#maker - Hello Poetry

gifts through senses abound (a maker of words) ties together poetry sounds in a forge called 'Cosmos' hammering sounds-out- words welded together (ringing of iron on iron) star-fire quenched in water.

0

May 23

May 23, 2026 at 3:40 AM UTC

nivek

star-fire quenched in water

gifts through senses abound (a maker of words) ties together poetry sounds in a forge called 'Cosmos' hammering sounds-out- words welded together (ringing of iron on iron) star-fire quenched in water.

8

There's a being out there we call existence and on his back we live. Few know he is there. Even fewer care. The world we know sprouts from the life he has gifted us. He breaks his back hauling us through day and night. His limbs have grown frail with hunger, for he has given all his nutrients to us, and we take without a thought for him. When we rebel and do harm to one another we cause harm to him as well. He is a parent– feeling all things so that his children may be free. His hands and knees are bloodied and ragged from crawling, while we do nothing to lighten his load, only to weigh it down. His eyes are bloodshot from watching us tear each other apart. They weaken with grief as he sees his children suffer at their own hands. His lips are raw from screaming our names, from whispering directions which we ignore. His tears only exist in memory for he sent them all to us so we may have water to drink. His skin is shriveled from ******* the moisture from his body and instilling it in ours. His chest is eroded from holding us close as we tremble in fear and in sadness. And still, he endures. For you. For me. For this fragile world he nurtures. For the hope that we will one day open our own eyes and see him– not as a myth, but our maker.

0

Nov 6, 2025

Nov 6, 2025 at 9:19 AM UTC

4mwkbcyk

The Maker Vs The Malfacter

There's a being out there we call existence and on his back we live. Few know he is there. Even fewer care. The world we know sprouts from the life he has gifted us. He breaks his back hauling us through day and night. His limbs have grown frail with hunger, for he has given all his nutrients to us, and we take without a thought for him. When we rebel and do harm to one another we cause harm to him as well. He is a parent– feeling all things so that his children may be free. His hands and knees are bloodied and ragged from crawling, while we do nothing to lighten his load, only to weigh it down. His eyes are bloodshot from watching us tear each other apart. They weaken with grief as he sees his children suffer at their own hands. His lips are raw from screaming our names, from whispering directions which we ignore. His tears only exist in memory for he sent them all to us so we may have water to drink. His skin is shriveled from ******* the moisture from his body and instilling it in ours. His chest is eroded from holding us close as we tremble in fear and in sadness. And still, he endures. For you. For me. For this fragile world he nurtures. For the hope that we will one day open our own eyes and see him– not as a myth, but our maker.

16

Maker Originator Innovator Landscaper Sculptor Painter Writer Director (Mould breaker) Care-Taker Sustainer Restorer Reinventor Renovator Collaborator Benefactor. Maker of all.

0

Apr 9, 2025

Apr 9, 2025 at 8:19 AM UTC

stevejeff

Creator

Maker Originator Innovator Landscaper Sculptor Painter Writer Director (Mould breaker) Care-Taker Sustainer Restorer Reinventor Renovator Collaborator Benefactor. Maker of all.

17

In the garden of eternity, before time’s bloom, We stood as whispers, in the Maker’s room. The world unformed, yet the truth aglow— Our souls, like stars, in His presence bow. "Am I not your Lord?"—a question profound, Echoed through the silence, a cosmic sound. From the depths of being, we rose to declare, "Yes, O’ Lord, we know, Your light is everywhere!" Not of flesh, nor bone, were we then made, Yet in His presence, our spirits laid— A pact eternal, in that sacred space, Our hearts forever bound to His grace. The veils of matter had not yet fallen, No night, no dawn, no stars yet callin’, Yet in that moment, pure and bright, We knew the truth, beyond all sight. O’son of Adam, heed this call: In the dust of time, we forget it all. But deep within, the seed remains— The covenant that never wanes. The world will tempt, and hearts may stray, But remember, O’ seeker, that ancient day— When Alast’s light shone through the soul, And we, in awe, were made whole. The soul that forgets is lost in the mire, But the heart that remembers burns with fire. The covenant still calls, in silence profound— In the rhythm of life, it echoes its sound. Rise, O’ seeker, from your sleep, Awake to the truth, from the heavens deep. In the silence of Alast, find your call— For He, your Lord, is the Source of all.

