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Bad Luck Jul 2018
Doing a dance,
to wear a mask,
To play a game that you can’t stomach . . .
Just so that the truth doesn’t have to face you,
The way you recoil from reflections of yourself.

You’d forsake your happiness, your health —
                                                  You would burn it all.

To do a dance,
To wear a mask
To play a game you’ll always lose.
                                                  To look in a mirror . . .
             To tell an image, that it’s anything but you.

And it is in that moment, that you'll find
                                you tell the unfamiliar truth
As you bleed and feed your own obliterated youth . . .

To feel, and then
                          to lose —
Just like the loss you always knew

                          You would find in disappointment.
Like an unholy anointment
                          of your least desirable possessions
That retire from the heavens
                          Back to you.


To betray, and to amuse
                                                          A­lone.
The ides of irony rejoice!
               For they’ve found their lamb... or
their ever-dying muse.
                 Forsaking life itself, you clamor
To see others just like you.

And maybe, one day, one will choose
           the path that you can’t leave,
As it reciprocates to thee —
            Two partners in misery, fated to excuse
the waste of each other...
            until they find there’s nothing left.

To feel the flame within its breath consumed.

Wearing a mask,
To live a lie,
                And die a death,
                Whose dance you six-times misstep


                              And on the seventh, betrays you.

"Bad Luck: In a Wakeful Contradiction" is now available on Amazon in paperback!

Link: https://www.amazon.com/dp/1691941182
Tommy Randell Nov 2014
Up steep streets
I repeat
In a dream
Words seen in windows
To myself
Sub-vocally

Turning right
And Northward
Left and Westwood
Checking number plates
For initial surprises
Numbers for primes

Multiplying
The number of years
By the number of days
Adding the leaps
The few left over
Beats

To arrive in the viewfinder
To stand on the edge
To look at the scene
To breathe with the light
To know finally that I am
The lens
IrieSide Sep 2018
Stay immortal,
leave your legacy

Conquer the greatest dragon
rescue the bravest princess
find your hero
deep within
artsofthought.com
JV Beaupre May 2016
"So why are you painting a woman in a bottle?"
The challenge. Handling all those quirky reflections and layers of transparency.

"She has phantom arms and legs, what about that?"
Yes, pretty cool. A Vitruvian woman in a bottle. *

"I'm looking for Meaning: Don't paintings look under the surface?"
You mean, what does it mean, really mean? It's just a way to test my skill.

"But what are you saying with that?"
It's not feminist nor anti, it's just an exercise. Besides, there's a rope.

"But aren't you, as an artist, exposing reality, presenting emotions and feelings, seeing the soul?"
I'm not on a soapbox-- I'm testing my skill-- I paint and don't think about it too much. After all, 'Sometimes a cigar is just a cigar' or is it 'just a smoke'?

"I don't like your message."
OK, I'll paint you in a bottle...
As a shrunken head.
On the other hand, I once painted an agricultural scene based on a photo from the 1930s that I thought carried a social message. Most people wanted to know what kind of tractor it was.
Joe Bradley Jul 2014
I
a flicker of warm light
and your face is all that I see.
Thunderclouds are silenced,
burned away and
my chest is left open to
our place under the opal sky.
The light is our soft romance
and our candlelit meal for two...

II
'Spiritui Sancto'
A Benedictine Monk
alone in
cold stone chambers sees
an ascending soul,
holy company,
a solitary light in all the
emptiness.
'Sed libera nos a malo'

III
Scorch-marks
drip
love - bites
drip
but please don't stop...
drip
In his lust,
Mould moments of my skin
and keep them
forever.

V
'Waxy fingertips!'
'Put that down,
PUT THAT DOWN!'
Mum told us
If you play with fire
you're going to get burned.

V
30 miles
they say
is the mathematical distance
you can see a flame in the dark

VI
This is the symbol of our nation.
'Not by might, nor by power, but by my spirit'
This nine branched lamp symbolizes that our Israel.
has courage, those may be their Qassam rockets,
but those are our sirens.
and that humming you hear is our drones
over their heads.

