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The Good Pussy Sep 2014
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                                 Joy Joy
                             Joy  Joy Joy
                          Joy Joy Joy joy
                            Joy  Joy  Joy
                            Joy  Joy  Joy
                            Joy  Joy  Joy
                            Joy  Joy  Joy
                            Joy  Joy  Joy
                            Joy  Joy  Joy
                            Joy  Joy  Joy
                            Joy  Joy  Joy
                            Joy  Joy  Joy
                            Joy  Joy  Joy
                            Joy  Joy  Joy
                            Joy  Joy  Joy
                            Joy  Joy  Joy
                    Joy Joy Joy   Joy Joy Joy
                  Joy Joy Joy Joy Joy Joy Joy
                    Joy Joy Joy    Joy Joy Joy
                        Joy Joy           Joy Joy
Tabitha Lee Feb 18
Joy-For King and Country

Lately, I've been reading, watching the nightly news
Don't seem to find the rhythm, just wanna sing the blues
Feels like a song that never stops
Feels like it's never gonna stop

Gotta get that fire, fire, back in my bones
Before my heart, heart, turns into stone
So somebody please pass the megaphone
I'll shout it on the count of three
One, two, three

Oh, hear my prayer tonight, I'm singing to the sky
Give me strength to raise my voice, let me testify
Oh, hear my prayer tonight, 'cause this is do or die
The time has come to make a choice

And I choose joy
Let it move you, let it move you, let it move you
Yeah, I choose joy
Let it move you, let it move, let it move you
Yeah-eh, back when I was young, my eyes were full of life
But now that I am older, I live at the speed of light
Feels like the cycle never stops
Feels like it's never gonna stop

Gotta get that fire, fire, back in my bones
Before my heart, heart, turns into stone
So somebody please pass the megaphone
I'll shout it on the count of three
One, two, three

Oh, hear my prayer tonight, I'm singing to the sky
Give me strength to raise my voice, let me testify
Oh, hear my prayer tonight, 'cause this is do or die
The time has come to make a choice

And I choose joy
Let it move you, let it move, let it move you
Yeah, I choose joy
Let it move you, let it move, let it move you
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of night
Oh, with You by my side, I'm stepping into the light

I choose joy
Let it move you, let it move, let it move you
I need that joy, joy, joy, joy
Down in my heart, down in my heart to stay
I need that joy, joy, joy, joy
Down in my heart, down in my heart to stay

And I choose joy
Let it move you, let it move, let it move you
Oh, I choose joy
Let it move you, let it move, let it move you
Though I walk through the valley of the shadow of night
Oh, with You by my side, I'm stepping into the light
I choose joy
Go let it move you, go let it move you, go let it move you

I need that joy, joy, joy, joy
Down in my heart, down in my heart to stay
I need that joy, joy, joy, joy
Down in my heart, down in my heart to stay
Hey its true!!!!
Sa Sa Ra Dec 2012
Jeremiah was a bullfrog

Jeremiah was a bullfrog, he was good friend of mine
I never understood a single word he said
But I helped him drink his wine
He always had some mighty fine wine, sing it

Joy to the world, all the boys and girls now
Joy to the fishiest in the deep blue sea
And joy to you and me

And if I were the king of the world
I tell you what I would do
I'd throw away the cars and the bars in the world
And I'd make sweet love to you, sing it now

Joy to the world, all the boys and girls now
Joy to the fishes in the deep blue sea
Joy to you and me

Yah know I love the ladies, love to have my fun
I'm a hard knock flier and a rain bow rider
A straight shootin' son of a gun
I said a straight shootin' son of a gun

Joy to the world, all the boys and girls
Joy to all the fishes in the deep blue sea
Joy to you and me

Joy to the world, all the boys and girls
Joy to the world
Joy to you and me

Joy to the world, all the boys and girls
Joy to all the fishes in the deep blue sea
Joy to you and me

Joy to the world, all the boys and girls
Joy to the world
Joy to you and me

Joy to the world, all the boys and girls
Joy to the world
Joy to you and me


https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=QtYnCmw2CWE

Have You Ever Seen The Rain?

Someone told me long ago
There's a calm before the storm,
I know
It's been comin for some time.

When it's over, so they say,
It'll rain a sunny day,
I know
Shinin down like water.

[Chorus]
I want to know, have you ever seen the rain
I want to know, have you ever seen the rain
Comin down on a sunny day

Yesterday, and days before,
Sun is cold and rain is hard,
I know
Been that way for all my time.

'Til forever, on it goes
Through the circle, fast and slow,
I know
It can't stop, I wonder.

Chorus

Yeah!

Chorus
Have You Ever Seen The Rain?
**

https://www.youtube.com/watch?NR=1&v;=xDGuyGPJ_JE
Snigdha Banerjee Apr 2015
Joy is walking in the soft morning mist
looking for the sun ;
Joy is seeing love in the eyes of the one you care for ;
Joy is in watching the giggling child ;
Joy is in the knowledge gained by opening your mind ;
Joy is in chatting with the wind ;
Joy is in wearing an old sweater which once belonged to him ;
Joy is in finding happiness when everything is not right ;
Joy in in the star shining so bright ;
Joy is in forgetting stress ;
Joy is in coming out of mess;
Joy is in living ;
Joy is in dying ;
Joy is in the peaks of mighty mountains ;
Joy is in the echos of rain ;
Joy is running in all my veins;
Joy is all this & much more
Joy is a thing to explore
If I ever find words to describe joy
I have always hoped
It would turn out to be Me  !!!
After all these years; I still explore my mind for Joy !
Barbara Swan May 2014
JOY
JOY

What is joy?
Joy is walking in the soft morning mist looking for the sun
Joy is seeing love in the eyes of the one you care for
Joy is the rapture of small children walking hand in hand
Joy is the white clouds drifting across an endless sky
Joy is finding happiness just when your spirits were so low
Joy is the sound of a melody made by beautiful instruments
Joy is the bountiful harvest sown by your own hands
Joy is the moon glowing full on an onyx background
Joy is the knowledge gained by opening your mind
Joy is all of these things and more
Joy is living, Joy is dying,
Joy is!
dennis gunsteen Aug 2010
joy joy it's christmas little one.
on this christmas day .
hear are favorite songs
song  christmas song of joy.
on this christmas day.
song of christmas
song of cheer.
on this christmas day.
hear the angel sing.
joy  joy it's christmas little one.
hear sled bells ring little one.
it's christmas  time little one.
sing the song of christmas.
sing the song of cheer .
hear are favorite song.
joy joy it's  christmas little one.
hear angel sing.
on this christmas day.
hear children play.
joy joy it's christmas little one.
on this christmas day.
hear are favorite songs.
song of christmas song of joy.
on this christmas day.
song of christmas.
song of cheer .
on this christmas day.
hear angels sing.
on  this holy day.
on this christmas day.
joy joy it's christmas  little one.
hear the sled bell ring little one.
it's christmas time little one.
sing the song of christmas.
sing the song of cheer.
it's christmas time little one.
hear are favorite song.
sing  3x  a song
Joy
They say you be gone Joy
She be gone they say
And I asks them
Would you be content if they told you, your joy be gone
Would you continue to inhale this dead life into you?
I say be more alive than life itself
Joy be the music in my soul and I dance to her
I dance till my feet move, till they looks me in the eye and shake their heads
You be here Joy,
Joy you be gone
You be here, I feel you Joy, you be here
You be Alive
You be gone
She done leave you they say
I say Joy would never leave me
She be the sunshine, she be sweet like Honey old folk music
I have seen slaves move to her beat
Honey my joy be fireflies, my joy flies
She be here
Joy be here
What if Joy be all these diary pages I's been ripping off?
What if she….
Maybe mama be right……..Joy gone
Joy not here
My womb too bitter for Joy
She be gone
ShowYouLove Sep 2015
A look at life through a child's eyes
Is pure and honest; without disguise
A life of joy and wonder and grace
And here we are: running in place

The miracle of a rainbow, the beauty of a blade of grass
Finding untold treasure where others see only trash
Listen. Here the thrum of wind on golden strings
The bells sounding clear and pure in the trees they sing

A look at life through a child's eyes
Is pure and honest; without disguise
A life of joy and wonder and grace
And here we are: running in place

Feel the complex dance around you come alive as you are filled
With a racing spirit and feet that won't be stilled
A song bursts forth just like the morning sun
And overflows and covers you until you and it are one

A look at life through a child's eyes
Is pure and honest; without disguise
A life of joy and wonder and grace
And here we are: running in place

We lose sight of what's important as we fight to survive
But if we stop to look through a child's eyes we learn to truly thrive

A look at life through a child's eyes
Is pure and honest; without disguise
A life of joy and wonder and grace
But here we are: running in place

A life of joy and wonder greets the sun in morning sky
A life of joy and wonder will run free and learn to fly
A life of joy and wonder finds gladness in the rain
A life of joy and wonder finds healing amidst the pain

A look at life through a child's eyes
Is pure and honest; without disguise
A life of joy and wonder and grace
But here we are running in place

A look at life through a child's eyes
Is pure and honest; without disguise
A child's eyes are bright and strong; they don't dull or dim
You might hear their quiet song if you stop and listen

There is a life of joy and wonder and grace
But here we are running in place
A life of joy and wonder takes patience, love, and care
It takes a long time, many years till we get there

But a life of joy and wonder is a precious thing I'm told...

