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Wipe my eyes, melting away the wax
of unrighteousness; to see into your grace,
and all it’s wisdom.

I’ve been blinded,— to not see the value of my
worth. In dusty mirrors, only seeing the worst.
A slave, a sinner, and being so undeserving of
your love.

Oh Father,—

Boys will be boys, but not rarely are the
men baptised in wisdom. Washed of their
former selves.

Spirit filled,— isn’t of the religious talk your lips
could exclaim. But of what really resides inside;
of you and your relationship with God, alone.

Voices are many, only in the quietest moments
of heading into sin. But it’s but a whisper of what
true righteousness speaks of.

Know that it is Him,— the King of kings,
Lord of all, as Jesus is and remains the one
true King.
This momentary breath of time
You are the Rhythm and the rhyme
You bring us close to the Sublime
We're feathers on the breeze
Holy Spirit lifts us up
We're feathers on the breeze

To Jesus side He brings a near
The Spirit changing atmosphere
As the air you will appear
We're feathers on the breeze
Holy Spirit lifts us up
We're feathers on the breeze

He is music 🎶 laughter 😃 love 💘
He lifts us and we lightly move
Unto Jesus up above
Feathers 🪶 🪶 🪶
Feathers 🪶 🪶 🪶
Feathers 🪶 🪶 🪶

Let us rise up on the morn
Let us rise above the storm
Let us rise we are reborn
We're feathers on the breeze
We're feathers on the breeze
Holy Spirit lifts us up
We're feathers on the breeze
Feathers on the breeze
Feathers on the breeze

SoulSurvivor aka
Write of Passage
Christian song
Joseph Miller Apr 19
There she lay
In aged beauty
All passion spent
Now peace
In eternal sleep

She is gone
If we forget
The love she gave
Is ours to keep

We who knew her best
In life and in death
Are compelled by her noble way
To heed a greater love
Than that of flesh and blood

Let us sing her song again
Grateful is the key
Her spirit is ours
For all eternity
In memory of my mother who passed peacefully on 3:16 2021 into everlasting life
The aspects of the Spirit
Have been compared to fruit
They're like jewels
within our crown
Brought up from the root
Of the Vine of Jesus
With the grapes so sweet.

Love is like a diamond
The priceless Kohinoor
It's matchless worth & loveliness
Eternally endure!

Joy is a fiery opal
Sparkling it whets
The fire in our spirit man
Reflecting sparking depths!

Peace is bluest sapphire
Pacific and serene
Imagine a perfection
As it Subtly gleams!

Patience is a virtue
The largest perfect pearl
It has sand within it
Yet gives grace to
all the world!

Kindness is a topaz
Unrivaled in Its warmth
It invites you to lie down
By its amber hearth.

Goodness is an emerald
The finest ever seen!
It shares its wealth
with all who need
So it stays ever green!

Humility is a chancery
Like the moon it glows
It is beautiful and so rare
Yet pride it never shows!

Faithfulness is turquoise
Persian and SO rare
It believes and it receives
Blessings not yet there!

Meekness is a beryl
Strong as Samson's arm!
It could break mountains in two
And yet it does no harm.

Long-suffering a ruby
It triumphs pain with good.
It's cut into a perfect heart ❤
Red as Jesus's blood.

Love and our Long-suffering
Are bookends bright and tall.
They keep all the rest in place
Yes... they keep them ALL.

SoulSurvivor aka
Write of Passage
Ylzm Mar 24
Breathless gasps of exhilaration from Beauty
Hair-breaths away from death in Truth
Stillness in the power, ferocity and utter terror of Fear
Such is the Gift of a ride on the Chariot of Fires
Ylzm Mar 21
In pain I labour and toil
for such is the lot of Man
The Helper comforts
not to take the pain away
but overflowing Spirit
revealing the ends
uplifting the Soul
into mysterious realms
of Truth, and Beauty,
and hidden things
Ylzm Mar 21
A mystery you can read and hear:
reading without understanding
and hearing without seeing

The wicked studied and searched diligently
to be on the right side at the right time
only revealing and judging themselves as evil

For without the Prophet's spirit
your interpretation reveals your spirit
oblivious to its grotesque nakedness

Only in private are mysteries explained
as parables were thousands of years ago
for you don't throw pearls to pigs

Then the mystery is as plain as the news
but not as the world count news
even as time is not as the world count time

Infuriatingly frustrating to speak plainly
it's obvious and inescapable as the sun
then your eyes open and you see the blind

Broken, stumbling, falling and crawling
proud of their wits, strength, and unity
I turn to see and touch the face of the sun
In straps, of wire saplings,
Becomes one wild rose.
Alone in the dawn,
A solitary crow knows
That this is beauty,
Greater than his own
Shiny black robe.
Impossibly regal
Red as a scarlet wail,
A siren, amongst all
The greens and yellows
Of a meadow, of the entire
World, is the rose, above those,
Especially the bleak, envious
Crow, latched to a branch
As scaly and gnarled as his soul,
Blacker than eternal night,
Beside the shining light
Of the rightly charmed
Wild rose,

             Sorry is the crow—
Most of all unmatched, strikingly
To long flame of chalk faced moon,
Rides in airs, misbegotten, makes
Desolate cries, of wounding caws,
Self inflicted, so, somehow seems
Unalive, tarred, undead as smoke,
His fettered, black, unfeathering
Eyes.  Not like the blooming spark
And flash of the stunning, runner,
Unbeaten, indomidible, shocking,
Wild rose, unmired by bramble,
Wood nor motley thorn of bush,
A star of life, razor cut, blistering,
Free, this spirited, ****** heart,
Set, a rage, on jagged leaf.

In tangled straps of green wire saplings,
A Rose is even more a rose, next to crow.
Kassan Jahmal Feb 26
Draw out all of your dreams;
the picture of it is much bigger than
it seems,
Could you give up that pen,
an addict to words that describe yourself?

Daily confessions; d on the words I'll
Probably on the lines of a paper to my life,
burning the old ways of myself,
The pen being the lighter.

I drew a dream in pen;
to last me forever,
Coloured the edges in bold,
just to feed my desires of pleasure.

A pleasure to be brave enough to
hold onto a dream, than onto guilt,
hold onto my heart, than onto a grudge,
hold onto my spirit, than onto empty pieces.

Pen out the picture;
words can't describe. In the spirit of giving;
giving myself the joy of a pen's reason-

To keep writing; when the words are short,
To keep scheming; when it feels pointless thinking,
To keep at it; when you feel so hopeless.

A spirited writer only dies,
when they decide to give up the pen.
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