0

Mar 16, 2025

Mar 16, 2025 at 4:13 PM UTC

jamil-hussain

The Covenant of Light

In the garden of eternity, before time’s bloom, We stood as whispers, in the Maker’s room. The world unformed, yet the truth aglow— Our souls, like stars, in His presence bow. "Am I not your Lord?"—a question profound, Echoed through the silence, a cosmic sound. From the depths of being, we rose to declare, "Yes, O’ Lord, we know, Your light is everywhere!" Not of flesh, nor bone, were we then made, Yet in His presence, our spirits laid— A pact eternal, in that sacred space, Our hearts forever bound to His grace. The veils of matter had not yet fallen, No night, no dawn, no stars yet callin’, Yet in that moment, pure and bright, We knew the truth, beyond all sight. O’son of Adam, heed this call: In the dust of time, we forget it all. But deep within, the seed remains— The covenant that never wanes. The world will tempt, and hearts may stray, But remember, O’ seeker, that ancient day— When Alast’s light shone through the soul, And we, in awe, were made whole. The soul that forgets is lost in the mire, But the heart that remembers burns with fire. The covenant still calls, in silence profound— In the rhythm of life, it echoes its sound. Rise, O’ seeker, from your sleep, Awake to the truth, from the heavens deep. In the silence of Alast, find your call— For He, your Lord, is the Source of all.

32

met my maker *not for the first time, two acquaintances periodical, two boon craftsmen, artisansals, bs-gab-talking about who is surely the better poet, glinting, side-splitting, raucous laughter in our dueling self-mockery* *neither takes the other too serious, but of each other, we take endless, never satisfied, insufficient, each needier for the rapper inside and repartee, adoring our jiving unique camaraderie, all-the-while, knowing our balance unequal, but not caring* *for as equals we meet, to revel and reflect, revealing things of each other that only we know, meant not for sharing ever, for these webbed strands binding, at same time, release, permitting a tough honesty tally, truth not a concept, unnecessary, for how could we ever hide our love mutuel* *we sitting bestride and beside, in ye old, weather-beat-down chairs Adirondack, having come hewn from trees centuries old, now overlooking the Bay, we eyeing a solitary fisherman whom, we both knowingly aware, metaphor for that day that will come to collect me away to a new locale, where we will yet still needle each other, with mercy unforgiving, not for our misdeeds, for never* is forgivenessasked for or given, not taboo, but holy unnecessary for such is the way the between the designer and the artifact, the poet and the poem, the craft and the object, gardener and her fruits, a cellular understanding that comprehends the interlocking necessity of our natures, that our shared endings, are a duelity, both finale and gateway to our next poem! https://hellopoetry.com/poem/462537/how-i-observed-the-day-of-atonement/

0

Jun 30, 2023

Jun 30, 2023 at 7:46 AM UTC

nat-lipstadt

Met My Maker (you have too!)

met my maker *not for the first time, two acquaintances periodical, two boon craftsmen, artisansals, bs-gab-talking about who is surely the better poet, glinting, side-splitting, raucous laughter in our dueling self-mockery* *neither takes the other too serious, but of each other, we take endless, never satisfied, insufficient, each needier for the rapper inside and repartee, adoring our jiving unique camaraderie, all-the-while, knowing our balance unequal, but not caring* *for as equals we meet, to revel and reflect, revealing things of each other that only we know, meant not for sharing ever, for these webbed strands binding, at same time, release, permitting a tough honesty tally, truth not a concept, unnecessary, for how could we ever hide our love mutuel* *we sitting bestride and beside, in ye old, weather-beat-down chairs Adirondack, having come hewn from trees centuries old, now overlooking the Bay, we eyeing a solitary fisherman whom, we both knowingly aware, metaphor for that day that will come to collect me away to a new locale, where we will yet still needle each other, with mercy unforgiving, not for our misdeeds, for never* is forgivenessasked for or given, not taboo, but holy unnecessary for such is the way the between the designer and the artifact, the poet and the poem, the craft and the object, gardener and her fruits, a cellular understanding that comprehends the interlocking necessity of our natures, that our shared endings, are a duelity, both finale and gateway to our next poem! https://hellopoetry.com/poem/462537/how-i-observed-the-day-of-atonement/

