of
Some ragged torture device and get
Splinters driven into my constricting scalp
Take a spike and drive it through my temple
Into this piece of time-worn timber which
Is saturated with skin flakes from my victims

(The reception of the sacrament)
Shall I not raise my filth-clotted hands up to
This presence which is like smoke and fills
My lungs with the kind of fear true power brings?
Let there be flesh to envelop my quaking body
Let it be caught between my teeth and drape
My skin in a new raiment of priesthood
Let there be hematic torrents rushing down
To clean out the wounds and make them imperishable
To be better drink from well-dug cisterns
Before a holy God, my desires become abhorrent and I am left yearning for Christ's flesh and blood.
π™²πšŠπš•πš•πš’πš—πš 𝚘𝚞𝚝, πš’πšœ πš–πš’ πšœπš˜πšžπš•,
𝚝𝚘 πšπš‘πšŽ πšπš’πšŸπš’πš—πšŽ πš πš’πšπš‘ 𝚊 πš™πš•πšŽπšŠ.
π™°πšœ πš›πš’πšπš‘πš πšπš›πš˜πš– πš–πš’ πšπš˜πš›πš–,
πšŠπš—πš˜πšπš‘πšŽπš› πšπš›πšŽπšŠπš– πšŒπš˜πš–πšŽπšœ 𝚝𝚘 πš•πšŽπšŠπšŸπšŽ.

𝙸 𝚠𝚊𝚜 πšπšŠπšœπš‘πš’πš˜πš—πšŽπš πš’πš— πšπš‘πšŽ πš πšŠπš”πšŽ,
𝚘𝚏 πšœπšπšŠπš›πš•πš’πšπš‘πšβ€™πšœ πš™πšŽπš›πšπšŽπšŒπšπšŽπš π™ΆπšŠπš£πšŽ,
𝚈𝚎𝚝 𝙸 πšπš πšŽπš•πš• πšπš‘πšŽ πšπšŽπš™πšπš‘πšœ within
πš–πšžπš•πšπš’πš™πš•πš’πšŒπš’πšπš’'𝚜 πšŽπš—πšπš•πšŽπšœπšœ πš–πšŠπš£πšŽ.

πš†πšŠπšœ 𝙸 πš—πš˜πš πš‹πš˜πš›πš— πš πš’πšπš‘ πšŸπš’πšπš˜πš›
πšπš˜πš› πšπš‘πšŽ long πš’πš—πšπš’πš—πš’πšπšŽ πšŒπš•πš’πš–πš‹?
𝙸 πšŠπš– πš‹πšžπš›πš’πšŽπš πš’πš— my πšœπš˜πš›πš›πš˜πš .
𝙸 πšŠπš– πšœπš™πš•πš’πš—πšπšŽπš 𝚊𝚝 my πšœπš™πš’πš—πšŽ.

πš‚πš‘πšŠπš›πšπšœ 𝚘𝚏 πš–πš’πš—πš remain πšœπšŒπšŠπšπšπšŽπš›πšŽπš.
My πšŒπš‘πšŠπš˜πšπš’πšŒ πš πš˜πš›πš” 𝚘𝚏 πšŠπš›πš,
It πš‹πšŽπšŠπš›πšœ πš–πš’ shaky πšœπš’πšπš—πšŠπšπšžπš›πšŽ
πš πš›πš’πšπšπšŽπš— πš’πš— πš’πšπšœ failing πš‘πšŽπšŠπš›πš.

π™»πšŽπš πš–πšŽ 𝚐𝚊𝚣𝚎 πš’πš—πšπš˜ πšπš‘πšŽ πš™πšŠπš›πšŠπšπš˜πš‘
𝚘𝚏 my πšŠπšπšπšŽπš›πš•πš’πšπšŽ'𝚜 πš›πš’πšπšŽ.
π™΄πšŸπšŽπš›πš’ πšπš•πšžπš‘ πš‹πšŠπš›πš’πš—πš a πš•πš’πšπš‘πš,
𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚜 a πšπšŠπš›πš”πš—πšŽπšœπšœ πš’πš— πš–πš’ πšœπš’πšπš‘πš.

πšƒπš‘πš˜πšžπšπš‘ π™Έπš– πšœπšŽπšŸπšŽπš›πšŽπš πš•πš’πš”πšŽ the πš•πšŠπš—πš
πšπš›πš˜πš– the 𝚜𝚝𝚊𝚝𝚎 πš˜πš› πšπš’πš›πš πšπš›πš˜πš– πš–πš˜πšžπš—πš.
𝙸 πšœπšŽπšŽπš” 𝚊 πš™πš•πšŠπšŒπšŽ 𝚘𝚏 πš™πšŽπšŠπšŒπšŽ, πš”πš—πš˜πš πš—.
πš†πš‘πšŽπš›πšŽ πšœπš˜πšžπš•πšœ 𝚐𝚘 𝚝𝚘 πš‹πšŽ πšπš˜πšžπš—πš

π™Ύπš‘, πš’πš–πš–πš˜πš›πšπšŠπš• πšπš˜πš›πšŒπšŽ divine,
Gift my 𝚏𝚊𝚝𝚎 πšπš›πš˜πš– πš’πš— πš’πš˜πšžπš› πš‘πšŠπš—πš.
π™²πšŠπšœπš πš’πš down in𝚝𝚘 πšπš‘πš’πšœ body
πšπš‘πšŠπš πš’πšœ πšœπšπšŠπš—πšπš’πš—πš 𝚊𝚝 πšŒπš˜πš–πš–πšŠπš—πš.