Because a life of joy and wonder far surpasses the value of gold!
joy,
the book fairs
that brought
new worlds
to the closed box;
the money,
given, to buy
two novels.
joy,
the desk
facing the wall
and diaries
to write in.
joy,
the black pens.
joy,
the playground
with the swings
and evening air
tucking wild hair
behind my ears.
joy,
the slides,
the trees,
the gravel.
joy,
the wet grass
near the ducks
at central park.
joy,
the racks
in the kitchen
that held
the bowls
i knew.
joy,
the proxy teacher
who became
the first adult
to love my
silly poetry.
joy,
the balcony
that opened
for fresh air.
joy,
the silent sky
on the silent
walks home.
joy,
the often
empty roads.
joy,
the wrists
of the caretaker
who oiled my hair.
her uncontained love
as she kissed my cheeks,
cooked my meals,
watched me eat,
changed my sheets,
taught me
— raised me.
joy,
the soft existence
and companionship
of my two sisters.
joy,
the people
who came
and cradled me
and my big life
without hesitation;
comforted me
with their
friendship
and compassion
and tea.
joy,
the loved ones.
joy,
the growing,
the learning,
the loving.
oh such joy,
the mother
in the world
around me.
oh such joy,
the nurture
in everything.
Sofia Paderes Mar 2016
There is something about knowing that your heart
has finally found its place, that the peace you have been searching for
now knocks at your door.

That the storm that has left you in pieces,
that has you so used to the darkness you had
forgotten you once walked on sunlit paths
is finally over, and you remember that the moon and the stars still exist
that hurricanes, no matter how huge, lose their speed
and there is still such a thing as clouds
that don’t bring death with each fall of rain.

I know that there is something about knowing that
there is hope, and not just any kind of hope,
but the hope that is alive,
and knowing this… you know what it does?

It makes me feel like spring,
every fiber in my being so alive and kicking
and suddenly every part of me knows
how to dance, I lose control of my body
and even I don’t know how to stop me,
my mouth seems too small to contain the smile
that is breaking across my
face is flushed pink
like I’m in love, I am in love, how can you not be in love
when you know that a hope like this is living and it
overtakes you and kind of breaks you and
makes you feel like this, makes you
forget how to form words on your tongue,
even the simplest things are now indescribable
brings you to your knees, waterfalls of tears on your cheeks
and you’re not sure if they’re from laughter or amazement
but then it hits you, the word to describe it is
joy.

An inexpressible, glorious joy.

And this joy does not fade.
Even in my hardest nights, in the corners of my heart
there it resides.

How can this joy go away, when I know
that every ugly part of me
every mistake
every failure and every fall
has been taken and exchanged?
Darkness for light
death for life
sin for righteousness
mourning for gladness.

How can this joy be silenced,
when God Himself shamelessly proclaimed
His love for me, an unworthy being,
announcing to the world
that I am now His through the nailing of His body to a tree?

How can this joy be destroyed,
when even after accepting His love into my life
there are times my heart still strays far
but then, again and again and again, His love goes further?

It cannot.
And it is with this joy that my heart has been filled,
more than when all the blessings are flowing
and I am not lacking, this joy
goes beyond this world in which we are living,
pointing us to the only possible source for a
joy like this.

There is something about knowing where the source
of such a joy comes from,
and knowing that your heart has finally opened its doors
and finally found its place there.

And that source is Jesus.
And my heart has opened its doors to Him and
found its place in Him, and I am filled with joy.

An inexpressible, glorious joy.
Written for the invocation of UP Street Dance Club's Street Fusion 16: Doors.
jeffrey conyers Aug 2014
Many people living seem so depressed.
I'm wondering, whatever happen to joy?
Joy of friendship.
Joy of love.
Joy of understanding.

We quickly remind our hurt and pain.
And can name the person that placed it there.
But if you write down the good times had.
You'll find it out weigh more than a small problem in your mind.

So, whatever happen to joy?
Where you laugh about those good memories?
Or about fitting into clothes that ripped at the seam.
We must know we make our own joy upon earth.
Heaven is a joy, we all hope for.

We should be joyful.
Once you locate the meaning of it.
I bet you end up being happy.

Some shout for joy.
Some live for joy.
Some still create their joy.
And let's be honest some drink for joy.
Except they seem too high upon it.

We should fill in our hearts with great joy.
Enough that love dictates our action and moods.
Let us leap for joy.
To the point, we don't have to ask the title of this poem.
Francesco May 2018
Joy
Joy.
Joy of life,
Joy of wonders,
Joy of love,
Joy of death.

When it is joy in question,
I always choose yours -
You always choose mine.
Then we fight about,
The joy we keep stealing
From one another
Every Time.

The joy of life poisons me.
The joy of wonders intrigues me.
The joy of love hurts me.

But,

The joy of death relieves me.

Is this what it feels like

To die?

Blood calmly flowing,
Staining this cursed Earth
Engulfing me in its delicate cold.

It flows.

death

She accompanies me – on my journey on the river Styx.
Ahead we go to the fifth circle: my new home, my new prison.
“See the souls over whom anger prevailed. In the warm bath of the sun they were hateful, down here in the black sludge of the river Styx do they wish they had never been born.”
The words Virgil echoed throughout on our way to the fifth circle –

Here
I wish
I was born

Death led me to the imposing pillars of flaming anger,
Where the sins of my wrath lie.

Envy.
Wrath.
Treachery
.

I plead guilty of these in front of the Almighty.
And I was banned to this ****** place.

Demonic.

For once.
At last.
For the last.

I
Was
Happy
?

While I burnt for my perjury,
I laughed.

Joyful to be gone.
Joyful of eternal pain.
Joyful of sin.
Joyful of sorrow.

I rejoice my death.

While others forget.
Because that’s human nature –
Forget

The sorrow
The pain
The ones hurting
The ones dead


For them.

It’s only joy.
I lost my joy.
When a baby is born
When a baby came to into the world
When they came into existence in the true world
They came with joyous sound
Yes people say they cry
Thats a cry of joy
They came out singing for joy
They came out with different tones and musics
The lyrics of there songs is unexplainable
They music only defines happy moment
They sing and dont warry
They propagate and catalyses the happiness of there parents
The only true definition of the music is happiness


Oh the joy of a baby
As they are born
They dont know pain
They dont know sorrow
They dont know deciet
They dont keep malice for people
They had no enemies
They accept there parents for who they are
They dont care if they are rich or not
Tall or short
Black r white
Blind or not
Deaf or dumb
They came out with total acceptance
They are true definition of been innocent

All they know is sing for joy
All they know is smile
All they know is shout of joy
All they know is play
All they know is that the world meant happiness

They dont have any problems
But they are solution to a problem
They solve problem of barreness
They restore joy and happiness to there parents
They dont hate
Rather they love
They dont discriminate
Rather they accommodate
They dont course
Reather they bless the family

As they grow day by day
They got prettier,handsome and beautiful
As they grow
The joy of the family also grow
They sing with passion
They cry out with loud voice
They they cry out saying.....
Describing how beautiful the world is
The joy of a baby is the greatest joy ever

Sometimes i wish i could turn  back the hands of time and go back being a baby
Sometimes i wish i could go back to my mothers womb and be born again
Just to enjoy the feelings of been a baby
I wish i could turn back the rotation and the revolution of the earth on its axis
Yet all this are impossible
If am given three wishes
First is to go back as a baby
Second will be going back as a baby
Third will be going back as a baby
The joy of a baby is the greatest joy ever
Joy
Every morning I wake with joy
Joy in my heart
Joy in my soul
Every morning I wake with joy
Because of you
You fill my life with love and hope

Every morning I wake with joy
Joy in my day
Joy every hour
Joy every minute
Because of you

Every evening I fall asleep with joy
Because of you
I dream sweet dreams
Filled with joy
I awake refreshed
Filled with joy
Because of you
You fill my life with love and hope
JuneForever Dec 2019
The gardens have bloomed. My thoughts are clear. My mind is clean, and my heart has heard the sounds of joy.

It has felt the warmth of joy. The joy that breezes across a person who has been loved so sweetly that I can see it in their eyes. 

I can feel it as I look at them, and I'm thankful for that.

The joy I feel, I hope you have envisioned your own joy in a universe that can be so lost and contradictory.

I have found the joy that makes mu soul glow bright. It has enlightened my eyes so clear.

My mind has opened to possibilities. I don't just see the possibilities but I have traced my finger across the joy of them.

That's a joy that stays inside. The kind of joy that doesn't fade, it's always there.

What is your joy? Have you found it or is just there? Maybe you have been looking in the wrong places and it's right there.

Waiting for the right time or place to have it.

