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Alyssa Underwood Jan 2016
Lord, let them see me as a fool
If only You’ll undo me
Take pride and self and rights away
But beckon me come to Thee

If failing is what humbles me
If falling is what breaks me
Then let me fall and fail and faint
Just come, possess and take me

You are the One my soul desires
There is none other for me
So bring the storms, the trials, the woes
For in those best I know Thee

You see the pain my heart requires
To mold and make me like Thee
So send the fires which please You most
I will not fear what strikes me

I trust Your goodness and Your grace
They shall not ever fail me
You hide my life safe in Your grasp
Though hell’s worst fiends assail me

You’ve chosen me as Your own child
A treasure ‘cause You found me
You’ve named me Your beloved bride
With glory You’ll soon crown me!
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
I saw a path and ran ahead
I nearly lost my way
Your mercy caught me by the arm
To Your side You bid me stay

I put my hope in my own plans
Which soon around me fell
You stopped me short upon that road
And said, "Rest and all will be well."

I'd surrendered all, but to my foe
Enticed into the briars
You turned his evil schemes instead
Into refining fires

I couldn't see my helplessness
Until my legs were broken
Till Shepherd's hands caressed my wounds
And healing words were spoken

You picked me up and carried me
And made me feel Your favorite
You held my head against Your chest
Until I grew to savor it

You tended me with gentlest touch
Then soothed all thought of fears
You sang forgiveness over me
And washed away my tears

There is no one like You, Lord
On whom I can rely
In loss, in danger or attack
You hear this poor sheep's cry

It's You Who keeps me from real harm
Who watches my coming and going
You shield me with Your strong right hand
From darts the enemy keeps throwing

You said to all who trust in You
You would give perfect peace
Enough for mind and heart to rest
To let all worrying cease

So, Lord, I trust You with my life
Your Shepherd's heart is pure
Your purpose for me's guarded well
And Your deliverance is sure

Please teach this sheep, Lord, how to wait
And strengthen me to stand
To put my hope in Your desires
And to love Your sovereign plan

You lead me into fields so green
Where streams of life are flowing
Where healing winds blow oft' and strong
And choicest fruits are growing

You set me free to hear Your voice
To follow at Your call
And even through the dark, cold nights
I'll know You've arranged it all

Yes, storms will come with battering rains
With hail and gusts and thunder
But these are meant to beckon me
To Your wings to pull me under

For it's in the darkness of the storm
My grip's most apt to tighten
And when my heart beats next to Yours
All earthly burdens lighten
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2017
It's delight which flows without measure
from the assurance that through every circumstance
and detail of my life God is ever beckoning and drawing me
into deeper intimacy with Himself, ever whispering to my heart,
“Come closer still.”

Joy in the midst of devastating loss, crushing disappointment,
unbearable pain or scourging heartache is about the discovery of
treasure so precious and rare that it never could have been found
had we not been forced to walk a path of affliction in the desert.

It's in the isolation and brutality of the wild that we come to know Him
in ways that transcend the span of human imagining or desiring,
and all the songs and all the poems and all the masterpieces
taken together cannot capture an estimable description
of the pleasures that might be unearthed there.

There lies before us in our afflictions a vast and wondrous beauty
yet undisclosed behind the fog, and like a theatrical curtain
slowly pulled back to reveal a perfectly set stage
He will sublimely unveil it in His own directed time.

And we shall be elated at the view,
for it's against a backdrop of struggle and darkness
that the best and most moving of stories have always unfolded.

