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Lane O Sep 8
Black rosary beads
Holy prayers uttered to God
Penance for my sins
Ann Pedone Jul 24
I believe in ghosts, I believe in luck and fate and destiny/I roll the dice whenever I get the chance/sometimes I count out beads on a rosary/I keep hidden/in a drawer/I’ve been to Paris/but I’ve never beento Berlin/I ****** a man on the roof of a building/after a party once/I don’t remember his name/ sometimes I play dumb
I sometimes/don’t know how to draw boundaries/sometimes I don’t/cross my legs/I’ve been told I should see a therapist/remind me again how you like your coffee/tell me when you are about to ***/don’t make me/wait for it/tell me again that you want me more than her/I won’t say my body is like a rosary/but
sometimes/ it feels like one/let me teach you how to please me/let me show you how to open my legs/just/like this/can you
see it/this is the part of me that is connected/straight to my brain/touch me here/and I’ll/grow wings/touch me here
before the river of my body runs dry/I need to take a shower/I need to get on a plane in an hour/I need to try harder to forget his face
long before I was a woman I was a thing burning in the middle of the sea/I was in the middle of the sea I closed my eyes and mouthed the word waves/the water changed the shape of my body as only water can
awknight Jul 2018
standing across from me
a room full of sound
everything is so quiet

folded arms scare me

but then something changes
I see your eyes
they are scared too

I dont feel so alone

look into my heart
see what no one has
truth of outpouring
emotions and demons

you are sacred cloth
          I reach for you
you are holy water
          Baptize me
you are a crucifix
          I worship you
you are christ
          Save me

they burn at the sight of you
Furey May 2018
Eyes glance back and forth
They wore identical masks
Chained together in silver
The moving of a car over potholes
When they were caught
Their masks were removed
A girl and a boy
Held together by nothing more
Then a rosary with Dismas
It is held in their hands
Clasped together in the back
Bars divide them and their captors
The boy is whispering
The girl recites with him
The man in the front yells
The car crashes into another
Shielding her he takes the blunt of it
Glass flies and a bar breaks
"Let's go"
His words loud in the silence
The two climb out
Immediately surrounded by 'family'
The ones that saved them
Today they are seperated by cities and bars
By people who don't want them together
By oceans and lakes
But they each hold a piece
Of the same rosary from all those years ago.
Francie Lynch Nov 2017
An open Rosary,
Sprawled on the table
Has the shape of Eire.
Towns joined like beads
On winding, rope roads.
At the end of the main street
In Shercock, Lough Egish,
Or a thousand other towns,
Looms the church spire,
God's rod.
The square still bustles on Wednesdays.
The smithy's forge
Now lights up a Paddy Power;
The Euro Store sells needles and thread
Where once a seamstress sat;
Shish Kabobs on flat bread sell
Where the butcher's counter displayed the day's cut.
But scrape away the paint
And attend to the devotion and mystery
Of small town Erin;
Where only the pubs maintain names
Decade after decade.
There, on the wall, see the rebels
Enjoying a football match,
And the crowd, laughing,
Has their backs.
Eire, Erin: Ireland
hazem al jaber Feb 2017
Rosary dreams...




Picked up my pen...
and started to write...
writing and fighting words...
fighting with words which i pen...
maybe it will express about what inside me...
to express about the rosary dreams which i always live in...
dreams which aspire to reach the glory...

dreamed about it...
tried to work for it...
did all my best to get it as a reality...
and to be some thing...
some thing that can be an honor to me...

start writing...
write the pains which i feel about...
the pains because of those dreams...
the dreams which still not be a real yet...

our pains are because of those dreams...
dreams which we try to live in...
dreams which we saw and never to get it ,never...

but it seems so hard and difficult to be...
because the beauty dreams which we imagine...
never to be alive in our life...

maybe because of the stress which we suffer in...
and because of the oppositions in our souls...

but i will write and to express...
and its my rights to write...
to write about the life which i hope to...
at least i am writing now...
so i am alive...

dreams still dreams...
and never to be more than dreams...


by: hazem al ...
ShowYouLove Feb 2017
The First Sorrowful Mystery: The Agony in the Garden

Shortly before his death, Jesus goes to the garden to pray for grace and strength. He tells his disciples "Watch and Pray" Jesus enters into prayer so deeply that his sweat is as drops of blood mixing on the ground with his tears. Even in the great darknss and desolation, he finds strength to say: "Let this cup pass before me. But not my will, but as you will it Father."

Jesus tells us as he told his disciples "Watch and Pray". It sounds like a pretty simple task, but it's hard. In the midst of the darkness and despair, Jesus found strength and grace in prayer to his Father. In our darkest times, we can also call on our Father in heaven to sustain us. Jesus in the Garden of Gethsemane was as the Garden of Eden after the sin of Adam and Eve. Blood was used to cover sin and wash it away. The blood, sweat and tears in the garden are a reminder of our fallen state as well as an example of the Eucharist with blood and water.

We Pray: Jesus, help us to remember that whatever we go through in life, even and especially in our darkest times, remind us of the strength and grace we receive from our Heavenly Father. Help us also remember of your great love for us in your suffering and agony. Even when we fail, when we sin, when we turn away, you are with us. You love us, you forgive us, you run out to us and take us back. You counted up the cost and we are worth it. It cost everything and you paid the price so we wouldn't have to. Nothing we could ever do could amount to what you gave The best I can do is offer my life for you and my neighbor and try to die to myself daily. I am truly and eternally grateful, for by your amazing grace, I have the opportunity to be with you for all eternity. Thank you Jesus!
Diána Bósa Sep 2016
Recently you descried that
The hands of mine were
Full of crimson scars,
Like the beads of a rosary.
”What are these wounds
On your palm?” you asked.
”Were they caused by
The elisabethian roses of your garden?”
I said nothing, just (but) smiled blushingly,
But then later, while you fell asleep,
I leaned closely and whispered
My secret in your ears:
„In fact, all of these are
Stigmata of our love.
But possessing them makes me happy;
I wear them proudly.”
Cat Fiske Jan 2016
this day was no different than any other,
as we went through the tunnel onto the highway,
I think back to this mornings homily,
how the deacon spoke of this city's cross on the mountain,
I hung onto the rosary beads around my neck,
as if I was still looking for some answers,
and as ignored the smell of exhaust fumes,
as they mixed with the scent of chain smokers,
like a disastrous duo,
and focused my body outside the car window,
clenching my rosary beads I saw the cross on the mountain,
Holding them up the the window,
my cross covered the one on the mountain like it was its lost child.
for five minutes I felt like I had nothing to ask anyone,
I felt like my life was okay,
we drove into another tunnel,
and took a right on the exit ramp,
I never felt more peace in my life,
then I did as we drove home
that night,
it's true.
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