The best thing about joy is that you are allowed to have it even when you're in pain.
pitch black god8 Apr 2018
5 Sensory Deprivation Relevations  (Happy Birthday Will Shakespeare)


I     the smell of sad

odor colorless like *****, similar familiar sidewinder effects,
musty invasive, it has no specificity, no locale centrale, well closeted,
saddling saddlng, in place, plain sighted better to toy our lives,
pervades persists, worse lingers, impervious to sprays
and even everyone’s good literature (even Will’s)
good wishes good intentions and mood prayers
to the nearest lay god
on duty at the spiritual emergency room on weekends,
stink

don’t think that this poem is for you; solely for the writer,
your doppelgänger ******, your mirror’s inside hiding out place,
I, who has your sadness smell into my skin cells crept
waft woof and warp wet weft-woven
into the sad receptacles hidden in my
head’s cubbies and the palms of my tree hands-covering face


there are cures so wonderful and inexpensive but unavailable
at the local Rite Aid, though they are the right aid recoverable,
so closer than close, so close that the internist
cannot prescribe them because he must inject himself first
because the live bacteria in the antidote can **** all

this odor lays down bamboo-strong roots;
to eradicate you must dig down deep,
six feet perhaps more, with heavy earth moving equipment,
uproot at the source, follow sad always all-the-way down and the root
great god gone,
but the saddest truth
stench odor yet present

II    the taste of joy

the joy of cooking is not a gene in my litany possess,
but the buttery taste of joy I know, I know,
it’s a real princess rarity,
the hard costs of finding and keeping it,
I’ve paid endlessly and willingly pay on

the taste of joy is like presents under the tree,
shock surprises delights lives/life, customized, infectious
(except for socks, no matter how joyously exceptional),
joy to those whose buds never blossomed for its taste
readable on some one else’s, anyone’s ****** expression

I think of it as the taste of fast traveling cumulus whites
upon my eyelashes blinking as they are speeding you by, but happy
for ten more behind before the evening stars takes over

the taste of joy is physical, there can be no denying,
concentrations can be found in the lips and the fingertips,
which you think of as a tandem, someone else’s on mine

but it ain’t necessarily so; the taste of joy, shared I, having submitted to others kisses carried on the wind that
found their mark and were well received,
poems from the heart
that arrive well,
as their intended is sleeping, and
as intended, as waking gifts

the taste of joy in droplet tears
when you are notified that words
you joined in holy matrimony made you cry,
because the reader did, wept for two,
the weeping of contentment released,
free at last from container confinement;
this particular taste of joy is in the  
recovery and recognition that these
are not for you,
just joy peculiar these tasted tears for whomsoever sheds them

III   the hearing of truthful

truth am told is oft served cold and hard up for the hearing,
best avoided tween noon and midnight and any time a
bathroom mirror is in the vicinity; though religious men lie
too easily; bathroom mirrors cannot; a character flaw for sure,
but the truth to be trusted is this: no one is truly contented, always there are the richer, the more famous, the employed and
someone above who has more, more burdens of a different sort,
better quality losses and pains unseen not dreamed of

truth tastes terrible and is awful sometimes noisy painful;
it hides well in the stink of sad exposed to the atmosphere when exposed it turns red humans blue

truth may set you free, free to be what are you are or truthfully
an admission of what greatness you have to release the trick is
use the correct scale, do not let the wrong sized ruler rule you,
the truth, if you hear, hear it unfiltered w/o the bias implanted
by not your people; hear your poet voice growl like a blues singer and be truthfully satisfied like no thing no person only you could hear it as you intended it be spoken

IV   touches of fantasy fantastic
secret confess: touch my fav cause when its juiced with
mental visions of what might be, it Saturday satisfies and let me weep happy smile silly and is mine all mind; yes another’s tip
has sorcerer powers of revelation
but alone by myself I yet
relevate
and flow; my hands are right sized, my arms reach around myself for so designed, and the pleasure is mine to give;
mine to take,
neither better or worse if self-administered,
touch myself anywhere anytime and fantasy over dreams wins,
rise up, touch is a language and I speak six or a hundred;
listen to the sounds of touching and be touched human

V  insights for the sightless

at last we close the deprived
with an elegant elevation
sight overrated when imagination exists,
cannot be restrained
this the revelation
you have proffered and preferred all this time

have pity on me
I crystallize the unseen with the replacements
of my conjuring
the other senses lend a hand
telling me look up look up, be life save life
let your madness blossom in the spring airs,
the coolness of a first fingered ungloved snow
sight,
a mathematical function from the other four derived,
sightless an impossibility for with one alone defeat the
sensory deprivation and give tongues to words

epilogue

read my face
incapable of,
deprivation
but how now silent bow my head to Will
for teaching the way of words
traced upon
a fool or a king's tongue,
two too human,
so that poet may ken
his senses keener,
all for the better,
for the betterment of all
and now you understand how came this poem to be writ
in the pitch black
Miss Saitwal Aug 2018
Places where we go and free our headspace,
spreading our  hands and feeling the raindrops.

It felt like an unique amalgamation of fright, fury and pure joy.

Fright of all the obligations barged on the soul.
Fright of not being with the right people at the right time.
Fright of falling on our own feet.

Round & round on the playground,
with an overwhelming typsy feeling.

The joy of sliding on the slippery dip,
touching the sky hanging on the swing.
The breeze touching the feet, playing with the hair & ticking the ears, until we fear to fall on the ground.

The alarming feeling of how precious our life is.
The joy of constantly working on ourselves to improve in life.
The joy of keeping ourselves first.
The joy of not missing out & living in the moment;

The joy of emphatic long conversations,
The joy of selfless efforts with no expectations.
The joy of doing the right things,
always at an unsuitable time;
The joy of being intutive over calculative.

The joy of spending fruitful earnings;
& believing in karma.

Feeling no need to explain our way of doing things
& doing what makes us feel good about ourselves.
Absolute joy of not being too ******* ourselves.

All joyful things go wrong, because it is their job to.
We make all dreadful things right, because it is our job to.

It all makes sense now,
We must get up,
spread your hands,
feel the raindrops,
and say,

“We made it all worth.”
Alyssa Underwood Sep 2017
There is little in this world that consistently causes our hearts more pain or which produces in us more need for forgiveness than rejection, especially from those whom it has cost us so much to love. It is universal anathema to the soul, and much of our lives can be unconsciously governed by the fear of it. So we find ourselves naturally asking, "Joy in the midst of rejection? Is that even possible?" Oh, yes! Not only possible but commanded of us who are believers in Christ. And not only commanded of us but ready to be gloriously bestowed on us like the most precious of pearls.

It's in the season of greatest rejection that we enter the season of greatest opportunity to discover the fullness of God's joy by discovering the fullness of His own heart. Walking in intimacy with Jesus through this searing pain may be one of the most priceless privileges of grace granted to us on this earth, for it opens up one of the widest doors for us to enter into the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings, and there is no more obvious chance to die to ourselves and live for Christ than in that holy communion of suffering with Him.

It's there that we're most able to clearly see Him and best prepared to clearly reflect Him, and it's then that we're empowered to live our lives here on earth from the very throne room of heaven, seated in the resurrected presence of our Bridegroom, where the joy always runs full and over. So our deepest heartaches will turn to deepest joys when we embrace them for the sake of Christ, to gain Him and be found in Him, to know Him in intimate detail through excruciatingly sweet experience. We will discover that the Lord entrusts the most luscious of blessings and the rarest of secrets to the most desperate and thirsty of souls, and that He delights to place the loveliest of wings on the lowliest of worms.

The gifts of myrrh's sorrow which the Father pours into the vessels of our lives are poured first into the hands of His own Son and flow through His nail-pierced scars before they ever touch us. And as we choose to graciously receive them as such, we are filled up with Him and enabled to pour Him out into the lives of others, even those who continually scorn and despise us.

The gift (yes, gift) of rejection is the high privilege of being asked by our Commander to become His flag bearer, receiving the esteemed honor of marching beside Him at the center of the front line, into the heat of the battle and into the face of the "enemy" (the rejecter), armed with no gun and carrying only His banner of love over our head for all to see. It's a sacred invitation into a certain death for the sake of knowing His love more intimately and for the service of displaying it more gloriously.

And if tempted to refuse the privilege, let us remember these two things: this life is so much more freely, joyfully lived when we have finally learned to count ourselves dead to it and alive to Christ, and the flow of His agape love through us will only be as strong as what it costs us to demonstrate it. The greater the cost, the purer the love; the purer the love, the more we are made like Him; the more we are made like Him, the more attuned we will be to His own heart's breaking and to our own breaking of it.

Oh, that we might be purged of ever thinking again that our neglecting of His love does not matter to Him! May He cause our hearts to break and break until we see how much it does! May we know the world's rejection again and again until we are finally scoured clean of our own despicable tendency to reject Him in favor of all our worldly playthings! No lover has ever endured more rejection than our Lover at our own hands and by our own hearts. And no lover continues to love through rejection with the determination and desire, suffering and sacrifice, tenderness and tenacity of our own Bridegroom. Can we not endure whatever He has called us to suffer for Him? Can we not allow it to drive us more fervently to His heart?... Lord, capture us by Your mighty hand and consume us by Your mighty flame, and may we pant and pine only for You, for Your love sets us free to dance in the midst of the fire!

How humbling, mystifying and worship-evoking it is to realize that the One we have so grievously rejected is the same One Who so perfectly understands and longs to comfort our own heart's grief when we are rejected. And to not run to Him now for that fellowship of healing would be to reject Him all over again and to break His heart once more. What could hurt Him more than our stubborn resistance to share in both His sufferings and His comfort when there is so much joy and intimacy waiting to be had with Him? Whatever ache our own heart knows, however deep and scathing, it cannot compare to the ache of His own heart when we let anything pull us away from Him, for He is rightly EVERYTHING to us—Father, Husband, Lover, Best Friend, Brother, Confidante, Kindred Spirit, Counselor, Nurturer, Rescuer, Healer, Hero... Behind the pain of every rejection is a legitimate need or desire that He is waiting to fill in us, and we have to let Him get to it by dying to our fleshly ones.