32

Simulated tastes Emulated face Of a careless faker Think in haste, Take and you take, Living life as if it were a race What will you say, when you meet your maker?

0

May 1, 2023

May 1, 2023 at 9:19 AM UTC

manx-kronos-pragna

Box Trucks

Simulated tastes Emulated face Of a careless faker Think in haste, Take and you take, Living life as if it were a race What will you say, when you meet your maker?

7

Our Lord of life gave life to the winds, the waters, the flames. Our maker birthed them into being. What hands have gathered up the winds? What arms have wrapped the waters in a blanket? Whose feet have walked these flames? Only the Lord’s. But when we look around, we wonder, what’s going on? We harnessed the winds and harvested the whirlwinds. We dammed the waters and stopped the streams. We burned the forests and they kept on burning. What’s going on? You breathed the winds, but not like these. You sent a flood but said never again. You lit the way, but this fire’s unchecked. Lord, what’s going on? You rebuked the wind – can you do that again? You calmed the waves – can you speak once more? You baptised with flames – can you tame them now? Lord, what’s going on? God of sun and hail, of arid plain and blizzard Lord, come like thunder and earthquake, Lord, roar like windstorm and tempest. Lord, spread wide like a devouring fire. Come, Lord, come. Come on. The Spirit of God has sown in our hearts the beauty of this gifted world. He fans the spark that remains of our desire to care, to build and not destroy. He refreshes our souls even as we grow weary. He watches. He watches. Let’s go on going on. Come on.

0

Oct 18, 2021

Oct 18, 2021 at 4:37 PM UTC

stevejeff

A climate Psalm

Our Lord of life gave life to the winds, the waters, the flames. Our maker birthed them into being. What hands have gathered up the winds? What arms have wrapped the waters in a blanket? Whose feet have walked these flames? Only the Lord’s. But when we look around, we wonder, what’s going on? We harnessed the winds and harvested the whirlwinds. We dammed the waters and stopped the streams. We burned the forests and they kept on burning. What’s going on? You breathed the winds, but not like these. You sent a flood but said never again. You lit the way, but this fire’s unchecked. Lord, what’s going on? You rebuked the wind – can you do that again? You calmed the waves – can you speak once more? You baptised with flames – can you tame them now? Lord, what’s going on? God of sun and hail, of arid plain and blizzard Lord, come like thunder and earthquake, Lord, roar like windstorm and tempest. Lord, spread wide like a devouring fire. Come, Lord, come. Come on. The Spirit of God has sown in our hearts the beauty of this gifted world. He fans the spark that remains of our desire to care, to build and not destroy. He refreshes our souls even as we grow weary. He watches. He watches. Let’s go on going on. Come on.

36

Dreams maker ... flying ... diving ... searching ... and follow ... your scent ... as a bird morning ... follow an aroma flower ... a wet young rose ... to get it's water ... to irrigate ... from it's love ... as me too always do ... with every night ... when eyes got sleepy ... got ready to draw ... to the mind ... to paint ... a story dream ... to start searching ... about you ... between all trees ... into my forests dream ... until i get you ... to start my sweet dream ... with you ... from the sweet part of you ... the part that i adore ... to start with ... it's the door's love ... where we both ... breathing one other breathe ... to start that great making love ... it's your lips sweetheart ... where i do start with ... it's the part ... that i made ... to make my dream ... with you ... until i wake up again ... hazem al ...

