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Alyssa Underwood Jul 2016
child of heart
but not of womb,
would i'd been
gifted to ban the
hope-thieving,
spirit-throwing
parasitic lies,
to shelter ears
& fragile petals
against bruising,
whiskey-glazed
acts and words.
would i might be
gifted now to
soothe, cradling 
tender soul through
deadest night's
watery gloom.
yet firmly i know
none other will ever
be gifted to bestow
what only One balm
can perfectly renew,
and He waits for you,
my beautiful girl.
Harley Oliver Feb 2014
when the colors turn to shades of grey
one thing will never change
that swirl of sunlight
in your eyes with
a glimmering mouth to match

head in the clouds
feet planted firmly to the ground
one thing to count on
that of the summer breeze
always blooming away
the blissful scent of you
sucking the air out of me
like a vaccum.

so keep on loving me
the way you did last summer
when the grass was greener
and your hair was longer
one thing to live for
the freckles on your back
i can't ever resist
the way they trail
in all the right spots

eyes fixed on the sun
on the stars that
never left my side
before i knew it
the pouring rain &
the rhythm of your breathing
soon became my favorite
summer sound track
July 12, 2012
Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
Worship is the soul’s feasting upon that which it believes will fill it up
and we perpetually worship whatever we deem most worthy
of our attention and affection and sacrifice.
It is so firmly set in our very nature that at all times
we will be worshiping something
for the soul knows no other recourse.

There is only One worthy of such devotion
but if we aren't continually looking to and bowing down
to this One Who alone has the power to satisfy, heal and free us
we will automatically default to worshiping created things that then
have the power only to disappoint, damage and enslave us.
eli Dec 2017
kjh
i'm sorry
you couldn't find anything
to firmly grasp

i'm sorry
i couldn't be there
to hold you in my arms

“he's in a happier place”,
they tell me,
but i know it's not enough

when i know that,
without you,
my happy place is lost
Alex McQuate May 13
Great tragedy suffered,
Impossible circumstances conquered,
The warrior walks upon the field flanked path.

The wanderer's armor tells a tale,
Battle scarred and partially rent asunder,
A face of stoicism that hides the haggardness underneath,
Peeking out beneath the mask of a hardened soldier.

The clouds clap ahead, preceded by flashes of light brightly illuminating the world,
Accompanied shortly after by the rainfall.

A trickle becomes a downpour,
The battered individual trudging along as the road becomes a bog of mud and slop,
The message firmly planted within their mind.

Coming upon the dark outline of the castle ahead the warrior picks up pace,
Reflecting upon what would happen to those that the Warrior helped.

The pace is now fueled by a different kind of urgency.

The rain is cold upon the faces of those that it falls on,
The torn edges of metal digging in at places,
Some already wounded and tender,
As the final hilltop between them is crested.

The gates are closed,
And this loyal soldier is for the moment shut out,
A fist is raised,
The declaration of allegience given,
An angry detailing of the warriors achievements and adventures shouted,
And a challenge of one's path,
Building in anger and fury as the dam finally breaks and gushes forth,
Threatening to shatter the gate and doors to splinters and twisted metal.

A long ago promised gift to be rewarded,
For all the things endured,
Things that could be considered so cruel,
The storm picks up in force until it's akin to that of a hurricane,
As if brought forth by the warrior's grief and pain finally being released,
For the first and only time.

These things ringing out dispite the storms roaring wind,
Gathering force,
Perhaps in affirmation of the warriors words.

After a pause the gate begins to lift,
It's metal screeching,
The doors groaning as they begin to swing outward, and the embattered soldier is bathed in light,
Taking the weight from the warrior's shoulders,
As the threshold is finally crossed.
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