Or do we suppose that we might ever find true and lasting joy apart from dying to ourselves and abiding in Him when He died so that we might fully live in the joy of that abiding? No, true joy will only follow abiding; abiding and dying walk hand in hand, and rejection throws open the door for all three. Man's rejection is central to God's wooing, for it shatters our false expectations of human love and stirs in our hearts the longing for a perfect one. So let us not shrink back fearfully from that which can do us such good and teach us to love as Christ has loved us. With renewed passion, let us ask Him to wrap every affection of our hearts more tightly around Him that every desire might be united with His own and that we might learn to love in a way that sets our lives and the world around us ablaze!

To be despised and rejected and, still, to love—that is the ultimate triumph of Christ in our hearts, for we are never more like Him, never more full of Him, never more surrendered to His heart and His work than when He pours out His love through us to those who will not love us back. When we can stand in the face of bitter, cutting words, contemptuous looks and shaming mockery and still love fiercely but with a gentle and quiet spirit, we will know without doubt that it is His Spirit moving gloriously through us... Lord Jesus, Who so willingly floods our hearts with Your most precious gift, Yourself (and You are Love!), teach us to ever know You more and to rely fully on the love You have for us and ARE for us in infinite supply. Teach us to feast on the abundance of that love, and let it flow freely out of us to the ones who would reject, scorn, mock and hate us, so that they too might one day taste and be consumed by Your perfect love which drives out all fear—Your infinite, immeasurable love which heals all wounds and fills all emptiness and gives meaning to all of our pain. You alone, O LORD, are able to truly and purely love through rejection, but You live gloriously in us, so unleash Your mighty waters through us. Your love is everything, for You are Everything!...

Our all-sufficient Bridegroom is able to work His agape love most perfectly in us when that love poured out to another is not ever reciprocated, for it forces us to finally let Him fill us with Himself alone and to rely completely on His love instead of on the love of another to meet our heart's deepest hunger. The need for His filling IS our deepest hunger, and so our soul comes most alive not when it is loved by our fellow man but when it receives and pours out Jesus' love to our fellow man, expecting nothing in return but more of Him. Thus His love is made complete in us whether they ever love us back or not, and the fear of their rejection is eventually driven out by His perfect and perfecting love.

Even if love is never returned...never even received...it is never in vain, for "love never fails." To love someone, though we mean nothing to them, may seem too cruel a burden for the heart to bear, but the only thing worse than not being loved is to not love, and so the greatest tragedy of love spurned or lost would be to stop loving. For to cease loving that which causes us pain would be to let the pain win, but for as long as we love, really love with Christ's own heart, no matter what else happens, we win.

Love without pain remains unproven and, therefore, is meaningless, but love through pain invokes nothing less than the miraculous and inspires even the incredulous. The purer one's love, the more pain it causes when it is rejected, but only continued love can redeem the pain of loving, and only a perfect Love can heal love's scalding wound; the more scalding the wound, the better primed it is to receive that perfect Love fully into it.

There is great romance to be found in unrequited love that keeps loving, though it is beyond any human emotion or fleshly capacity or mortal understanding. It is a most sacred mystery which cannot be grasped with the head or even the heart but only with the spirit, for it is a love whose connection to Christ remains unsevered. There is perhaps no intimacy to compare to it, for it drives us to Him like nothing else will. It is a love whose longing for the other gives us the greatest insight into God's own aching longing for us. Only when it has cost us everything to keep loving do we begin to understand the smallest fraction of the wildly extravagant love Christ has for us or of the brutally scandalous pain which it has cost Him, and it will leave us in utter awe of Him and in love with Him like we have never been before.

As our focus is turned more and more toward His love for us and toward all of our previous rejecting of it, we will come to clearly see that agape love and rejection have everything to do with the the hearts of the lover and the rejecter and nothing to do with what the beloved and the rejected have done or deserve. For obviously we have done nothing to deserve God's love and He has nothing to deserve our rejection, yet He never stops loving us and we keep rejecting Him in ways we can't even comprehend. No one has ever known more rejection than the only One Who is completely worthy of love. Every time we sin we reject Him in favor of something else, but still He loves us without fail and without end. He loves us because He is love and because He has chosen to set His love on us. We are absolutely and irrevocably loved and accepted in Christ Jesus, and nothing and no one can ever change or mar that love. Our identity is completely secure in Him simply because of Who He is and who He says we are to Him.

Therefore no amount nor depth of rejection by anyone changes anything about who we are in Christ or our worth to Him. We do not need any man's love or acceptance to validate our worth, for it has already been established in the heavenly realms by the only One Whose verdict carries any real and lasting weight. We are significant and precious and holy to God regardless of what anyone else thinks of us or says of us or does to us. What has their rejection got to do with us? Nothing, for we are His! We are chosen and we are beloved! And so we are freed from the fear of rejection when we see that it cannot define us or taint us in the sight of the only One Whose opinion or judgment matters. It's a glorious thing to finally care what no man thinks of us, only the Master, for then we begin to be free to love all men as He loves them and to pray with deepest sincerity, humility and fervor even for those who spitefully reject us.

And even for that one who has hurt us most deeply, who has crushed our heart and thrown us to the wind like chaff without so much as a glance back, we will pray, no longer with only a slight and distant hope that he would return to us but now with a passionate desire to see the prodigal return to the heart of the Father. We will pray, not with a focus on life with him but with a focus on life for him. We will pray for a total and glorious restoration of his life to Christ, even if we will never be there beside him to share in the fellowship and joy of his homecoming, even if we will never get to experience up close in this life the thrill of seeing the Lord make something beautiful yet of his ashes. And this may be the hardest and truest test of our love for him—this painful sacrifice of desiring his absolute best apart from us. It is a wrenching blow to our pride and to our will (not to mention our codependence), for we had so longed to play the Muse and to awaken that beauty in him. So we know we could never yearn or pray for this out of our own strength or wisdom; it is simply too painful to our flesh. We must be led into it and through every delicate step of it by our loving Redeemer, our Bridegroom, as if He were leading us out under a canopy of the starry host and into the most intricate and intimate of moonlit dances. And so we begin to pray and to dance...

But even wrapped in Jesus' arms we are clumsy, stumbling miserably over our own feet. The music is perplexingly unfamiliar and the steps wildly unpredictable, and our toes feel terribly pinched in these new shoes. Maybe this dance is just too hard for us. Maybe we are not yet ready. Maybe we should sit it out for now and try again later when our shoes are a little more broken in or when our heart is a little less broken apart. So we pull away...

But He tenderly beckons us back: Dear and beloved bride, broken-but-beautiful one whom I have made My own, do not push Me away now, not after I have brought you so far. I have many more secrets to share with you and so much more to show you of Myself. But you are not letting Me lead this dance, beloved. Why are you so rigid in My embrace? Why so worried over the next steps? Let go of everything and abandon yourself to My love. Enjoy Me...Follow Me...Lean into Me...Keep watching My face...Let Me move you however I desire us to go...Trust Me...Love Me. Shall we dance, then?

Yes, we shall and we do! As He draws us into Himself, into the prayer of His heart and the dance of His Spirit, and as we give ourself over completely to the impulse of His leading, the details of our words and the precision of our steps give way to the desire and passion of His will, and the pulsating of our heart swirls to the rhythm of His own. The further He pulls us into union with Himself, the more we find ourselves desiring this same intimacy-with-Him for the very one who has so badly hurt us, for we see how badly he himself is hurting without it. We realize now that his running away from us and toward another is just as much a reflection of his insatiable yet misunderstood craving for God as was all of our running toward our own idols (including him). Our soul aches for his redemption and his healing and for his lost sheep's heart to be brought out of darkness and into the marvelous light that shines from Jesus' face, that he might truly know the pleasure of knowing the One Whose pleasure he was created for.

Somehow, through this heightened and mysterious intimacy of prayer for him, we are now discovering a strange and new kind of intimacy with this very one whose intimacy had so often given us the slip, this one whom we had so long loved and lived with but failed to uncover at all, and the fresh wind of it drives us even deeper into the ache of God's own heart for him and for us. It is at the center of that ache that we are finally able to let go of the hurt and the man and leave the matter entirely in God's hands, understanding that the Shepherd's aching heart knows fully all whom He has chosen and will never stop dealing with or seeking after any of His own sheep. And so...