0

Aug 9, 2021

Aug 9, 2021 at 1:48 AM UTC

hazem-al-jaber

Dreams maker ...

Dreams maker ... flying ... diving ... searching ... and follow ... your scent ... as a bird morning ... follow an aroma flower ... a wet young rose ... to get it's water ... to irrigate ... from it's love ... as me too always do ... with every night ... when eyes got sleepy ... got ready to draw ... to the mind ... to paint ... a story dream ... to start searching ... about you ... between all trees ... into my forests dream ... until i get you ... to start my sweet dream ... with you ... from the sweet part of you ... the part that i adore ... to start with ... it's the door's love ... where we both ... breathing one other breathe ... to start that great making love ... it's your lips sweetheart ... where i do start with ... it's the part ... that i made ... to make my dream ... with you ... until i wake up again ... hazem al ...

41

you said my poetry is rough? hahaha yeah that's because my thought's tear apart the thought maker

0

Nov 4, 2020

Nov 4, 2020 at 2:04 AM UTC

poisonedelixir

thghtmaker

you said my poetry is rough? hahaha yeah that's because my thought's tear apart the thought maker

10

When fear comes in like a thief in the night, When it grips your throat and lifts you up out of bed, When your wandering eyes glimpse what your heart has been desiring for months, When you give in to the temptation instead of looking to the breaker of chains, This is when your faith is tested, this is when you see how weak you really are. I sat and I listened. I sat and I read. I sat and I determined that I don't like being alone with my thoughts. I sat and I realized I am scared of my own inner voice. It caused me to remember past mistakes I wish were not in my head. It caused me to miss someone even more than I already do. It made me realize I am not dependent on my maker enough. But at the same time what is enough? Can you love enough? Can you pray enough? Can you read enough? Are we ever enough? In this world we are going to make mistakes. We are going to hide from the ones we love. We are going to be present and listen to them. In this world, it is a dichotomy of light and dark. When the fear comes and when it takes hold, what do I do? Do I sway to the left or do I sway to the right? Which side is the correct path? Is either way correct? Do I just need to sit, listen, and pray? When I enter into the presence, I hope it is enough. For when I pray those uneven, and negative thoughts creep in. I get too scared to pray, I get too scared of change. I am scared of these thoughts, I am scared that they will never go away. It's ***** It's messy, It's a time where sin takes your faith hostage, But at the same time, it strengthens your faith and requires you to quiet your soul. Uneven, broken, failures, and grief. Hope, joy, and relief. A mix of who I am who I want to be. A love that passes all understanding, One that can cure the wound that doesn't seem to ever get clean.

0

Jul 19, 2020

Jul 19, 2020 at 2:10 PM UTC

Coming_Back_to_Mortality

Enough

When fear comes in like a thief in the night, When it grips your throat and lifts you up out of bed, When your wandering eyes glimpse what your heart has been desiring for months, When you give in to the temptation instead of looking to the breaker of chains, This is when your faith is tested, this is when you see how weak you really are. I sat and I listened. I sat and I read. I sat and I determined that I don't like being alone with my thoughts. I sat and I realized I am scared of my own inner voice. It caused me to remember past mistakes I wish were not in my head. It caused me to miss someone even more than I already do. It made me realize I am not dependent on my maker enough. But at the same time what is enough? Can you love enough? Can you pray enough? Can you read enough? Are we ever enough? In this world we are going to make mistakes. We are going to hide from the ones we love. We are going to be present and listen to them. In this world, it is a dichotomy of light and dark. When the fear comes and when it takes hold, what do I do? Do I sway to the left or do I sway to the right? Which side is the correct path? Is either way correct? Do I just need to sit, listen, and pray? When I enter into the presence, I hope it is enough. For when I pray those uneven, and negative thoughts creep in. I get too scared to pray, I get too scared of change. I am scared of these thoughts, I am scared that they will never go away. It's ***** It's messy, It's a time where sin takes your faith hostage, But at the same time, it strengthens your faith and requires you to quiet your soul. Uneven, broken, failures, and grief. Hope, joy, and relief. A mix of who I am who I want to be. A love that passes all understanding, One that can cure the wound that doesn't seem to ever get clean.

