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Nikita Jun 2020
Like the rage
Of a thousand winds
My mind spins
To and fro again

Similar to the wind
The mess inside my head
Remains invisible
Yet violent

Sometimes I wonder why
We have warnings
For tornadoes in the sky
But not a glance
Towards the hurricanes
That dwell inside

But when I picked up a pen
I began to wonder again

I thought of all the wreckage both leave behind
And realised the reason why

A tornado in the sky
Will leave wreckage for both you and I

A tornado in my mind
Will leave wreckage that only I will find

So while I pick up the mess of a thousand men
I will also pick up my pen.
Ryan Seth Cole Jun 2020
A sword beaten by steel hammers and forged in the fire. The arrow thats pulled back before it is sent into the whiles. A collection of hardship and reprove to understand a time.

Where as demons and angels influence all but stagger a man's walk on a thin wire.
A breathe of resiliance and stubborn heart thats entitled to what He think's he deserves until He knows the truth and his speech is soured.

Egregious revalation to what he has done. He has offended the Creator. He has crucified His son. A confession is made and the war is won but the battle for submission is nearly but one.

A sanctification is initiated and a process is begun. This man's action's and word's are revealed by the sun.
The work that takes place is a tedious and time consuming one but the man's character is revealed to himself and to everyone.

He stuggles to find himself and align himself in the will of God. He yearn's for purpose and does'nt see that each moment is purpose that each exchange matter's. Everything is considered in everything he does.

God enables his obediance when God is often sought. This man comes to find that more often it is not. It is a miracle and blessing he has made it this far. More mercy has been offered than one might oblige. More forgiveness and patience. It is a miracle this man has not died.

Our protagonist finally makes it to the frontline. Where he is not perfect but God's will is pursued. This man speak's out and into open air. Where devils and vipers gather like moths to a flare. They come one by one. Collecting like froth on a stagnant bank. They come to hear this man speak but they're heart's are anything but blank.

His words shoot like arrow's never missing thier mark. He uses The Word as a sword slashing every falsehood, piercing every heart.

He continues through the day into evening's dark. There is but one that stayed. There is but one man among them that get's a new start. So the cycle is transfered but the job is not done. The wars is won but the battle is not just one.

-RSC
A journey of a man from sinner to priesthood. 2 cycle's broken and 2 cycles created.
Autumn Ehrhardt Jun 2020
I have bits and pieces
Melodies that mix and match
A song is only halved
Patched but to be trashed
Focus is not my friend
It takes a tremendous mile
For me to take on
A full composed surprise
Then to take the reins
I stop to compromise
These songs don’t need lives
And I just want to hide
Pretend all you want
You are scared to feel alive
Dave Robertson Jun 2020
Sometimes words fall out
vehement, blood high,
incendiary,
meat thought chained
like sausage link
or metal hard train cars
yanked by emphatic engines

Other times the pool swirls
and breezes blow
oppositional
and as lungs slow labour
thoughts drift and slip from place
languid fingers trace ripples
that may mean nothing

The mind needs time to breathe
and holler equally
so we can feed and be fed
Timothy May 2020
A universal decision
A fate sent diversion
A glimpse into what could have been

A divine sent reminder
A life path divider
A disapprover of potentially seen

A ubiquity of hope
A slate wiped clean
A youthful disregard of time

It’s unfamiliar surroundings
It’s a tortuous climb
But the views from atop are divine
Life can take the most unexpected of turns
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