                        We release to Him with a heart of trust
                        This one whom we love and always must
                        We can let go the man and rest because
                        It's out of our hands and always was



But the dance, like the feast, goes on and on, and the more we dance and the more we feast, the more we heal. Our Bridegroom wounds us by His own providence but washes our wounds with His faithfulness and binds them up with His love. The wounds and their healing make us beautiful to Him. They teach us to know Him, to hunger for Him, to enjoy Him and to please Him. And they get us perfectly ready for that most glorious of dances and that most joyous of feasts which are still to come but, perhaps, much closer than we might dare to imagine. It is time to awaken, dear bride of Christ, and to break in our dancing shoes!
~~~


"And so we know and rely on the love God has for us. God is love. Whoever lives in love lives in God, and God in him. This is how love is made complete among us so that we will have confidence on the day of judgment: In this world we are like Jesus. There is no fear in love. But perfect love drives out fear, because fear has to do with punishment. The one who fears is not made perfect in love. We love because He first loved us."
~ 1 John 4:16-19

"And we boast in the hope of the glory of God. Not only so, but we also glory in our sufferings, because we know that suffering produces perseverance; perseverance, character; and character, hope. And hope does not put us to shame, because God’s love has been poured out into our hearts through the Holy Spirit, who has been given to us."
~ Romans 5:2b-5

"As you come to Him, the living Stone—rejected by humans but chosen by God and precious to Him— you also, like living stones, are being built into a spiritual house to be a holy priesthood, offering spiritual sacrifices acceptable to God through Jesus Christ."
~ 1 Peter 2:4-5

"He was despised and rejected by mankind,
    a man of suffering, and familiar with pain.
Like one from whom people hide their faces
    He was despised, and we held Him in low esteem.
Surely He took up our pain
    and bore our suffering,
yet we considered him punished by God,
    stricken by Him, and afflicted.
But He was pierced for our transgressions,
    He was crushed for our iniquities;
the punishment that brought us peace was on Him,
    and by His wounds we are healed."
~ Isaiah 53:3-5

"But whatever were gains to me I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss because of the surpassing worth of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things... I want to know Christ—yes, to know the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death..."
~ Philippians 3:7-8a,10

"But He said to me, 'My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.' Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ’s power may rest on me. That is why, for Christ’s sake, I delight in weaknesses, in insults, in hardships, in persecutions, in difficulties. For when I am weak, then I am strong."
~ 2 Corinthians 12:9-10

"For just as we share abundantly in the sufferings of Christ, so also our comfort abounds through Christ."
~ 2 Corinthians 1:5

"'Blessed are you who hunger now,
    for you will be satisfied.
Blessed are you who weep now,
    for you will laugh.
Blessed are you when people hate you,
    when they exclude you and insult you
    and reject your name as evil,
        because of the Son of Man.
Rejoice in that day and leap for joy, because great is your reward in heaven. For that is how their ancestors treated the prophets...But to you who are listening I say: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you...Be merciful, just as your Father is merciful.'"
~ Luke 6:21-23,27-28,36

"Make sure that nobody pays back wrong for wrong, but always strive to do what is good for each other and for everyone else. Rejoice always, pray continually, give thanks in all circumstances; for this is God’s will for you in Christ Jesus."
~ 1 Thessalonians 5:15-18

"You make 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

"I pray that out of His glorious riches He may strengthen you with power through His Spirit in your inner being, so that Christ may dwell in your hearts through faith. And I pray that you, being rooted and established in love, may have power, together with all the Lord’s holy people, to grasp how wide and long and high and deep is the love of Christ, and to know this love that surpasses knowledge—that you may be filled to the measure of all the fullness of God. Now to Him who is able to do immeasurably more than all we ask or imagine, according to His power that is at work within us, to Him be glory in the church and in Christ Jesus throughout all generations, for ever and ever! Amen."
~ Ephesians 3:16-21

~~~
Joy
Joy
Joy
Joy

Bubbly Doubly Joy
Sappy Happy Daffy Joy

Joy that makes you laugh
Squirt milk out your nose
Bust a gut
Joy

Joy with friends
Joy with family
Joy just being alone Joy
Loud boisterious quiet and collected Joy
Carl D'Souza Aug 2019
I strive to experience
all the ways
my body
feels joy.

Is there joy when eating?
I strive to experience eating-joy!

Is there joy when having ***
with somebody I romantically-love?
I strive to experience romantic-***-joy!

Is there joy in exercising my muscles?
I strive to experience muscles-joy!

Is there joy in exercising my brain?
I strive to experience thinking-joy!

Is there joy in exercising my emotions?
I strive to experience feeling-joy!

I wonder
what are all the ways
I can experience
joy
using my body?
Now swarthy Summer, by rude health embrowned,
    Precedence takes of rosy fingered Spring;
And laughing Joy, with wild flowers prank’d, and crown’d,
    A wild and giddy thing,
And Health robust, from every care unbound,
    Come on the zephyr’s wing,
      And cheer the toiling clown.

  Happy as holiday-enjoying face,
    Loud tongued, and “merry as a marriage bell,”
Thy lightsome step sheds joy in every place;
    And where the troubled dwell,
Thy witching charms wean them of half their cares;
    And from thy sunny spell,
      They greet joy unawares.

  Then with thy sultry locks all loose and rude,
    And mantle laced with gems of garish light,
Come as of wont; for I would fain intrude,
    And in the world’s despite,
Share the rude wealth that thy own heart beguiles;
    If haply so I might
      Win pleasure from thy smiles.

  Me not the noise of brawling pleasure cheers,
    In nightly revels or in city streets;
But joys which soothe, and not distract the ears,
    That one at leisure meets
In the green woods, and meadows summer-shorn,
    Or fields, where bee-fly greets
      The ear with mellow horn.

  The green-swathed grasshopper, on treble pipe,
    Sings there, and dances, in mad-hearted pranks;
There bees go courting every flower that’s ripe,
    On baulks and sunny banks;
And droning dragon-fly, on rude bassoon,
    Attempts to give God thanks
      In no discordant tune.

  The speckled thrush, by self-delight embued,
    There sings unto himself for joy’s amends,
And drinks the honey dew of solitude.
    There Happiness attends
With ****** Joy until the heart o’erflow,
    Of which the world’s rude friends,
      Nought heeding, nothing know.

  There the gay river, laughing as it goes,
    Plashes with easy wave its flaggy sides,
And to the calm of heart, in calmness shows
    What pleasure there abides,
To trace its sedgy banks, from trouble free:
    Spots Solitude provides
      To muse, and happy be.

  There ruminating ’neath some pleasant bush,
    On sweet silk grass I stretch me at mine ease,
Where I can pillow on the yielding rush;
    And, acting as I please,
Drop into pleasant dreams; or musing lie,
    Mark the wind-shaken trees,
      And cloud-betravelled sky.

  There think me how some barter joy for care,
    And waste life’s summer-health in riot rude,
Of nature, nor of nature’s sweets aware.
    When passions vain intrude,
These, by calm musings, softened are and still;
    And the heart’s better mood
      Feels sick of doing ill.

  There I can live, and at my leisure seek
    Joys far from cold restraints—not fearing pride—
Free as the winds, that breathe upon my cheek
    Rude health, so long denied.
Here poor Integrity can sit at ease,
    And list self-satisfied
      The song of honey-bees.

  The green lane now I traverse, where it goes
    Nought guessing, till some sudden turn espies
Rude batter’d finger post, that stooping shows
    Where the snug mystery lies;
And then a mossy spire, with ivy crown,
    Cheers up the short surprise,
      And shows a peeping town.

  I see the wild flowers, in their summer morn
    Of beauty, feeding on joy’s luscious hours;
The gay convolvulus, wreathing round the thorn,
    Agape for honey showers;
And slender kingcup, burnished with the dew
    Of morning’s early hours,
      Like gold yminted new.

  And mark by rustic bridge, o’er shallow stream,
    Cow-tending boy, to toil unreconciled,
Absorbed as in some vagrant summer dream;
    Who now, in gestures wild,
Starts dancing to his shadow on the wall,
    Feeling self-gratified,
      Nor fearing human thrall.

  Or thread the sunny valley laced with streams,
    Or forests rude, and the o’ershadow’d brims
Of simple ponds, where idle shepherd dreams,
    Stretching his listless limbs;
Or trace hay-scented meadows, smooth and long,
    Where joy’s wild impulse swims
      In one continued song.

  I love at early morn, from new mown swath,
    To see the startled frog his route pursue;
To mark while, leaping o’er the dripping path,
    His bright sides scatter dew,
The early lark that from its bustle flies,
    To hail his matin new;
      And watch him to the skies.

  To note on hedgerow baulks, in moisture sprent,
    The jetty snail creep from the mossy thorn,
With earnest heed, and tremulous intent,
    Frail brother of the morn,
That from the tiny bent’s dew-misted leaves
    Withdraws his timid horn,
      And fearful vision weaves.

  Or swallow heed on smoke-tanned chimney top,
    Wont to be first unsealing Morning’s eye,
Ere yet the bee hath gleaned one wayward drop
    Of honey on his thigh;
To see him seek morn’s airy couch to sing,
    Until the golden sky
      Bepaint his russet wing.

  Or sauntering boy by tanning corn to spy,
    With clapping noise to startle birds away,
And hear him bawl to every passer by
    To know the hour of day;
While the uncradled breezes, fresh and strong,
    With waking blossoms play,
      And breathe Æolian song.

  I love the south-west wind, or low or loud,
    And not the less when sudden drops of rain
Moisten my glowing cheek from ebon cloud,
    Threatening soft showers again,
That over lands new ploughed and meadow grounds,
    Summer’s sweet breath unchain,
      And wake harmonious sounds.

  Rich music breathes in Summer’s every sound;
    And in her harmony of varied greens,
Woods, meadows, hedge-rows, corn-fields, all around
    Much beauty intervenes,
Filling with harmony the ear and eye;
    While o’er the mingling scenes
      Far spreads the laughing sky.

  See, how the wind-enamoured aspen leaves
    Turn up their silver lining to the sun!
And hark! the rustling noise, that oft deceives,
    And makes the sheep-boy run:
The sound so mimics fast-approaching showers,
    He thinks the rain’s begun,
      And hastes to sheltering bowers.

  But now the evening curdles dank and grey,
    Changing her watchet hue for sombre ****;
And moping owls, to close the lids of day,
    On drowsy wing proceed;
While chickering crickets, tremulous and long,
    Light’s farewell inly heed,
      And give it parting song.

  The pranking bat its flighty circlet makes;
    The glow-worm burnishes its lamp anew;
O’er meadows dew-besprent, the beetle wakes
    Inquiries ever new,
Teazing each passing ear with murmurs vain,
    As wanting to pursue
      His homeward path again.