39

What my hands should’ve felt You took on yourself When they strapped to the cross The maker himself

0

Apr 6, 2020

Apr 6, 2020 at 4:02 PM UTC

colettealexia

Savior

What my hands should’ve felt You took on yourself When they strapped to the cross The maker himself

4

Happiness maker ... music and colors ... and a quiet dance ... sweet poetic night ... and a warm lap ... into a bed love ... where no any words ... just brighten eyes ... and lips' whispers ... to start a great sweet night ... smile ... just do it baby ... to let me get ... the happiness ... while i'm looking ... at your eyes... so,... smile baby ... and get your wish ... to start our great love ... smile sweetheart ... we are together now ... to give you a happiness ... as you gave it to me ... from your smile ... good morning ... hazem al ..

0

Apr 6, 2020

Apr 6, 2020 at 1:41 AM UTC

hazem-al-jaber

Happiness maker ...

Happiness maker ... music and colors ... and a quiet dance ... sweet poetic night ... and a warm lap ... into a bed love ... where no any words ... just brighten eyes ... and lips' whispers ... to start a great sweet night ... smile ... just do it baby ... to let me get ... the happiness ... while i'm looking ... at your eyes... so,... smile baby ... and get your wish ... to start our great love ... smile sweetheart ... we are together now ... to give you a happiness ... as you gave it to me ... from your smile ... good morning ... hazem al ..

27

Lean Harvests by Michael R. Burch for T.M. the trees are shedding their leaves again: another summer is over. the Christians are praising their Maker again, but not the disconsolate plover: i hear him berate the fate of his mate; he claims God is no body’s lover. Published by The Rotary Dial and Angle. Keywords/Tags: plover, skeptic, atheist, agnostic, Christians, god, creator, maker, fate, mate, berate, lover

0

Mar 27, 2020

Mar 27, 2020 at 4:58 AM UTC

michael-r-burch

Lean Harvests

Lean Harvests by Michael R. Burch for T.M. the trees are shedding their leaves again: another summer is over. the Christians are praising their Maker again, but not the disconsolate plover: i hear him berate the fate of his mate; he claims God is no body’s lover. Published by The Rotary Dial and Angle. Keywords/Tags: plover, skeptic, atheist, agnostic, Christians, god, creator, maker, fate, mate, berate, lover

12

appearances continue to be the decision-maker we as animals need optic sensitivity first what is next Brian Hill - 2020 # 64

0

Mar 4, 2020

Mar 4, 2020 at 9:19 AM UTC

halfpac11

4

how lonely it must be to know, and know alone

0

Feb 11, 2020

Feb 11, 2020 at 7:14 PM UTC

solunarEclipse

god

how lonely it must be to know, and know alone

3

Out of the womb into the microwave. Lost in it's soup till it pulls you beneath the grave. Get this woodpecker out of my head, I can't hear myself think. It's voice speaks through the radio, telling me to go build the anti man. Seeing life through the anti man's eye, We are all perceiving a lie. Hold it in your hands, Wear it on your heads, Put it in your arm. You are pushing yourself into place. We're killing god, And we're building the anti man. We are at war, With our maker!

0

Mar 3, 2019

Mar 3, 2019 at 7:07 PM UTC

MisfitOfSociety

Anti Man

Out of the womb into the microwave. Lost in it's soup till it pulls you beneath the grave. Get this woodpecker out of my head, I can't hear myself think. It's voice speaks through the radio, telling me to go build the anti man. Seeing life through the anti man's eye, We are all perceiving a lie. Hold it in your hands, Wear it on your heads, Put it in your arm. You are pushing yourself into place. We're killing god, And we're building the anti man. We are at war, With our maker!