VII
buuuuzzzzzzzzzz
What enchanting light...
zzzzzzzzz
what God are you? Oh
zzzzzzzzzzzz
wondrous beauty
zzzzz
what magic do you hold, what glory...
zzzzzzzzzz
come closer str.....

VIII
What died so I could read?
The tallow is a pig
the squealing embers
fat pig.

IX
here comes the candle to light you to bed,
And I curled, vulnerable to the shapes in the window
with my feet creeping further under the duvet.
The shadows were melted, cut, distorted on
my bedroom walls.
A primal evil will danced by the light of the flame
until I shut my eyes so tight,
that I slept it away.
here comes the chopper to chop off your head.

X
'No Jennifer, I just feel candlelight just adds a certain

ambiancé

to a room

No?'

XI
'Quickly, before it turns septic.'
'This wont hurt boy'
'The fire, pass the fire'
'Quarterise it quick or he won't last long'
'bite down hard my lad, bite down hard'
'AHHHHHRRRGGGGHHHH'


XII
Children hurtle down,
a Bombay slum to hear that.
'King Rama has returned,
light his path!'

The open sewers adorned in Ghee lamps
find such intense beauty as each quivering flame,
although so fragile, breathes the story
of the power of human spirit
unshakable against overwhelming odds.
*'The King of Ayodhya
Has Returned
Show his path for the Festival of Light!'
Keith Collard Nov 2015
How can I be the closest to your home, and still unknown,
How can I be the closest to the Sun, closest to the scorch,
and still have the most icy landlords in my poles,
and why can I and twilight be seen by you alone?

How come from my surface, light does not work--light does not hurt, I do not blink as I think, even as the sunset pours lava forth, and that sunset is that lie of time, as you disappear in darkness, I almost disappear in light, then the stars scream across the sky, in a geminid shower rewind, in my unblinking muse, in the solar hues, the great inferno retreats, and the slower speed of Earth I view, And I see the astrologer, with his useless scope, trying to track my path, futile as the priests trying to inven gold.
They cannot understand my core, with machines that are perfect because I am perfectly mercurial on the surface,
with the intense cold of my poles, and the intense burning solar gold of my repose,   I view  blinding light, then infinite starry night, and cold dark logic they are encased in--my deep dark basins, and the rolling triumph of my surface's relief is from breathless sandy ovation beneath.


But now is my silver region where I compose, between extremes, no ovation no gold, only metallic mercury upon the barren from faint starlight strobes.  Here is where my dark volumes are known, but  like shifting shadows with light are closed.  Then a clock strikes the hour, when my surface is reinvested with power,  the oncoming of a sunset getting louder and louder,  and in my face a cold severe place, and on my stare intense solar glare.

   My theater is caused by applause, my temple is lit with pale light of long dead stars, and I crash and die young forever like my short lived geminid sparks,  In your twilight is my house, and with my intense and icy blood, I protect the memory and mystery of love.
Raihah Mior Sep 2018
1.  It always happens completely unexpectedly.

It could be a year from now, perhaps another 5 years, maybe tomorrow. It could be the person you've been liking for the longest time, it could be your bestfriend that you didn't think you'd fall for, it could be the guy you met for three days during your sister's graduation day. Nothing's ever really certain. You just don't know when it'll happen. And with whom.


2.  It's good to know what you want. But never set expectations.

I've come to realise that what's most important is that you share the same or similar end-goals with the person. Having different outlooks on life isn't necessarily a bad thing, as long as the things you wish to achieve in life are, or should at least be aligned to one another - whether it's family, career or personal life goals. It's also good to know what you want in a person in terms of his/her core values. BUT, having a list of what your dream person should physically and mentally turn out to be? Nope, throw that out.  


3.  Self-love before anything else.

It's about acknowledging your flaws. Knowing and understanding your little quirks. Enjoying time by yourself and taking pleasure in your own presence. Looking in the mirror and feeling beautiful/badass. Ultimately, it's about accepting yourself exactly the way you are. Loving yourself first and foremost, above all else. And eventually having enough confidence to know that however and whoever you are, the other person will come to love every single little detail about you.

.....but what if they don't?

Simple. Get outta there. You don't deserve it.
You've got too much self-respect for that.