Maybe nothing truly beautiful can ever take form on earth
without the shroud of mystery and brokenness surrounding it—
at least not the kind of beauty that takes our breath away
and leaves us yearning to possess it.
~~~

"You have made known to me the path of life; You will fill me with joy
in Your presence, with eternal pleasures at Your right hand."  
~ Psalm 16:11

"O God, You are my God, earnestly I seek You; my soul thirsts for You, my body longs for You, in a dry and weary land where there is no water. I have seen You in the sanctuary and beheld Your power and Your glory. Because Your love is better than life, my lips will glorify You. I will praise You as long as I live, and in Your name I will lift up my hands. My soul will be satisfied as with the richest of foods; with singing lips my mouth will praise You. On my bed I remember You; I think of You through the watches of the night. Because You are my help, I sing in the shadow of Your wings. My soul clings to You; Your right hand upholds me."  
~ Psalm 63:1-8

"It was good for me to be afflicted so that I might learn Your decrees. The law from Your mouth is more precious to me than thousands of pieces of silver and gold."  
~ Psalm 119:71-72

"'Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her. There I will give her back her vineyards, and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. There she will sing as in the days of her youth...'"
~ Hosea 2:14-15
Kitt Dec 2018
gratefulness is the gold fillings
in your cracked porcelain skin
recognition of your brokenness--
not the brokenness itself--
is the beauty in imperfection.

white ripples across your surface become
golden seams. the tectonic design is
a topographical map of scars and stitches;
the adherence of
traits that don't otherwise connect.

"you are beautiful," he tells you as
he kisses each mark softly,
his lips tracing a winding path through
your gardens.

it is not his words that make it so
but they settle just the same
reminding you that it’s not the cracks
that make you glitter
but the gold with which you fill them—
forgiveness
grace
and love.
katryna Jan 8
Pagtatagpuin muli tayo ng tadhana,
Kung kelan,

                                                 hindi natin alam,
Kung saan,


                                                 hindi natin sigurado,
Isa lang ang dasal ko,
Sana handa tayo.
somewhere down the road
Caroline Feb 5
There is a stone, stratified in innumerable layers
Of the richest grays,
Round and breathtakingly smooth, like sea-glass-; polished by the Unending tempest of my spirit,
Relishing the most cantankerous, cyclonic waves.
It rests in my chest, just below my lungs,
Creating a stability in my core.
You see, it is this stone that alone possesses the ability to merge the scattered, and sometimes dissonant, songs of my soul.
It is a grounding stone, a fragment of the earth to call my own,
And like a Celtic dryad’s favorite dove,
I have aptly named it, and that name is,
“How I have been loved.”

It began with the drifting sands
Within my mother’s womb,
Her lullabies magnetizing embryonic silts,
Coalescing disparate forms through the ethereal beauty of her voice.

I vaguely remember being cuddled to her chest,
While she fiercely defended me against the monsters
She herself had faced:
“You will not be hurt, hit, *****, thrown!”
She threatened to brace herself between my tiny form and
Any darkness that would make my life even remotely reflect
Her own.
And there began the cementing of the stone.

And though the unforgiving cruelty of this life has easily tossed
My body to the ground,
My inner core, like stone, remains stubbornly resistant to the force;
Mercifully sound.

I don’t think I deserve these other loves that come to me;
The ones that wrap their fingers in my hair and
Smother me with kisses;
The ones that press me to the wall and take my breath with a
Desperate rhythm;
The ones that trace the outlines of my eyes with such tenderness
That even the hardened places within me

Cry.

Can’t you see?  I should ascend these impenetrable mountains
Within me, this solid stone, and perched above your pain,
I should be the one to reconstruct 'your' soul
Bone by bone.

And this is how
And this is why
I am a seeker of the stones,
Scouring the wild river beds for pebbles to present
To those who need a solid thing to build them up;
To call their own.

This isn’t boastful.
In no way do I ever picture myself somehow “above;”
It is just that, I now realize;
Every blessing that I live;