π™·πš˜πš  𝙸 πšπšŽπšŠπš› πšŽπšŠπšŒπš‘ 𝚍𝚊𝚒 that's 𝚌𝚊𝚜𝚝,
Living only to πšœπš‘πšŠπšπšπšŽπš› πš–πš’ πšπš›πšŠπš–πšŽ.
𝙸 am at odds. I'm a division.
I am a soul πš πš’πšπš‘πš˜πšžπš 𝚊 πš—πšŠπš–πšŽ.

DeπšŠπšπšŽπš—πš’πš—πš πšœπš’πš•πšŽπš—πšŒπšŽ, let it πš™πšŽπš’πš›πšŒπšŽ
πš–πš’ πšœπšŒπš›πšŽπšŠπš–s πšπš›πš˜πš– πš πš‘πšŽπš›πšŽ 𝚒𝚘𝚞 πšπš πšŽπš•πš•,
𝙸 πš”πš—πš˜πš  𝚒𝚘𝚞 can see the πš•πš’πšπš‘πš πš’πšœ
πš‹πšžπš›πš—πš’πš—πš πš‹πš›πš’πšπš‘πš πšπš›πš˜πš– in πš–πš’ πš‘πšŽπš•πš•.

And wπš’πšπš‘ πšŽπšŸπšŽπš›πš’ πšπš›πšŽπšŠπšπšŽπš πš‹πš›πšŽπšŠπšπš‘,
π™Όπš’ πšŸπš˜πš’πšŒπšŽ πšπš›πšŽπš–πš‹πš•πšŽπšœ πš πš’πšπš‘ 𝚊 πšœπš’πšπš‘,
Gift my life to meet your eyes.
L𝚎𝚜𝚝 πš–πš’πš—πšŽ πšŒπš›πš’ on, πš‹πš’ πšŠπš—πš πš‹πš’.
Jesus' baby May 1
Work outβ€”
Let your body speak:
Flesh stretching,
Fibers straining,
Blood pounding,
Mind alert.

There’s a listβ€”
Push-ups, planks, pressesβ€”
Each one chasing the same prize:
Strength.
Discipline.
Endurance.

But one remains unsung,
Unseen in gym mirrors,
Unlisted in fitness charts,
Unshared across the globe.

It is the exercise of the unseenβ€”
A sacred training:
Prayer.

Not whispered ritual,
But a fire-breathed postureβ€”
Spirit clenched,
Soul bending,
Body bowed low.

This workout unbinds:
Spirit ignited,
Soul awakened,
Mind renewedβ€”
A trembling reach
That brushes the robe of God.
Spirit meeting Spirit,
Deep calling unto deep.

They call it prayer.
But Iβ€”
I know it as sweat of the soul.

For while the body gains little,
The one who presses through to touch the Divine
Is changed.
Expanded.
Exalted.
Magnified.
Rebecca Apr 28
Oh God, I already knew from the first moment I met you that I would never be like the kids of my age: every night I went to my knees and prayed, it was not a prayer of peace, nor of tranquility, in fact I remember crying and sometimes screaming: ''My God deliver me from this flesh, from this sinful body and let me go with you''. Meanwhile the sweet little friends of mine slept in their homes, not knowing anything.
Zee Apr 26
The person you are trying to reach.
Is unavailable.

As in emotionally distant.
As in you can't get through.

There's no use in leaving.
A voice message.

As it wouldn't get through.
So you'll try again in an hour.

Please leave a message.
Please leave a message.
Please leave a message.

Yet there was never a message.
That was left just for you.

As you're left wondering.
What on earth to do.

Surely even god answers a prayer or two.
Kyla Apr 23
"hi there,
I'm here to confirm your death
this is your last chance- speak now or forever hold your peace!"
(writes β€˜patient lying in bed with eyes closed. no signs of life. identity confirmed.')

"i'm just going to perform a few tests
can you hear me? (she shakes them, inflicts one final pain)
does this hurt?"
(writes 'no response to verbal cues or supraorbital pressure')

"i'm just going to have a listen in to your chest"
their heart is finally still
not broken, or aching
lungs empty,
forever breathless
(writes 'no heart or lung sounds on auscultation, no carotid pulse on palpation')

β€œi’m just going to shine a wee light into your eye)
she pries open their lids and looks for life,
finds the same every time
empty tunnels gazing above
eyes wide open, taking in what comes next
what horror? what wonder?
(writes 'pupils fixed and dilated')

β€œthat’s us all done now, they’ll take you down to the morgue”
uttered to a body waxy and fixed
often warm
hands held by so many
now forevermore empty
('death verified at/on')

and then-

she strokes their hair, the way their mother did as they were laid in her arms
gently closes their eyes
traces a cross on their foreheads
tucks them into their deathbeds
leaves them to sleep

God, have mercy, on this your child
God, be kind
I hope you are at peace
Be at peace
credits to geeky medics
Theo Apr 23
Somedays You help us awake,
and shy though we are,
you patiently wait.
As the light shines forth,
we always seem to forget.
But you wait, patiently,
while all the while,
softly pouring a ray of spring sunlight,
and the chirping of birds that begins each morning.
the sounds of the earth beginning and waking up.
and your prayers are missed by me mostly,
yet thank you i must for this day as each day,
that try as i might
to navigate the inner waterways, the oceans mighty,
i always tend to forget, miss, really,
the sweet blooms in front of me.
The honeycomb face of a displaced yet ever so naughty monkey.
This fruit that i now bite into
and the thanks i slip past the crowding
for all your gifts to me.
Yes-
Thank you.
napowrimo day 23
neth jones Apr 22
jocular hack of a day
sidewaysΒ Β  and flinty with snow
the winds dictateΒ Β the true streets of this city
turbine life outsideΒ Β is in retreat or insurance
sing in the sunny pleasure
let the weather match celebration
beast of spring forgive
our lustless plunder and dumbing
quake us from our numb standard
ferry us
16/04/25
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