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Josh Overson Aug 22
Unreserved for you..
What am I to do...
Walk anxiously straining for balance
Around what you know I reverence?
My chest tightens, core tremors
Not sure if from excitement or weakness
As it could be both, and I do my best to cope
At which hope assembles my attention for battle
At which point in time can I travel?
Regardless I surrender my case.
Humbled in place.
Lest emotions waste.
The breathtaking curiosity in her face.
If the stars were made to worship so will I
If the mountains bow in reverence so will I
If the oceans roar Your greatness so will I
For if everything exists to lift You high so will I
If the wind goes where You send it so will I
If the rocks cry out in silence so will I
If the sum of all our praises still falls shy
Then we'll sing again a hundred billion times
James Rives Jun 17
night slept when she spoke,
creeping  back into its ceaseless
void in reverence or awe.
day paused enviously
at her brightness.
the winds fervently whipped
as she moved, and caressed
her in a motherly wrap.
she viewed this beauty
in nature as it viewed it in her.
taking aim at sunset,
she set herself
to become the beauty
she beheld.
Manpreet Gill Apr 29
Hot winds caused the charming petals to wilt,
Withered leaves slept under the dew quilt,
The sky looked red and fawn,
Rays of sorrow broke the dawn,
Icicles of trust started to melt,
Roses of love resembled a welt,
Cerulean oceans of wisdom turned black,
Light sleepers don’t like the busy track,
Life goes through phases like the moon,
Sky belongs to those who break the cocoon,
Graves have no room for grudges or vengeance,
Have no ill-feelings or hate, but only reverence.
Love’s Extreme Unction
by Michael R. Burch

Lines composed during my son Jeremy’s first high school football game (he played tuba), while I watched my wife Beth watch him.

Within the intimate chapels of her eyes—
devotions, meditations, reverence.
I find in them Love’s very residence
and hearing the ardent rapture of her sighs
I prophesy beatitudes to come,
when Love like hers commands us, “All be One!”

Keywords/Tags: mother, son, love, extreme unction, devotions, meditation, reverence, love’s residence, beatitude, beatitudes, heaven, unity, solidarity, togetherness, oneness, one
My convictions rest upon the assurance of things not seen. Like the infant who is not whole and yet to be wean. I am moved along by a light that I can barely see. There is a hope deep down inside. All the while it is the only hope that help's me breathe.

When all I have known is pain. When I did not live, I walked by shame. When I moved to change, I was chastised that I did not move the same. I assure you son there is a comfort through these things.

There is a light beyond the horizon that is buried by the dark. Which eyes have not seen but can be felt with your heart. Where weary legs kneel and All sin departs. Where you are justified and a new life starts.

My humanity questioned every step of the way but I had trust in One that all one day will soon change.

Your legs cannot carry you my beloved little boy, the road is not paved. It is an uncharted, terrifying terrain. It's every obstacle is met with strain. It's every heartache you will face along the way. It is not by yourself that you can make the way.

We are weak and flawed inside. If we had the strength; we would boast with pride. You must deny your depravity and cling to the Son to make stride. Accept and acknoledge just who you are. Confess it to Him that sit's on High.

Jesus Christ is the only way. He will supply you with His Grace. His Grace is sufficient. He will walk with you and supply you every step of the way. His love is greater than mine and He walks outside of time. But when He comes to rescue you it is always on time.

It is hard to see this or understand this when you are blind. But when He saves you son, He will also open your eyes. You will see that there is no chance of making it your own way. No chance at pleasing God unless you have Faith. My dear son, Jesus Christ is the only way. When you fall remember this name. When you arise rememeber His name.

He will be the one to bring you home to me. He will be the reason your heart sings. He will be in your weakness your strength. I love you so much. These are my last words. I pray you keep them and reverence them to be true just as I did and so I lived.

To my beloved first born.
-Mateo Cole Ortega

Your father.-Ryan Seth Cole
I write these words to be read to my son at my funeral. When the day comes that he might know how much I love him and what I want for him most.
Sythin Voxe Feb 4
I must have been a Star graced on the pale
and amber Sky against sharp edged Giants,
the way you searched for wings behind me.

