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Aislinn Miell Sep 2017
Before today, I had nearly passed it
Everything I was
Everything I felt
Had faded out.
I was me again.
The me that found comfort in an empty house
The me that did not despise faults
Nor repulse complexion
The me that could simply live as ONE
As if I could finally sense that beneath my hardened flesh
And weakened bones
I was in existence.
Reborn...
Aware of my ever-growing world.
Yet the end was foreseen
Neglected. Overlooked.
I just never expected it to be today
My fragile refuge is due to cave in
Its thin walls crumble and decay
until the only thing to breathe was your name.
showyoulove Jul 2017
The knowledge of God is like a mustard seed: tiny at first, yet it grows so tall
It takes time and love, faith and joy above all.
Spiritual growth is a journey; dangerous yet rewarding.
Each time we step, we grow a bit. Someday, on eagles’ wings, we’ll be soaring.
But we can’t do it alone. We need the one up above
And no matter what we do, he is looking down in love.
Walking with us in the good times and carrying us in the bad,
I look to the Lord as my brother, friend, and dad.
If we have the smallest bit of faith and find good water, soil, and light
We can take root and one day be a shelter for many in flight
With tenderness and care with patience and with peace
For one so small there is so much potential for growth and increase
See what God can do with so little and make it so grand
It’s astounding to image for you and me what God has planned

We live in a world where bad things and evil walk among the good and just
Sometimes the weeds and thorns choke out the good wheat
Other times, they grow together, wrap and intertwine and to pull out the **** is to **** the wheat
Jesus, you speak in parables to try and make the message more relateable, more easily grasped.
You also warn and remind us to repent and to be careful that we are not caught up in the temptations and wiles of this earthly life. Help us Lord to be open to your voice, to hear your word, and inter the message in our hearts and in our lives. May our eyes, ears, heart and mind be open and receptive soil to see, hear, love, and understand your love and truth. You are the Way to the Father, the Spirit of Truth and Light, and the giver of Eternal Life. Grant, we beseech you, faith and understanding the size of a mustard seed that we may grow in wisdom and stature before God and man and be a refuge for all those in need. We ask this and all things in your Most Holy Name, Jesus. AMEN
Poetictunes May 2017
Music was my refuge. I could crawl into the space between the notes and curl my back to loneliness.
Richard Grahn May 2017
Curled up by the fire
Mesmerized by its warm glow
Our love is burning
Renae Feb 2017
Be my mind today
Protect me from myself
The threats that atempt
to take away
My sanity
Be my heart
Help me not to sway
This way and that
Protect me from heartbreak
Be my helmet
Let me only look to you
Feed my mind courage
Let my strength renew
Be my shield
Let your word be my guide
Let me listen to songs
Your people sing
Bring out the best inside
Be my sword
The only one I yield
Make me remember
Scripture
Don't  let me listen to how I feel
I know my heart
Treaturous thing
So I know I need your help
In everything
I will ignore this heart
I don't want to assume anything
But you will help me through
Because you are my refuge
No matter what life brings
Ana S Dec 2016
This is my fire range
The place I put my thoughts when they are rearanged.
Yes this is my firing range.
The only thing keeping me partially sane.
When I need to let go I hold on
This page gives me a new dawn
So yes this is my firing range
Where I fire the most hateful words
With a wirl in my brain.
Welcome to my firing range.
A metaphors
the joke of spurted *****
sticks to her smooth skin
spider silk waiting for
some long-lost splendour

her eyes puddles of misfortune
full of double layers and his flames
violently demanding refuge spurred
by a heart taking hold of hers

somewhere
behind the human stench
a man must live
to gently grow old with
until nothing but the essential remains
small and slow and helpless
Kewayne Wadley Oct 2016
Her door was the sanctuary to inner peace; a sudden enlightenment
Engaging the candle of lit eyes.
Mindful to the calm hush; Disappearing in self.
Body, Mind, Soul.
Beside her door there was a lake wide awake with open ears.
I stood there Absorbing her wisdom.
A depth of kindness with each interchanging current.
I learned to speak without words. Connecting thine eyes with hers.
All else was swallowed; Exhaling, then breathing again.
Fingers extinguishing all else that threatened a light shone from her.
Her Eyes.
She'd shone me courage, grasping my hand. Entwining her path with mine.
I bowed to her and her alone in guided mediation.
At that moment there was no need for mirrors, realizing that she was my reflection.
My spirit animal, my refugee.
She taught me the language of her heart, being shown in silence.
I journeyed a place ears would have no use, my tongue becoming a stranger.
A total embodiment to the gift of her and her alone.
A beautiful lesson in poverty; Clinching my hands in prayer.
                                                         ­     Blessed in her presence
Migrant refugee
a place of temporary
community is everything for
The Afghan, Syrian, Iranian and Africans of all
from the jungle they came, to The Jungle they go.
A place to pass through hope
to go over to Dover and
beyond. Think so fond
of the other side.
Work, new life, peace
and family they seek.
On a journey to travel, men,
women and kids flee from
an evil chasing their race.
They stare death in its
face the whole way.
To leave it all behind in hope
to find that which is true.
Some French help, some unsure,
others come from afar
to serve and ask
"What can I do?"
to find there is nothing but to see.
Some pray and some say
"I will not stay"
after months of waiting
to leave with no more tricks in
their sleeve, oh Lord when
will they believe in this Jesus
who sets all free.
Calais is a city in France that borders Dover England separated by the English channel. Muslim refugees flee their nation as bombings increase in their neighborhoods from ISIS and other evils. By the time they have traveled through deserts and mountains fighting starvation and exposure to then drift across the Aegean Sea into Athens Greece, those who survive try to make it into the rest of Europe for freedom. Those few hundreds that make it out of Athens find themselves in a place called "The Jungle" in Calais, France. This is basically an old landfill that does not get used anymore, so the generous French government has made use of this space and has made a camp for the refugees in this place. Everyone who is there wants to continue moving to find more work and a better life. Hope and despair are a constant battle in these peoples reality. This refugee camp is called The Jungle because of the diversity of nations and culture represented in this community. What once was an official government camp for 1500 people is now surrounded by 5000 refugees in "tent shacks" and makeshift buildings provided by local ministries because no one plans on staying long term. But after a few years of a growing population, human attributes have made small businesses, shops and cafes with different communities in this vast landscape making every day life palatable for the people living in these  conditions. Every night people are trying to be smuggled across the English Channel on boat in anyway they can find.Hiding in a crate, truck and many others are a passport in their eyes as getting official paperwork in near impossible.
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