4.  Take all the time you need.

In an era of technological advancements and glorified instant gratification, it's easy to fall into the abyss of wanting more and more and wanting it NOW. Everywhere you look, everyone around you seems to be falling in love and having the time of their lives. Pfft, it isn't that hard is it? People find their soulmates all the time. It's just a mere click of an app. Swipe right, there you have it.

Now... here comes the hard-hitting truth. Falling in love is a literal piece of cake. Staying in love, now that's the hardest part. This is where patience and taking the time to know a person is crucial. It's very important to know the person as a friend first before anything else. Also, the friendship should make you feel comfortable enough to know that no matter how much time you take and need, it only proves that it'll further flourish into something even more meaningful as time progresses.

It's like cheese. It's only better with time.


5.  It should set you free.

I used to think love is somewhat this concoction of paradoxes -  it should be happiness and despair, goodness and pain, all jumbled up into one. You're supposed to love someone so much till it hurts. You're supposed to miss him till your head spins and your heart literally aches. It's supposed to make you feel like the worst.... but completely in love.

But as time passes and age matures me, I start to realise that it should be in fact, the complete opposite. Well, yeah, maybe it should make you feel like all those generic lovey-dovey things like in rom-coms. It should make you happy and grin like an idiot. It's gonna turn you into a big ball of cheesy fluff sometimes.

But what it should really feel is easy and breezy, like a pretty summer's day. No one has to feel like you're giving too much and receiving too little when there's mutual understanding and love for each other. It shouldn't feel burdensome when both of you respect your boundaries and spaces. There should too, be times spent apart. You are, after all, two completely different individuals merged together. Your union should make you strong but light on the feet; attached but not chained to one another. You are each the savoury and the sweetness of a PB&J sandwich; both constituting different parts of a whole.
I know this isn't the slightest bit like poetry, and that it belongs in a journal or something... But I dunno, it's been circulating in my head for quite a while. I've just been reflecting on past friendships and relationships a lot lately, I guess.
Stargazer Oct 2015
Reflect on the valuable lessons of yesterday
without dwelling on her mistakes

Dream with anticipation of tomorrow
but never allow her vision to cloud the purpose of today

Live in the moment
Love life in your current station
Enjoy the now

Even darkest night gives way to the dawn of a new day
This is a cold perfect night
The sun switch off the light
Hear my guitar owns the night
I stood on the beam of the light
To give the rule for the moon
He reflects It through the dune
There your heart such a stone
See a rock keeps a stone to retain
Then the rock was my silly brain
Such a sculpture looks really fine
Keeps the memory a part of mine
In a hall of the magestic britain
I'm inveterate to cross the line
Carefully she watches how i speak
In a magistic break doesn't bleak
Tired world makes me the freak
A plague of feelings makes me sick
The steak of heart does not streak
The plague is there wouldn't break
So i keep my eyes away of her eyes
No escape from the morning breeze
A viscous fail on her warmer tears
While i'm lost between the aisles
No matter how much hard I do
Can't Escape the reflections of you
You Know my soul keeps crying too
But i can't forgive The sins you do
Destiny keeps our separated ways
Deeds aren't hearts keeps the ties

Author/ Aladdin Aures H.
Carter Ginter Dec 2012
I don't get what you see
Maybe I'll never understand.
But you don't get it either.
When I look in the mirror
It isn't me
There is no me.
You see strength,
I see nothing.
I'm dying inside,
You believe the mask I wear.
You think you know me
But how could you?
When I don't even know myself.
Molly Nicole Feb 2018
Loving me
Is like a funhouse
After the maze and work
There is merely
A blurred image of yourself
Documenting my first love.
Sally A Bayan Oct 2018
<>

There is power over what's in front,
what's behind, cannot be vouched for.

any one, anything that accost me, are
all taken at face value....just as they are,
disregarding love, or dislike,
or, what dwells deep within.

when not shrouded, i am most useful
some say i'm cruel
others think, i'm kindest
but, i am just being honest.
with the least of light, i try my best,
i earn praises...they come back, they need me
sometimes i am bathed with hatred
i end up in the attic...or given away,
just because the truth is unacceptable.