  Hark! ’tis the melody of distant bells
    That on the wind with pleasing hum rebounds
By fitful starts, then musically swells
    O’er the dim stilly grounds;
While on the meadow-bridge the pausing boy
    Listens the mellow sounds,
      And hums in vacant joy.

  Now homeward-bound, the hedger bundles round
    His evening ******, and with every stride
His leathern doublet leaves a rustling sound,
    Till silly sheep beside
His path start tremulous, and once again
    Look back dissatisfied,
      And scour the dewy plain.

  How sweet the soothing calmness that distills
    O’er the heart’s every sense its ****** dews,
In meek-eyed moods and ever balmy trills!
    That softens and subdues,
With gentle Quiet’s bland and sober train,
    Which dreamy eve renews
      In many a mellow strain!

  I love to walk the fields, they are to me
    A legacy no evil can destroy;
They, like a spell, set every rapture free
    That cheer’d me when a boy.
Play—pastime—all Time’s blotting pen conceal’d,
    Comes like a new-born joy,
      To greet me in the field.

  For Nature’s objects ever harmonize
    With emulous Taste, that ****** deed annoys;
Which loves in pensive moods to sympathize,
    And meet vibrating joys
O’er Nature’s pleasing things; nor slighting, deems
    Pastimes, the Muse employs,
      Vain and obtrusive themes.
jeffrey conyers Aug 2012
Joy in the morning.
I got.
Joy at night.
I got.
Joy surrounding me.
Every day of my life.

Who's responsible for my happiness?
Beside myself.
Others can enter in and make it delightful.
Or enter in and make it seems worthless.
Which would be contributed to you.

Except.
I control my moods.
And my attitudes.
Similar to the one ,I wants to give my love too.

So, I keep joy in the morning.
And joy at night.
Who wants to be sad for the rest of their lives?

I find joy at church.
I find joy at work.
I find joy with my friends.
I find joy with my kins.

And it will stay this way to the very end.
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2017
The joyful heart is the buoyant heart—
empowered to rise above its circumstances,
unweighted, unburdened, unbound,
tied only to that which would lift it higher,
untethered from anything which would
pull it down, pull it under or suffocate it.

It's the free heart, quiet and at rest
yet jubilant and uncontained,
the celebrating heart, the praising heart,
the thankful heart, the heart set on pilgrimage,
bent on adventure, journey and romance.

All the while it's a waiting heart
because it's a yielded, led heart—
a heart which doesn't run ahead of the LORD
but willingly, quickly to the LORD—
a heart that though eagerly anticipating each
twisting turn, next horizon and changing path
keeps its eyes fixed not on the scenery
but forever on the Shepherd
because it's a heart persuaded
that He alone is the Great Reward
for which it has always been looking.

True joy is only ours when we find an endless
source of satisfaction, and of these I know only One!
The secret to all joy is to crave Him above all else.
The joyful heart is the one addicted fully to Him,
desperate for Him to the expense of all else,
willing to sacrifice everything to have that craving satisfied.

Joy and idols, I have learned,
do not easily reside together in the same heart.
So if I find that joy is chased away
the most likely culprits are my own desires.
What am I wanting more than Jesus?
For if intimacy with Him is the supreme goal of my life
then nothing can arise which I'm not enabled to bear with joy.
There is, I suppose, nothing so reliable as suffering and loss
to expose all of the hidden idols within me.

It's surely those who have suffered the greatest
and most frequent losses for Christ who are also
most capable of knowing the deepest and most abiding joy.
For it's when we've been stripped bare of everything else
that we begin to know for certain that our joy is based
not on the temporary blessings of our circumstances
but only on the presence of the Eternal Blesser Himself.

Sometimes He offers to us all that is in His right hand,
but for any with eyes truly opened to see
the most precious of times may be those
when He offers to us only the intimacy of His right hand.

Rivers of sadness can open up
into wide gulfs of endless delight and
are often the very courses needed to carry us there.
When all is lost, we find to our amazement
that, even so, we still have ALL
and no one can rob us of it.
When He takes everything from us
He proves Himself to be EVERYTHING to us.
~~~

"For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain."
~ Philippians 1:21

"I want you to know how hard I am contending
for you...and for all who have not met me personally.
My goal is that they may be encouraged in heart
and united in love, so that they may have the full riches
of complete understanding, in order that they may know
the mystery of God, namely, Christ, in whom are hidden
all the treasures of wisdom and knowledge."
~ Colossians 2:1-3

"I say to the LORD, 'You are my Lord;
    apart from You I have no good thing.'...
Those who run after other gods will suffer more and more...
    LORD, You alone are my portion and my cup;
    You make my lot secure...
I will praise the LORD, who counsels me;
    even at night my heart instructs me.
I keep my eyes always on the LORD.
    With Him at my right hand, I will not be shaken.
Therefore my heart is glad and my tongue rejoices;
    my body also will rest secure...
You make known to me the path of life;
    You will fill me with joy in Your presence,
    with eternal pleasures at Your right hand."
~ Psalm 16:2,4a-5,7-9,11

"Though the fig tree does not bud
    and there are no grapes on the vines,
though the olive crop fails
    and the fields produce no food,
though there are no sheep in the pen
    and no cattle in the stalls,
yet I will rejoice in the LORD,
    I will be joyful in God my Savior.
The Sovereign LORD is my strength;
    He makes my feet like the feet of a deer,
    He enables me to tread on the heights."
~ Habakkuk 3:17-19

"How lovely is Your dwelling place,
     O LORD Almighty!
My soul yearns, even faints,
    for the courts of the LORD;
my heart and my flesh cry out
    for the living God.
Even the sparrow has found a home,
    and the swallow a nest for herself,
    where she may have her young—
a place near Your altar,
     O LORD Almighty, my King and my God.
Blessed are those who dwell in Your house;
    they are ever praising You.
Blessed are those whose strength is in You,
    whose hearts are set on pilgrimage.
As they pass through the Valley of Baca,
    they make it a place of springs;
    the autumn rains also cover it with pools.
They go from strength to strength,
    till each appears before God in Zion."
~ Psalm 84:1-7

~~~
Evynne Jul 2013
One thing I have noticed about myself
Is that the person I am at the given moment
Is a true and honest reflection of what I feel like inside
I act differently
I think differently
I feel differently
I dress differently
I react differently
All depending on who I am and
What I am experiencing internally
At that point in my life

I think this is one reason I struggle with joy
When I think about it
Small and fleeting moments of joy
Are full of such immaculate beauty and tugging nostalgia
They're enticing
(Especially when you spend most of your time feeling sad and lost )
But that tends to change when you have a lot of those moments
And then when those moments happen more and more frequently
They start to become a normal part of your every day life
Until joy is something you are used to
And you struggle to find something to make you feel so intimately
Something that pierces the deepest part of your soul
Something that is unbearably painful but so magnificently beautiful
Just like all of those days you were so sad
But your joy is your sorrow unmasked
One cannot survive without the other
They coexist

So when the jar labeled, "Joy & Sorrow" is full
Filled all the way up to the brim with this Joy
There is no room for any Sorrow to join in
And with too much Joy and not enough Sorrow
Things are surely going to start feeling a little bit suspicious
And maybe even bland
So what do you do?
Do you just go on struggling with joy?
I wish I knew
I wish I knew
leona chaput Mar 2016
Joy in my heart to stay
Joy in my soul I pray
I will  rejoice
In my Savour forever
In a world that is hurting
A world crying for peace
There is joy with Jesus
Joy for all nations to
Celebrate
There is joy to endure
Pain and all hardships
Knowing there's joy
In the mercy and power
Of God
Joy fills my heart and
Joy fills my soul
Leading me onward
Praising the Lord
Everywhere on this earth
Jesus reigns triumphantly
Filling our hearts and souls
With His joy everlasting

                BY:  Leona Chaput
cheryl love Mar 2016
A Joy to Behold

Holding a new born baby
Close in your warm strong arms
Baby food dripping down your shoulder
And the constant ringing of sleep alarms.
A joy to behold.
Walking the dog in the dead of night
It alerted you at two in the morning.
Waiting at bedroom door with lead
No fuss just a wet sloppy warning.
A joy to behold.
You just sit down with an evening meal
After a hard day’s work – the ‘phone rings
A sales talk on something you do not want
Slam the receiver down, and then say nice things.
A joy to behold.
Stuck in traffic when you are in a rush
All you want to do is get there and back.
You know something is going to happen
The chap behind you didn’t see you – whack!!!
A joy to behold.
You fetch your loved one from the supermarket
With a thousand bags for you to carry.
She has spent all your wages in a flash
And you wonder about the girl you did marry.
A joy to behold.
Watching your garden turn to weeds
After a heavy fall of the never ending rain.
Pulling them out with roots the size of parsnips
Your back aching, pulled a muscle once again.
A joy to behold. True a joy to behold.
Isaac Huston Nov 2015
Joy
Joy
Is warm apple cider
Drank on a porch
On a cold November day.

Joy
Is a friend
To whom you don't
Have to clarify and censor.

Joy
Is having a moment
To relax
And soak in the world.

Joy
Is having a friend whom talking to
Gives you energy
When you're an introvert.

Joy
Is a quiet read
Outdoors
After a stressful day.

Joy
Is somehow knowing
That everything
Is going to be okay,
And if it isn't,
That no one
Will leave you.