Every single thing I have to give
Is derived from
“How I have been loved.”
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
There lies before us in our afflictions a vast and wondrous beauty
yet undisclosed behind the fog, and like a theatrical curtain
slowly pulled back to reveal a perfectly set stage
God will sublimely unveil it in His own directed time.

And we shall be elated at the view,
for it's against a backdrop of struggle and darkness
that the best and most moving of stories have always unfolded.

Maybe nothing truly beautiful can ever take form on earth
without the shroud of mystery and brokenness surrounding it—
at least not the kind of beauty that takes our breath away
and leaves us yearning to possess it.
"'Therefore I am now going to allure her; I will lead her into the desert and speak tenderly to her. There I will give her back her vineyards, and will make the Valley of Achor a door of hope. There she will sing as in the days of her youth...'"  
~ Hosea 2:14-15
v V v Jul 2018
I have been to where
the lonely go, and I’ve
seen their luring towers,
calling those who
have no hope, who come
from far away to see

if coming was a mistake.

Will we ever know
who doesn’t go?
and what of those that go
but remain unknown?
Perhaps they go at night.

The horror of it.

To not be able to see the end
but still it comes and quickly.
A silent floating moment
in a winter of regret,
a springtime of longing,
a summer of sunshine,
Or a fall to the end

of the world in 7 seconds.

A super cosmic collider of
meticulous destruction.

Whether we stay or go
its all the same,
multi-layered levels of
brokenness,
no one is immune.
No one is immune.

Some spend time putting
things back together,
the spacing in the levels allows it.
Others break over and over
and over again,
no space for repair

while the pull of the towers,
the flaming red towers and
the fog rolling down
from the west promise silence.

When I stood at the edge and looked over,
the noise was deafening.

The ones without space
cannot hear.
Sheer May 3
Is there a chance for us to undo the past?
To correct our mistakes
To retract all the wrong doings
To take back everything

Is there someone, somehow, who can help me heal the pain?
Would there be anyone out there willing to take me in?
Who can be by side and mend me?
A living soul, who'll be there to catch me.

I'm scared. Yes, I am scared.
No, I am not. I'm terrified.
I'm extremely, terribly, gravely, terrified.
And it's terrifying that, I feel terrified.

I am nervous.
I am frightened.
I am horrified.
No, I am petrified.

But you know what the scariest thing of 'em all?
The most petrifying, horrifying thing?
Is that I am shaky and rattled—
But my body feels like sassy and comfy.

I'm getting used of doing unsuitable things
Feeling cozy and warm—
Relax and composed
It feels like having my second skin—

Oh, I know. I know —
I think — just a thought
That maybe, just maybe...
I need saving — help me.
© 2018 Sheer
All Rights Reserved.
Bumalik tayo kung saan...
Paano nga ba nagsimula?
Nagsimulang ang mga pangamba ko ay mawala,
nagsimulang pangamba ay mapalitan ng pag-asa't pagtitiwala.
Mga pagluha sa aking mata, ay tila naglaho na
Napalitan ng pagtawa, lumbay ay lumisan na.

Paano nga ba nagsimula?
Mamuhay nang kasama ka
Sa mga araw na kapiling ka—- bawat araw ay puno ng galak at pagsinta.
Tinuruan mo akong, mamuhay nang may saya
Pait ng kahapon ay naitapon na,
mula nang ikaw ang makasama ko, sinta.
Samahang walang papantay, punung-puno ng buhay!
Pag-aalaga ay damang-dama, suporatado ang isa't-isa.

Paano nga ba nagsimula?
Malalim na pinagsamahan
Masasayang ala-ala, na tila hindi maaantala—-
    ng kahit anong problema, sa atin man ay naka-amba
Magkahawak mga kamay, tayo ay hindi bibitaw.

Mga gala at lakad natin, na minsan ay biglaan pa
Mga oras na hindi natin alam, kung paano napagkasya.
Basta't alam nating... tayo ay masaya—- kahapon man o ngayon, at kahit na bukas pa!


Ngunit dumating ang panahon, tayo'y sinubok na ng pagkakataon
Masasaya nating bukas ay nagsimula na ngang kumupas
Hindi alam kung paano, tayo'y biglang nagbago
Tila nalagas na puno, hindi na lumago.

Akala ko ba ikaw ay "KASAMA?"
Hindi lang kaibigan o basta-bastang kasintahan
Kasama sa lungkot at pighati, kasiyahang hindi mawari
Pagkatalo man o pagkapanalo—- tayo pa rin ang magwawagi.


At ngayon...
Bumalik tayo kung saan...
Paano nga ba nagsimula?

Nagsimulang mawala ang paniniwala na tayo ay para sa isa't-isa
Nagsimulang matalo sa digmaan at piniling wag na lumaban?