A black strip of lace I was, but less frail,
I broke through the loudness and gifted you silence.
Though no Halo was rest on my crown,
You laid yours beside me.

Hark I did try, though the clouds are all that spoke.
I cradled you then, skin soft as bread.
Leaning over like grass in the wind
And planting Daisies on your breast.

Tempest came fast and the sunlight awoke,
opening the wound from its rising, and bled.
It gave an orange and firey tinge,
but the Blood was warm as it spilled over the crest.

Passionately, I held you stark.
The Thorns wrapped around your head and heels
but the River flowed down the Cliffs so steep,
to drown the Thorns in reverence.

And soon your eyes arose from the Dark.
I pulled your chin with my finger to watch you reveal,
and I noticed the Thorns had buried deep
and I worried what served as their consequence.

I could have questioned the Shepherd that rest on the peak,
"what bothers your black woolen Lambs?"
Knowledge so flooded and thought all fragmented,
I kept the silence floating where words could have been.

So we settled in the grove of a like-minded freak,
Glued horns on the Ovis so they looked like Rams,
Made sure the air was a sweet Rose and Wood scented,
And awaited the Sun to burn the mountains again.
The only people that can handle us, is each other.
Skyward Jan 20
I’ve seen some things and learned some things;
Listened to what I’ve been told.
Memories made of a world since changed
And the sum of all that I’ve known.
All of these things from my mind they will fade,
This in my heart I do know;
But it is those things I could never explain
That I hope to forever hold.
Aaron E Jan 18
Art is working within a frame. Knowing and exploring that frame, using contrast, drawing attention across the field.

It’s an extension of language. Which is metaphor. The default art of language is the frame we operate from within. The words we collect along the way, to place along the veritable canvas of open air.

You need the frame to create context, but it’s also limiting. And it’s only when we understand where our context collides with other broader or more pervasive contexts that we can reconstruct our frame. Transcend it, and paint a newer, more comprehensive picture within a newer, more robust, frame.

So how big should your canvas be. Smaller frames require concision. Bigger frames allow more expansive exploration.

One would think, by those descriptions alone that a larger canvas is better, but it also requires more discipline. We can easily lose ourselves in the expanse and be left with nothing but irreducible chaos. Jungle. Space. Ocean. Not because these expanses are truly irreducible, but because we haven’t developed enough to place any kind of conceptual frame around them. We can’t place them into a useful metaphorical context, besides pointing into the void and reveling in its mystery.  Dreaming up monsters or messiahs that only reflect our fears and ignorance.

But this isn’t a canvas it’s a concept  and it’s hopefully a clear description of why overconfidence in our understanding can lead us to creating a frame larger than we can effectively navigate. Painting ourselves into the void, swallowed by reflections of our own shortcomings.

It’s not pessimism.

Each person is a natural artist gifted with the capacity for communication and supreme adaptation. Very fortuitous developments compared to say; ******* ants out of a tunnel with an incredibly well adapted snout, or establishing mate worthy dominance by bludgeoning a competing male with large outcroppings of bone. Music, written word, spoken language these are the result of our creativity. Our propensity to shift the scope of our picture. Capture understanding from depth by reducing it.

Language only has the frames we construct within it. We must place the borders around our picture somewhere, and playing within each arbitrary space is what creativity is. The self limited but transcendental use of ones space or time.
While this isn’t what I consider “poetry” working through it helped me get some peace from my pessimism, which I thought was poetic.

Digging through this tangent really has stumped me in a way that makes it difficult to reduce into some coherent poem with any kind of resolution, but in this case I’m not as frustrated as I normally would by that.

Spinning these particular wheels has been a fruitful experience in its self.

Cheers.
Nathalie Dec 2019
She bows in reverence
of the teachings
now assimilated
Kneeling in piety
by the entrance of
the breathtaking beauty
of the cathedral

A calm is floating
through the air
and captures her
in mid flight
as she transcends
the narratives of the mind

~Nathalie
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