16

when i meet the maker she is no man but a woman with a cigarette in one hand and exhilaration in the other with love in one eye and disdain in the other. i look at her as she looks at me with those eyes she raises an eyebrow as those eyes sweep over m e ‘why are you here’ the question hangs in the air such as a bird would before it has to choose whether to fly or fall ‘to meet you’ i answer she just throws her head back and laughs the sound of bells filling the void though i grow cold and frightened when the sound reaches me ‘what’ she locks eyes with me, sending shivers along my spine then her answer chills me to the bone her idea her question hangs in the air like an angel ‘what makes you think i want to meet you’

0

Feb 6, 2019

Feb 6, 2019 at 5:37 PM UTC

ainsleydiane

The Almighty

when i meet the maker she is no man but a woman with a cigarette in one hand and exhilaration in the other with love in one eye and disdain in the other. i look at her as she looks at me with those eyes she raises an eyebrow as those eyes sweep over m e ‘why are you here’ the question hangs in the air such as a bird would before it has to choose whether to fly or fall ‘to meet you’ i answer she just throws her head back and laughs the sound of bells filling the void though i grow cold and frightened when the sound reaches me ‘what’ she locks eyes with me, sending shivers along my spine then her answer chills me to the bone her idea her question hangs in the air like an angel ‘what makes you think i want to meet you’

28

Once I was a preserver a wayfarer a maker but later you turned me into a useless stargazer by losing the will of being your tracer I ceded my kismet on becoming an engraver I grew to be nothing but a moveless eraser

0

Jun 6, 2018

Jun 6, 2018 at 3:40 PM UTC

diana-bosa-engler

Deadlock

Once I was a preserver a wayfarer a maker but later you turned me into a useless stargazer by losing the will of being your tracer I ceded my kismet on becoming an engraver I grew to be nothing but a moveless eraser

8

once a delight to splurge an assortment of chocolate while enhance its purveyor like copious spoons on layers there that'd make confection sweet as pie but connoisseurs haven't hastened the dictate conclusively every time

0

Jan 28, 2018

Jan 28, 2018 at 9:52 AM UTC

poetman

chocolate

once a delight to splurge an assortment of chocolate while enhance its purveyor like copious spoons on layers there that'd make confection sweet as pie but connoisseurs haven't hastened the dictate conclusively every time

17

It is time to change the way things are, scratch that smell from our noses, like **** in a bottle chucked out the window while going 90, The free fall fogs up the glasses on a blushed face, 40oz till we down the sound of crying, Lie across the ocean Lie across the land Send truth over and watch it slip through the cracks, Breached news of frustration calls "Canada is coming, what the **** is America doing," We do our best to travel against all odds, piloting a spoon made of silver into a greedy pocket originally meant to feed those eating mud pie, baking in an ever dying sun as fish float up to the surface, Choking down the salt water to avoid drill, give them a gun instead, it will protect our false memories and concocted purpose, This was paid for by ink soaked bones working in minimum oxygen to the brain, featured on rolls of film stripping off clothes covered in lust, Taking hold of a crowd with merely this voice, conducting an audience with bed knobs and broomsticks, rhythmically grinding the **** awry, taste this sun from the lips of a fairy, mystical or not we were there to receive, Open our hearts via chaos trained messages, massaging back pains to the point of tears, electromagnetism therapy causing the lights around the dance floor to flicker, moving at incomprehensible speeds relating colors between points B to Z, On numbered grids the scale is curved to fit the description of another one biting the dust, And as we finally rest on cold stones the Panic sets in.