Nagsimulang maglaho ang mga katagang "mahal kita"
Nagsimulang magbulag-bulagan sa katotohanang
b a k a   t a y o  a y  p w e d e   p a ?

Isip at damdamin ay di makaunawa
Hirap pagalingin ang sugat na sariwa
Sugat na iwan ng ating pinagsamahan
Pinagsamahan na akala ko ay aabot sa simbahan

Paano nga ba nagsimula?
Paano at kailan nagsimula?
Nagsimulang matapos ang ating pagmamahalan?

Kahit kailan pinangarap ko, maging ikaw at ako—- hanggang sa dulo
Paano mangangarap kung ako ay gising na?
Gising sa katotohanan na tayo ay
w a l a  n a?


© LMLB
This is a poem I made eight months ago. I think it's the right time to publish it to let the public read it freely, as free as I am right now. Perhaps the feelings have depreciated and that's why I wouldn't mind if someone would read this poem, based solely on my feelings couple of months ago.

There you go, you have it. Read this poem from my broken heart that's already mended now. :)
Empty halls filled with echoes of lost cries
Passageways
Dark
Damp
*****
Neglected by human hands
Leading to a chamber
Nearly empty
Except for one thing
Chained to a corner …a heart
Alone,
Crying,
Dying
Left to rot and wither
The tears turned to rage
Of loneliness,
Brokenness,
Grief,
Damage.
ConnectHook Sep 2015
†           †           †    

A quorum of biblical scholars
turned their doubts into thousands of dollars.
Armed with Document Q
they revealed nothing new
but the dirt neath’ the white of their collars.

A proud “health & wealth” Oklahoman
was renowned as a gospel-tent showman.
While the scriptures he twisted,
their tithing assisted
his rise from poor hick to rich Roman.

A sexually diverse professor
(assured he was not a transgressor)
spoke only of openness
glossing sin’s brokenness;
rainbows and tolerance – yes sir.

A Mormon, who lost his own ephod
Realized he was running quite slipshod
and invoked Joseph Smith.
(Yes, it may be a myth –
but it’s not like misplacing your I-pod…)

A Christian whose faith was prophetic
held to views that were truly pathetic.
This crazed Pentecostal,
not quite an apostle,
had taken an End-Times emetic.

A sober and staid Presbyterian
was distrustful of thoughts millenarian.
After smoking some bud,
he awoke with a thud;
in his sleep he’d become Rastafarian.

A preacher who fleeced his disciples
overdrew his own balance of scruples.
He was finally captured
(defrocked and un-raptured)
and rent by his destitute pupils.

A sister who waxed Pentecostal,
mistook herself for an apostle
Speaking pure glossolalia
she sure could regale ya’
with prophecy; crazy – but docile.
What's wrong? Too hard to LIKE me ?
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha  

         †           †           †
Saying, "I'm only human."
is not a free pass for horrible behavior,
It's a humble statement meaning,
I am capable of error,
but also capable of good,
it means everybody is
complicated,
both in thought and deed
when we admit to being human
that means we bare with one another's humanity,
however good or bad it might seem.
At the end of the day,
if we can fully admit
to our beautiful brokenness
then no matter where we are in the world
we are always with brothers and sisters.
Fellow warriors in a struggle called,
the human condition.
Illusion by the band VNV Nation
WS Warner Oct 2011
Static, memories
Emanating, separating  
The postcard- perfect
Still life speaks
From its storied past.
Invisible, to drift
Among  
The florid aphorisms,
Ending in
Deleterious debris,
Aftermath of
The inevitable.

Empty room, echo hollow
Tabula rasa -
Carpet clean, quite candid in it's
Return to callow.
Consciousness athirst,
Absorbing phenomena
Effervesce, inquisitive
Ideas foment,
Sealed inside a question.
The what -
Against the narrow
Scarcity,
And fatigue of should.

A tender malleable
Youth,
Betrayed, under
An assumed decorum -
Residue of truth,
Flattened emotion
Privations of a self
Unheard;
Misplaced affirmation,
Buried pathologies  
In architecture
Fear manifests symbolic.

Harboring apathy
The lunacy of pious
Pedigree,
Import contagion,
Fetters of benignity
Doubt and indecision  
Into ******
Cognizance,
Fallow spirits
Seep fumes of decay,
Credulity bleeds a human stain.

Social edifice, inoculated  
Heirs of neurosis;
Palpable, sensual pain
And transience, though
Tacit - remain,
Our haunted history,
The blind hyperbole,
Maudlin
Forbearance, this haven,
A portrait
Of immaculate condition,
Nurtured with precision
Under sterling pretense.

Provincial domicile -
House beautiful,
Savage irony -