the area across is most times regular,
a man on his table...what hungs on his wall.
occasionally, it becomes spectacular,
countenances, joyful, or sorrowful
come to and fro...all sorts of accolades
a mix of emotions...each day, an array
of lively colors and moods......a parade
of varied appearances feed my view
it's not what i want...it's what i am given
any time of any day...any season.
whatever the reason
someone or something
stands  to face me.

when night is late, and in complete silence
that man by the table....ever writes on paper
and gets them all wet...with his falling tears,
he writes of volcanoes spewing fire, of rain pouring,
speaks to himself, then to me, of betrayal, promises
lost, of broken vows, and shattered expectations.
i am speechless, yet filled with his pain ....he is restive
til the wee hours of the morning....then i see light in
this visage, his face...giving an end to the dark
giving way to another day's noise,
......a facade.....

Sally

Copyright Rosalia Rosario A. Bayan
October 11, 2018
Tiberias Paulk Nov 2015
I saw an aging man inside his meek and slender frame
and was reminded at a time that he and I were both the same
our arms each strong as any man's and voices always sure
though everyday walked farther from the children that we were
he carried on his face the look of half a million tears
yet also there were smiles I'm sure he'd found throughout the years
as I watched, I dreamt of loss and what it means to die
it was then he saw himself in me and the youth that passed him by
Fearless Apr 26
So still I see the mountains sit
the clouds as if it were the sky
this lake of glass reflecting it
brings a peaceful little sigh

the mirror when I look at me
green eyes and long golden hair
but a tortured soul is what I see
wishing I'd see beauty there

and then I look upon your face
I see more of me in you than me
forgotten myself in the rat race
struggling to find a way to be free

At long last I finally look at Him
and there is my reflected need
so I surrender everything on a whim
and now I find my heart is freed
Leal Knowone Oct 2016
The mirror on the wall would show you what you are afraid to see.
If you could look through and in between.
The creature is you and the creature is me.
All the good and evil you see.
The reflections of all beings.
Christian Bixler Nov 2016
I wake in bed, 'neath twisted sheets,
full throated sings the thrush
and with it, the scrape of knotted
twigs, scratching at my window-pane,
which doubtless served to bring me
up, from that release of dreamless
sleep.

I turn my head upon the pillow,
hoist me up the patchwork quilt,
but struggle how I may in lust
of the peerless prize of sleeps
recapture, I end, as well perhaps,
I might have known, with naught
to show but bated breath, and rest
lost, in want recalled.

Throwing off the strangling sheets,
pushing back the weighted quilt,
I rise, abandon hope of sleep,
shiver, in the morning's chill;
the dawns of Spring as
Winters days.

I move to light a candle,
watch the flickering flames arise,
draw up a chair to the window,
set the candle at my side. I
sit there, dreaming wakeful,
mind weary, gone, astray, as
the minutes pass in silence,
and the hours slip away.

At length, as long I lie there,
reclined in soulful apathy,
lost in boundless sympathy
as to the state of self and Being,
I rouse myself, and stir, eyes
red, begrimed and straining,
for I sense a subtle lessening,
in the aura of the dark.

Then at last, as I sit watching,
I and the herald thrush, at
last, oh long awaited! the
gleam of the dawning Sun.
I rise and gaze in gladness,
tears welling at the brim,
for it seems to me I never saw
more splendid a sight than
this; sublime, celestial
vision, balm to my hearts
desire.

I move towards the door,
all weariness forgotten,
push back the latch and
turn, forward in the
lambent dawn.
I stand amidst the sunlight,
golden gleam effulgent,
and all the dew-drops
glittering, resplendent in
the shine.

I marvel to myself in awe,
at the magnitude of
the world, as if the
colors' cool irradiance,
or the fragrance of
the vernal dawn,
were not but seeming
new, but were, verily
new-made in glory,
set to lighten paradise,
for the coming of
Thoughts firstborn.

I breathe deep, in and out.
Thoughts clear I gaze,
out still, amidst the reaching
light, yearning ever to glimpse,
into the heart of the Sun,
and see there, as I know I
shall, the patterns of eternity,
Imprinted upon my eyes
and memory, full-writ
in endless time, before descends
the final black.

