With His Love, we can handle
all things; He strengthens us
and we possess a hope in Him.
We can endure, in the power
of His Name! Our Lord, Jesus,

has reminded us to not delight
in evil things; instead, we’re
to persevere in all things. Let
us honor, trust and praise Him!
We’re to be in constant cheer…

since He overcame this World!
Therefore, let’s live as those,
who are mighty and victorious,
in His precious Name! Snares of
our souls are broken; expose

your doubts and repent of them!
Nothing will separate us, from…
His Love and Salvation; become
more than a conqueror! We’re to
press forward for His Kingdom,

until His, mighty return!

he was intelligent
but he was a damaged one

she was kind
but she was a complicated one

they were almost in love
but their story wasn't made for this life

I used to own a bottle
of pieces of my self
And as I grow
The bottle broke
Like stars making out

I used to own the hat
of the likes of us
And sit in comfort
As we hang
on the ceiling rat

I used to own a book
of people I love
But time
Tore it apart, over and over
without care

I used to light a fire
of my passion and heart
As others take warmth
Without their sorry faces
Smiling in the dark

I used to see a light
of life as it passed
but lately I see
The shadow that's left
Swallowing my whole

I used to own a lot of things
Now I own nothing
And maybe that's who I am
Maybe that's the pieces of my love
as I am
without you...

Someone once said to me, “It’s the little things that drive you crazy!”

It’s not.

It’s the little things that drive you sane — pills, pats and pets.

All honor for what is small: dollops and gobs and dabs, the edges of pie crusts, chocolate shavings.

Hail micro-sacredness of life, tiny flotsam and mini-jetsam — veins, mists, creeks, fogs.

Is it not life’s micro-detail, womp and woof of wondrous world, that moves us to gratitude?

Drops, pinches, dashes, rain, cinnamon, lotion; fermions, flounces, hadrons, hats, bosons, bacon bits, antiquarks — there is a breath-taking thereness in the smallest things.

And then at last there is the weight and force of slivered, severed time.
The massive power of one, tiny, single “was.”

The mighty microsity of one “will be.”

And the astonishing force of this quickly, quarky, snarky second’s “is.