Unseen treasure
Innocence unabridged,
Faces, tiny creations;
Compliant vessels
Wounded,  
While modernism murmurs  
Its promise.

Brave New World,
In a late model sedan,
Domestic ranch on a
Corner lot,
Suburban natives,
Silence means security.
The misunderstood
Speak louder -
Consumerism beneath    
Unvarnished ambition,
Never could
Repair the brokenness within...

© 2011 & 2018 W. S. Warner
zebra Feb 20
scarlet haught
queen of mirth
dog ****
drooling jewelry red splits
pulled by a chariot  
of six hundred million house cats
dissembling for freaky insertions
of scarlet bud flowers uterine tube

breath of spit
while ballet toes kiss fingers and tongues
glazing thickly tides sweat
bamming greased ****

Christ *****
"once upon a never more"
bi-sexed up
**** twitch glistening holes
drizzle fish
in red tents overturned
for fabulous *******
and angelic *****'s
flirty dance the come **** me  

her throat a never ending squealed gullet
sublime Madonna of Oor
bare thighed and pulpy spread
scissor strokes and stride
wagging tongue for rosy oleo sticks
and **** pastry rectums pulled tight
in lop sided temples of split flesh

another ambulance to the emergency **** ward
in a dreamland of leggy nurses

sacred fig of Freyja
Goddess to **** toys
and pretty pretty who go that way
hocus opus poke and stir
freckle face **** mouth
a lapping menagerie

i gird my ***** and follow her
into a cologned room; of dark rim box butter
***** yelping for
a slow grind in a belly of clams

red and velvet pageant
she nests in the heart
a midwife disturbia
to pregnant lust
being pushed down and worked up
till loosened in thick ****
and black whip afterbirth
like flowers of curves and blood

her banquet; a platter of wet orifice
trilling vibratos ******
and anxious kisses crawling through her mouth
like fallen angels flying
dire sister of knock out *******
pleading goth nuns for lesbian heated
Satan loving veiled Christian crotch
and a thousand delicious gaped
******* **** poundings
and mouth ***** **** plunge

crucifix of wrack and *****
****** and beaten senseless
instructions from the  book of night
of **** and spite
written by
Abrahams primitive nations
arms of the cross she is nailed to
sweet ***** waifs beaten dead
in a tillage of brokenness

mans club
shore of incinerated witches and tortured justice
shut up when your talkin to me
clan of honor
duo troupe
almanac of hell
James LR Aug 2018
The ocean blue turns into ink
and midnight sirens start to sing.
Lurking in alleys and over heads
And in the few million ways
That you could wind up dead
A broken night of windy chills
Is the brokenness that kills
When stars and moon can no man see
The sky is truly dead to me
The intensity with which we shatter,
Those what’s-left-of-us shards that cut you deep,
Brokenness and jagged edges matter,
When prices paid with pieces feels too steep.

Only two things cause our own destruction—
We’re broken from without or from within.
The damage goes beyond reconstruction,
We can’t build what we built before again.

Cracked into piles of debris on the floor,
The remnants of escaped emotion’s cage,
Whose seething burn couldn’t take it anymore,
Disposing of it disrespects its rage.

We’re broken so that something is released,
Those shards remind us what we have to do.
To put them back is just what matters least,
But don’t cut yourself making something new.
Instagram @insightshurt
www.insightshurt.com
Buy “Insights Hurt: Bringing Healing Thoughts To Life” at store.bookbaby.com/book/insights-hurt
matt d mattson Apr 2015
I washed my loneliness off in the soft pools of your warm body
In the rise and fall of the tides of your chest
I found redemption in the crash of your sighs
And the sacred secrets of your tremulous breathing

I sought shelter in the shade of your *******
The hot corners of your hungry mouth
In the small creases at the edge of your eyes
There was solace in the shadows of your flesh
That could hide my brokenness

For the storm of those moments
That collected like the splintered beams
Of crashed ships on the shore
I was free

And when your breathing slowed,
And the doors of your eyelids opened
I realized once more the depth of my solitude
Once more I saw the dirt on my soul
The dust collecting on my walled away heart
That grew old and bitter in its isolation.

I knew I did not love you

And I was using you

In the hot sweat of your desire,
I washed away my loneliness

But, I did not love you
And I never tried
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