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Steve Page May 2017
Blessed are the frustrated
For they know this life is defective
Blessed are those who resist
For they know that they await a liberator
Blessed are the impatient
For they have their sights on freedom
Blessed are those who live in hope
For they will not be thwarted
Blessed are the dissatisfied
For they know this is but a pale reflection
And blessed are those who
Despite the fight on their hands
Despite the yearning on their lips
Despite the ache in their hearts
They reach out in love
They speak in peace
They bring hope to others
For with such as these God's Spirit rests.
After a week of grief it's been great to meet and eat with friends.  Here's to you.
1 Corinthians 13:12
12 For now we see only a reflection as in a mirror; then we shall see face to face. Now I know in part; then I shall know fully, even as I am fully known.

See Romans 8:19-23
19 For the creation waits in eager expectation for the children of God to be revealed.
20 For the creation was subjected to frustration, not by its own choice, but by the will of the one who subjected it, in hope
21 that the creation itself will be liberated from its ******* to decay and brought into the freedom and glory of the children of God.
22 We know that the whole creation has been groaning as in the pains of childbirth right up to the present time.
23 Not only so, but we ourselves, who have the firstfruits of the Spirit, groan inwardly as we wait eagerly for our adoption to sonship, the redemption of our bodies.
aurora kastanias May 2017
Upside down
No one would like to admit,
Upside down
Is how the awkward things
Appear.
No use in contradicting
Conventional ideas
Of fearing individuals
Demanding constancy.

Strange thoughts and senses
Only serve the purpose
Of gossip, judgement, derision
And isolation.

They thought he was crazy
When he could not relate.
They thought he was stupid
When he could not understand
And explaining was a defeated battle
Before he even began.

Only someone blind
Seeing beyond
Attempted to comprehend
His upside down world.

He saw colours where there were none.
Letters and numbers tinted
On road signs, newspapers and books.
Different shades for different graphemes,
All but black. “A” was red.

He heard colours and saw sounds,
Moving shapes, length, width and depth.
Fireworks in his mind.
Voices, music, shutting doors,
Dog barks and clattering dishes,
All had colours only he would know.
“B flat” was orange.

Numbers had a place around him,
2 was closer than 1.
Time had a form in space
Quasi-tangible that he could grasp.
Sounds tingled his skin
With tactile sensations
On a body untouched.
Week-day names and months
Had their own personality,
Monday was a short temper man.

Words and colours
Had their own flavours,
“Love” tasted like cherry, blue
Like candy.
Even personalities had auras,
While pains sparkled rainbows.

Finally one day,
Though it made no substantial difference,
They told him his condition
Had a name:
Synaesthesia, they explained,
From Greek, sensations combined.
The new word gave him a thrill down the spine,
Its colour was lilac and it smelled like goat cheese.

I’ll never forget my friend
Who saw the world upside down
Teaching me colours as I see
Only black and different shades of grey.
On Synaesthesia and Achromatopsia
Tasman Suitor May 2017
Pony Tails belong on Ponies,
And yet she still insists,
To have one on her head
Swept back in utility bliss.

From there she can study
And run her errands
Paint paper, not her hair
And hide away split ends

In truth it is beautiful,
Even if it is just function,
For finding ways to live a dream,
Really takes some gumption.
Messing around one night challenging a friend to write about the most random things we could think of. I got pony tails but probably ended up writing about them.
Benji James May 2017
What is a life?

Is it a breeze gently brushing against your face?

Is it a heart in which you feel pain,

Just what is a life?

These memories of my past, feel distant, faint

in this moment, a sudden feeling overtakes

Your questions, processing inside of your brain.

Just what is a life?

Tell me will I ever know the feeling of fate, faith?

What answers lay beyond the stars, 

What answers lay dormant
Inside of this tormented mind

Just what is a life?

Is it a spray from the sea
hitting your skin

These drops upon my skin, glisten in the sun

Just what is a life?
Is it a happy moment in which, I can’t help but smile,

Haven’t felt that kind of emotion in a while.

Is this life the laughter of a child,

What kind of wonder and bewilderment
Does this life hold in store?

Keep thinking all these thoughts

And you’ll want to know more.

Just what is a life?

©2017 Written By Benji James
You're a starlight in the making
You shine
You shine so bright
If anybody doesn't notice you
I do

You move so swiftly
All my attention on you
Nothing else matters
Nobody can  come as close to having much meaning

You're a new definition
A living proof

By: Leory Santana Dawn
In the night we lied beside each other
Kisses were sterling silver and time was no more just as space.
You took me all in space with your gentle hands that brushed upon my naked body. I inhaled the sweetness and sour sweat with a passion knowing that it was only right that I was beside you. I've came to realize my desire was you all along and I've tried to escape my fear; my fear that I was falling too fast for you. Like potion in the nightfall you swept me away...it was only beauty that blinded me not love

By: Leory Santana Dawn
Britney Lyn Apr 2017
I admired her paleness.
It was like the bitter stillness of the winters landscape.
Or the soft, fragile feathers encased in my bedside pillow.
No color amongst those perfect pore-less cheeks.
Her lips a crimson red; a rustic brown, stained her teeth as she smiled.
I never thought I’d bestow my eyes upon such beauty, a goddess among the earth.
A wolf among mere sheep.
I wanted nothing more than to lift my hand and graze that face but I mustn't.  
Because she shined so bright against the rest and I refused to dull that shine.
My muddied hand was not worthy of such perfection.
I wanted no other to lay eyes on her skin, hair, body.
I would sooner gouge out my own eyes than loose sight of what I am seeing before me.
She will be my last vision, oh but what a vision she was.
I had multiple takes on this poem as I went along in its process. First I was thinking from a mans point of view to see such a beauty even he knew he could not have her. Then I thought how I could make it personal. So it became a piece about a women staring at herself in the mirror and loving what she sees. A women of perfection and never wanting to let that sight go. You are beautiful!
Seán Mac Falls Apr 2017
.
*The mind awakens
Light of meditation shines
Sun on the water
The third eye (also known as the inner eye) is a mystical and esoteric concept referring to a speculative invisible eye which provides perception beyond ordinary sight.
.
Leal Knowone Mar 2017
Over and over again this memory bombards my head,
but it is a memory I never experienced.
Visions of another life, or maybe the moment I was pronounced  dead.
The feeling is so real. Yes it feels visceral,
I mean this feeling is so  alarming.
Every time I live this  waking dream, a dark feeling comes over me.
The closest thing I can relate it to is impending doom, wondering if it comes, if it will be soon.
This vision has come to me more and more as of late
Seán Mac Falls Feb 2017
.
*Raven haired woman
Bathes in lake with sinking moon
Black swan drowning light
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