Joy is a slight smile,
A faint contentment
Upon the cheeks and lips,
And a great relaxation
Within.

Joy
Is what I have,
Somehow,
Right now.
Alyssa Underwood Aug 2017
In the darkness of constricting depression
I begged the Lord to give me joy even if it killed me,
and He promised me it most assuredly would,
for this is joy’s mantra:

“Death to self!”

It is simply not possible to know the deepest kind of joy
until we have experienced the anguish of death to self
with a cruel stake of affliction though our hearts.
For it is there on the altar of sacrifice
when we have finally surrendered what is most dear to us,
when we have willingly brought our costliest gifts
to lay humbly at the feet of the King,
that we are raised up to know firsthand His resurrection joy
through the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings.
No one who has ever truly learned that
“to live is Christ and to die is gain”
has ever escaped this path.

Find me even one.

There is nothing quite like rejection to teach us about God’s love,
nothing quite like loss to teach us of His joy,
nothing like storms to teach peace,
nothing like ruined plans to teach patience,
nothing like loneliness to teach kindness,
nothing like failure to teach us of His goodness,
nothing like betrayal to teach faithfulness,
nothing like being completely misunderstood to teach gentleness
and nothing like humiliation to teach us self-control.

Why is this?

Because there is nothing like pain to chase us to Jesus
and to teach us to rely so helplessly on His Spirit’s filling.
And when we have His filling, we will know His fruit.
~~~

“For to me, to live is Christ and to die is gain.”
~Philippians 1:21

“But whatever was to my profit I now consider loss for the sake of Christ. What is more, I consider everything a loss compared to the surpassing greatness of knowing Christ Jesus my Lord, for whose sake I have lost all things. I consider them *******, that I may gain Christ and be found in Him, not having a righteousness of my own that comes from the law, but that which is through faith in Christ--the righteousness that comes from God and is by faith. I want to know Christ and the power of His resurrection and the fellowship of sharing in His sufferings, becoming like Him in His death, and so, somehow, to attain to the resurrection from the dead.”
~ Philippians 3:7-11

“But the fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control. Against such things there is no law. Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the sinful nature with its passions and desires. Since we live by the Spirit, let us keep in step with the Spirit.”
~ Galatians 5:22-25

“Then He said to them all: 'Whoever wants to be My disciple must deny themselves and take up their cross daily and follow Me. For whoever wants to save their life will lose it, but whoever loses their life for Me will save it.'“
~ Luke 9:23-24
Arke Aug 2018
Joy
you asked me to write a poem
about joy
a difficult request for someone
who has forgotten what it means
and at times
forgotten where to find it
I started thinking of life's tiny joys
warm coffee
soft cheese
mountain views
hot tub kisses
long hikes, hand in hand
running into a warm ocean
and I wondered if that was enough
if I could string together all
the tiny moments, end to end
if they would create something
quantifiable enough to be described
as joy?
or if my joy
like the wings of a raven or
jagged blocks of ice or
fields of succulents
would always be better viewed
at a safe distance and never touched but
you allowed me to see your joy and
for a moment I felt like it was tangible
you let me hold it with care
I will always be grateful
that you have shown me
what it looks like
I keep it near my heart now
by my closest memories
because your joy is my gift and
my joy
will always remain with you
BOOK I

S.  Patrick. You who are bent, and bald, and blind,
With a heavy heart and a wandering mind,
Have known three centuries, poets sing,
Of dalliance with a demon thing.

Oisin. Sad to remember, sick with years,
The swift innumerable spears,
The horsemen with their floating hair,
And bowls of barley, honey, and wine,
Those merry couples dancing in tune,
And the white body that lay by mine;
But the tale, though words be lighter than air.
Must live to be old like the wandering moon.

Caoilte, and Conan, and Finn were there,
When we followed a deer with our baying hounds.
With Bran, Sceolan, and Lomair,
And passing the Firbolgs' burial-motmds,
Came to the cairn-heaped grassy hill
Where passionate Maeve is stony-still;
And found On the dove-grey edge of the sea
A pearl-pale, high-born lady, who rode
On a horse with bridle of findrinny;
And like a sunset were her lips,
A stormy sunset on doomed ships;
A citron colour gloomed in her hair,

But down to her feet white vesture flowed,
And with the glimmering crimson glowed
Of many a figured embroidery;
And it was bound with a pearl-pale shell
That wavered like the summer streams,
As her soft ***** rose and fell.

S.  Patrick. You are still wrecked among heathen dreams.

Oisin. "Why do you wind no horn?' she said
"And every hero droop his head?
The hornless deer is not more sad
That many a peaceful moment had,
More sleek than any granary mouse,
In his own leafy forest house
Among the waving fields of fern:
The hunting of heroes should be glad.'

'O pleasant woman,' answered Finn,
"We think on Oscar's pencilled urn,
And on the heroes lying slain
On Gabhra's raven-covered plain;
But where are your noble kith and kin,
And from what country do you ride?'

"My father and my mother are
Aengus and Edain, my own name
Niamh, and my country far
Beyond the tumbling of this tide.'

"What dream came with you that you came
Through bitter tide on foam-wet feet?
Did your companion wander away
From where the birds of Aengus wing?'
Thereon did she look haughty and sweet:
"I have not yet, war-weary king,
Been spoken of with any man;
Yet now I choose, for these four feet
Ran through the foam and ran to this
That I might have your son to kiss.'

"Were there no better than my son
That you through all that foam should run?'

"I loved no man, though kings besought,
Until the Danaan poets brought
Rhyme that rhymed upon Oisin's name,
And now I am dizzy with the thought
Of all that wisdom and the fame
Of battles broken by his hands,
Of stories builded by his words
That are like coloured Asian birds
At evening in their rainless lands.'

O Patrick, by your brazen bell,
There was no limb of mine but fell
Into a desperate gulph of love!
'You only will I wed,' I cried,
"And I will make a thousand songs,
And set your name all names above,
And captives bound with leathern thongs
Shall kneel and praise you, one by one,
At evening in my western dun.'

"O Oisin, mount by me and ride
To shores by the wash of the tremulous tide,
Where men have heaped no burial-mounds,
And the days pass by like a wayward tune,
Where broken faith has never been known
And the blushes of first love never have flown;
And there I will give you a hundred hounds;
No mightier creatures bay at the moon;
And a hundred robes of murmuring silk,
And a hundred calves and a hundred sheep
Whose long wool whiter than sea-froth flows,
And a hundred spears and a hundred bows,
And oil and wine and honey and milk,
And always never-anxious sleep;
While a hundred youths, mighty of limb,
But knowing nor tumult nor hate nor strife,
And a hundred ladies, merry as birds,
Who when they dance to a fitful measure
Have a speed like the speed of the salmon herds,
Shall follow your horn and obey your whim,
And you shall know the Danaan leisure;
And Niamh be with you for a wife.'
Then she sighed gently, "It grows late.
Music and love and sleep await,
Where I would be when the white moon climbs,
The red sun falls and the world grows dim.'

And then I mounted and she bound me
With her triumphing arms around me,
And whispering to herself enwound me;
He shook himself and neighed three times:
Caoilte, Conan, and Finn came near,
And wept, and raised their lamenting hands,
And bid me stay, with many a tear;
But we rode out from the human lands.
In what far kingdom do you go'
Ah Fenians, with the shield and bow?
Or are you phantoms white as snow,
Whose lips had life's most prosperous glow?
O you, with whom in sloping vallcys,
Or down the dewy forest alleys,
I chased at morn the flying deer,
With whom I hurled the hurrying spear,
And heard the foemen's bucklers rattle,
And broke the heaving ranks of battle!
And Bran, Sceolan, and Lomair,
Where are you with your long rough hair?
You go not where the red deer feeds,
Nor tear the foemen from their steeds.

S.  Patrick. Boast not, nor mourn with drooping head
Companions long accurst and dead,
And hounds for centuries dust and air.

Oisin. We galloped over the glossy sea:
I know not if days passed or hours,
And Niamh sang continually
Danaan songs, and their dewy showers
Of pensive laughter, unhuman sound,
Lulled weariness, and softly round
My human sorrow her white arms wound.
We galloped; now a hornless deer
Passed by us, chased by a phantom hound
All pearly white, save one red ear;
And now a lady rode like the wind
With an apple of gold in her tossing hand;
And a beautiful young man followed behind
With quenchless gaze and fluttering hair.
"Were these two born in the Danaan land,
Or have they breathed the mortal air?'

"Vex them no longer,' Niamh said,
And sighing bowed her gentle head,
And sighing laid the pearly tip
Of one long finger on my lip.

But now the moon like a white rose shone
In the pale west, and the sun'S rim sank,
And clouds atrayed their rank on rank
About his fading crimson ball:
The floor of Almhuin's hosting hall
Was not more level than the sea,
As, full of loving fantasy,
And with low murmurs, we rode on,
Where many a trumpet-twisted shell
That in immortal silence sleeps
Dreaming of her own melting hues,
Her golds, her ambers, and her blues,
Pierced with soft light the shallowing deeps.
But now a wandering land breeze came
And a far sound of feathery quires;
It seemed to blow from the dying flame,
They seemed to sing in the smouldering fires.
The horse towards the music raced,
Neighing along the lifeless waste;
Like sooty fingers, many a tree
Rose ever out of the warm sea;
And they were trembling ceaselessly,