0

Jul 3, 2017

Jul 3, 2017 at 3:30 PM UTC

kyle-madill-baker

Paniced theory

It is time to change the way things are, scratch that smell from our noses, like **** in a bottle chucked out the window while going 90, The free fall fogs up the glasses on a blushed face, 40oz till we down the sound of crying, Lie across the ocean Lie across the land Send truth over and watch it slip through the cracks, Breached news of frustration calls "Canada is coming, what the **** is America doing," We do our best to travel against all odds, piloting a spoon made of silver into a greedy pocket originally meant to feed those eating mud pie, baking in an ever dying sun as fish float up to the surface, Choking down the salt water to avoid drill, give them a gun instead, it will protect our false memories and concocted purpose, This was paid for by ink soaked bones working in minimum oxygen to the brain, featured on rolls of film stripping off clothes covered in lust, Taking hold of a crowd with merely this voice, conducting an audience with bed knobs and broomsticks, rhythmically grinding the **** awry, taste this sun from the lips of a fairy, mystical or not we were there to receive, Open our hearts via chaos trained messages, massaging back pains to the point of tears, electromagnetism therapy causing the lights around the dance floor to flicker, moving at incomprehensible speeds relating colors between points B to Z, On numbered grids the scale is curved to fit the description of another one biting the dust, And as we finally rest on cold stones the Panic sets in.

13

When I'm like this I can paint on the wind with a feather brush And mix the colors fervently Though I do not stain I can hold the canvas however I please And hang it on a lively tree Just for you to see The way which these creations have made me

0

Jun 29, 2017

Jun 29, 2017 at 9:29 PM UTC

colmistoirm

In The Mood

When I'm like this I can paint on the wind with a feather brush And mix the colors fervently Though I do not stain I can hold the canvas however I please And hang it on a lively tree Just for you to see The way which these creations have made me

8

I'm the Giver! I'm the Safer! I'm the Secret Keeper! I'm the Peace Maker! And she stood there...turning her eyes away from me... And she Stood there...away from her car and her body refuses to leave... And she stood there...covering her body with her gentle hands in shyness... She...Asked.... "Can I ask you for something!"!! With A smile...With a trembling Heart...With I said "I will give that Hug" that I hold it back hours ago!!... Throwing herself into my arms, and hiding her face out of shyness... She threw herself, saying in silence "I want to feel safe!"!... She threw herself, clinging strongly to my chest as if she is saying..." Don't Disappear!"... She.....didn't know before she asked... All her prayers were answered!!!!

0

Nov 27, 2016

Nov 27, 2016 at 2:50 AM UTC

mazen-edlibi

Can I ask you for something!

I'm the Giver! I'm the Safer! I'm the Secret Keeper! I'm the Peace Maker! And she stood there...turning her eyes away from me... And she Stood there...away from her car and her body refuses to leave... And she stood there...covering her body with her gentle hands in shyness... She...Asked.... "Can I ask you for something!"!! With A smile...With a trembling Heart...With I said "I will give that Hug" that I hold it back hours ago!!... Throwing herself into my arms, and hiding her face out of shyness... She threw herself, saying in silence "I want to feel safe!"!... She threw herself, clinging strongly to my chest as if she is saying..." Don't Disappear!"... She.....didn't know before she asked... All her prayers were answered!!!!

14

Seeking solace in the impenetrable fortress that I built Only for the walls to be pierced by the arrows of my own guilt Can anybody really differentiate between the truth and the lies? Is our failure to do so the reason we resort to temporary highs? Deep down I know, my true Love looks down upon me from the skies I just hope in my silence He could hear my prayers and my cries. If you awake to news that I have died in the morn Be still Don't cry, don't mourn No need for you to get down on two knees, all I ask for is a little prayer And remember me for my good deeds so I can be prepared to meet my Maker

0

Nov 14, 2016

Nov 14, 2016 at 7:27 AM UTC

aladam

My Last Will

Seeking solace in the impenetrable fortress that I built Only for the walls to be pierced by the arrows of my own guilt Can anybody really differentiate between the truth and the lies? Is our failure to do so the reason we resort to temporary highs? Deep down I know, my true Love looks down upon me from the skies I just hope in my silence He could hear my prayers and my cries. If you awake to news that I have died in the morn Be still Don't cry, don't mourn No need for you to get down on two knees, all I ask for is a little prayer And remember me for my good deeds so I can be prepared to meet my Maker

20