As though they all were beating time,
Upon the centre of the sun,
To that low laughing woodland rhyme.
And, now our wandering hours were done,
We cantered to the shore, and knew
The reason of the trembling trees:
Round every branch the song-birds flew,
Or clung thereon like swarming bees;
While round the shore a million stood
Like drops of frozen rainbow light,
And pondered in a soft vain mood
Upon their shadows in the tide,
And told the purple deeps their pride,
And murmured snatches of delight;
And on the shores were many boats
With bending sterns and bending bows,
And carven figures on their prows
Of bitterns, and fish-eating stoats,
And swans with their exultant throats:
And where the wood and waters meet
We tied the horse in a leafy clump,
And Niamh blew three merry notes
Out of a little silver trump;
And then an answering whispering flew
Over the bare and woody land,
A whisper of impetuous feet,
And ever nearer, nearer grew;
And from the woods rushed out a band
Of men and ladies, hand in hand,
And singing, singing all together;
Their brows were white as fragrant milk,
Their cloaks made out of yellow silk,
And trimmed with many a crimson feather;
And when they saw the cloak I wore
Was dim with mire of a mortal shore,
They fingered it and gazed on me
And laughed like murmurs of the sea;
But Niamh with a swift distress
Bid them away and hold their peace;
And when they heard her voice they ran
And knelt there, every girl and man,
And kissed, as they would never cease,
Her pearl-pale hand and the hem of her dress.
She bade them bring us to the hall
Where Aengus dreams, from sun to sun,
A Druid dream of the end of days
When the stars are to wane and the world be done.

They led us by long and shadowy ways
Where drops of dew in myriads fall,
And tangled creepers every hour
Blossom in some new crimson flower,
And once a sudden laughter sprang
From all their lips, and once they sang
Together, while the dark woods rang,
And made in all their distant parts,
With boom of bees in honey-marts,
A rumour of delighted hearts.
And once a lady by my side
Gave me a harp, and bid me sing,
And touch the laughing silver string;
But when I sang of human joy
A sorrow wrapped each merry face,
And, patrick! by your beard, they wept,
Until one came, a tearful boy;
"A sadder creature never stept
Than this strange human bard,' he cried;
And caught the silver harp away,
And, weeping over the white strings, hurled
It down in a leaf-hid, hollow place
That kept dim waters from the sky;
And each one said, with a long, long sigh,
"O saddest harp in all the world,
Sleep there till the moon and the stars die!'

And now, still sad, we came to where
A beautiful young man dreamed within
A house of wattles, clay, and skin;
One hand upheld his beardless chin,
And one a sceptre flashing out
Wild flames of red and gold and blue,
Like to a merry wandering rout
Of dancers leaping in the air;
And men and ladies knelt them there
And showed their eyes with teardrops dim,
And with low murmurs prayed to him,
And kissed the sceptre with red lips,
And touched it with their finger-tips.
He held that flashing sceptre up.
"Joy drowns the twilight in the dew,
And fills with stars night's purple cup,
And wakes the sluggard seeds of corn,
And stirs the young kid's budding horn,
And makes the infant ferns unwrap,
And for the peewit paints his cap,
And rolls along the unwieldy sun,
And makes the little planets run:
And if joy were not on the earth,
There were an end of change and birth,
And Earth and Heaven and Hell would die,
And in some gloomy barrow lie
Folded like a frozen fly;
Then mock at Death and Time with glances
And wavering arms and wandering dances.

"Men's hearts of old were drops of flame
That from the saffron morning came,
Or drops of silver joy that fell
Out of the moon's pale twisted shell;
But now hearts cry that hearts are slaves,
And toss and turn in narrow caves;
But here there is nor law nor rule,
Nor have hands held a weary tool;
And here there is nor Change nor Death,
But only kind and merry breath,
For joy is God and God is joy.'
With one long glance for girl and boy
And the pale blossom of the moon,
He fell into a Druid swoon.

And in a wild and sudden dance
We mocked at Time and Fate and Chance
And swept out of the wattled hall
And came to where the dewdrops fall
Among the foamdrops of the sea,
And there we hushed the revelry;
And, gathering on our brows a frown,
Bent all our swaying bodies down,
And to the waves that glimmer by
That sloping green De Danaan sod
Sang, "God is joy and joy is God,
And things that have grown sad are wicked,
And things that fear the dawn of the morrow
Or the grey wandering osprey Sorrow.'

We danced to where in the winding thicket
The damask roses, bloom on bloom,
Like crimson meteors hang in the gloom.
And bending over them softly said,
Bending over them in the dance,
With a swift and friendly glance
From dewy eyes:  "Upon the dead
Fall the leaves of other roses,
On the dead dim earth encloses:
But never, never on our graves,
Heaped beside the glimmering waves,
Shall fall the leaves of damask roses.
For neither Death nor Change comes near us,
And all listless hours fear us,
And we fear no dawning morrow,
Nor the grey wandering osprey Sorrow.'

The dance wound through the windless woods;
The ever-summered solitudes;
Until the tossing arms grew still
Upon the woody central hill;
And, gathered in a panting band,
We flung on high each waving hand,
And sang unto the starry broods.
In our raised eyes there flashed a glow
Of milky brightness to and fro
As thus our song arose:  "You stars,
Across your wandering ruby cars
Shake the loose reins:  you slaves of God.
He rules you with an iron rod,
He holds you with an iron bond,
Each one woven to the other,
Each one woven to his brother
Like bubbles in a frozen pond;
But we in a lonely land abide
Unchainable as the dim tide,
With hearts that know nor law nor rule,
And hands that hold no wearisome tool,
Folded in love that fears no morrow,
Nor the grey wandering osprey Sorrow.'

O Patrick! for a hundred years
I chased upon that woody shore
The deer, the badger, and the boar.
O patrick! for a hundred years
At evening on the glimmering sands,
Beside the piled-up hunting spears,
These now outworn and withered hands
Wrestled among the island bands.
O patrick! for a hundred years
We went a-fishing in long boats
With bending sterns and bending bows,
And carven figures on their prows
Of bitterns and fish-eating stoats.
O patrick! for a hundred years
The gentle Niamh was my wife;
But now two things devour my life;
The things that most of all I hate:
Fasting and prayers.

S.  Patrick. Tell On.

Oisin. Yes, yes,
For these were ancient Oisin's fate
Loosed long ago from Heaven's gate,
For his last days to lie in wait.
When one day by the tide I stood,
I found in that forgetfulness
Of dreamy foam a staff of wood
From some dead warrior's broken lance:
I tutned it in my hands; the stains
Of war were on it, and I wept,
Remembering how the Fenians stept
Along the blood-bedabbled plains,
Equal to good or grievous chance:
Thereon young Niamh softly came
And caught my hands, but spake no word
Save only many times my name,
In murmurs, like a frighted bird.
We passed by woods, and lawns of clover,
And found the horse and bridled him,
For we knew well the old was over.
I heard one say, "His eyes grow dim
With all the ancient sorrow of men';
And wrapped in dreams rode out again
With hoofs of the pale findrinny
Over the glimmering purple sea.
Under the golden evening light,
The Immortals moved among thc fountains
By rivers and the woods' old night;
Some danced like shadows on the mountains
Some wandered ever hand in hand;
Or sat in dreams on the pale strand,
Each forehead like an obscure star
Bent down above each hooked knee,
And sang, and with a dreamy gaze
Watched where the sun in a saffron blaze
Was slumbering half in the sea-ways;
And, as they sang, the painted birds



























































­

























Kept time with their bright wings and feet;
Like drops of honey came their words,
But fainter than a young lamb's bleat.

"An old man stirs the fire to a blaze,
In the house of a child, of a friend, of a brother.
He has over-lingered his welcome; the days,
Grown desolate, whisper and sigh to each other;
He hears the storm in the chimney above,
And bends to the fire and shakes with the cold,
While his heart still dreams of battle and love,
And the cry of the hounds on the hills of old.

But We are apart in the grassy places,
Where care cannot trouble the least of our days,
Or the softness of youth be gone from our faces,
Or love's first tenderness die in our gaze.
The hare grows old as she plays in the sun
And gazes around her with eyes of brightness;
Before the swift things that she dreamed of were done
She limps along in an aged whiteness;
A storm of birds in the Asian trees
Like tulips in the air a-winging,
And the gentle waves of the summer seas,
That raise their heads and wander singing,
Must murmur at last, ""Unjust, unjust';
And ""My speed is a weariness,' falters the mouse,
And the kingfisher turns to a ball of dust,
And the roof falls in of his tunnelled house.
But the love-dew dims our eyes till the day
When God shall come from the Sea with a sigh
And bid the stars drop down from the sky,
And the moon like a pale rose wither away.'

#######
BOOK II
#######

NOW, man of croziers, shadows called our names
And then away, away, like whirling flames;
And now fled by, mist-covered, without sound,
The youth and lady and the deer and hound;
"Gaze no more on the phantoms,' Niamh said,
And kissed my eyes, and, swaying her bright head
And her bright body, sang of faery and man
Before God was or my old line began;
Wars shadowy, vast, exultant; faeries of old
Who wedded men with rings of Druid gold;
And how those lovers
Stu Harley Oct 2018
oh joy
what precious thing here
on earth that we share
then
what is joy
really my friend
what is it
joy always comes in
the early morning
with the cheerful sun
and joy fills the heart up
with a glee and
a special kinda grin
but still, joy is sweeter
than  honey-maple syrup
where joy begins
with a snap crackle pop
and a wee
when you least expect it from me
let joy in

— The End —