At last, I sit, back straight,
against the old and ivied wall.
Eyes farseeing, gaze lost,
beyond the reach of mind
and men, I waver not, from
that point of infinity, lost to
the horizon, and yet near,
so near...I am lost, adrift,
in a golden sea of light,
and of nothingness,
which is everything,
and eternity.

Lost, amidst the bright expanse;
peace, in endless change.

And I sleep, amidst the
dawning light, at last,
in blissful solitude;
and my soul is far,
and gone from me,
gone, within the fractals
of infinity, and in the
sempiternity of joy,
and of endless light;
for a moment,
and for forever,
in Time.
These are my spiritualities, my convictions, such as they are, unpolished yet, of the universe, and of the soul, and of God, and Time. Comment, if you will. Thank you, if you have read this through, to the end. Thank you, with all my heart.
Al Nov 2018
In the blue
clouds drift,

Silver linings,
hidden inside.  

Together we dance,

A small frog leaps,
the lilly pad pops.

June becomes a shadow in time.

Still resting here as the blue jay flies.
Bellissima May 28
I walk from dirt trails
drenched in the echoes
of laughing teenagers,

soaked in the reflections
of drunken hopes,

to a purer path,
flooded in the promise
of a new beginning.
MJL Feb 22
One crescent
Inside of another
Inside of another
Curved snips of white gold
Rows upon rows
One, two, three or more wide
Shape shifting
Merging
Disappearing
Reappearing
Glistening
Dancing together
Nestled in step with the black velvet dress holding them all together
Each ripple growing smaller further from home
Still moving as one
Still connected
Part of a family of rocking lights
With her as their source
With her as the center
Half Moon Mother


© 2019 MJL
Love moon lit ripples on water.
Poetic T Feb 6
We are more than

      What we etch in
       Collections of breath.


For even though every
     Sentence has a mortality
                                            Rate.


Every word that's repeated
           Gives it a breath of
                              New life.


Always let your vocalizations
      Be voiced to others so that
         They never expire.

But are a fresh breath
on others
            reflections.
TLDR

Posted up on a bar stool, I noticed the instant he walked in.
Blue eyes beckoning. I was listening. Hard.

Liquidly courageous, delightfully obscure and entertaining,
I bewitched him in conversation.
Filled his empty pint with my pitcher of Yuengling.
Stealing and donning his sweaty hat.
He had just finished art school.
I was studying journalism.

He kept finding reasons to touch me.
Blocking me from human traffic.
Keeping me close and safe physically.
At one point, some drunken, oblivious, d-bag tried to holler.
He moved between, cockblocking.
Unwavering in eye contact and speech with me.
I can’t remember what we talked about, only how it felt.

He got my number, and we stayed until the bar closed.
And as all the carbon contents poured into the back alley,
he grabbed my hand.
I remember the sweat and energy on his slender fingers.
He was pushing past palpable trepidation.
And in the midst of a hundred swarming,
he yanked my hand toward him and kissed me.
People started cheering.
It was perfect.

Except, I freaked.
Froze. Stopped breathing.
Pulled away as far as his hand would allow.
He reeled me back in for another try.
When I brushed his lips, the panic devoured.
So I pulled away harder, breaking free from his fingers.
Fleeing, scurrying through a sea of drunken bodies.
I shimmied like a silver lure dangling in his face.
Then shot him the-****-down. Twice.
Instinctively.

He never called me. But pocket-dialed me the next day.
Left an unintended voicemail. Heard him bemoaning, *I felt SO stupid…

Called him back a few minutes later. Didn’t leave a message.
I could have called again. I didn’t. Ever.

I thought about him every day for months,
inspiring one of my better poems of that era:
A Roller Coaster Ride Ending in Derailment.
Years later, I friended him on MySpace, sent a generic message.
He didn’t recognize me. And I never said anything.
Like a ******* coward.

How is it possible to excitedly charge in a cardinal direction,
only to smack abruptly into:
I-gotta-get-the-****-outta-here-NOWWWW?!

I’ve had a little time, say 14 years,
to reflect on what made me me run,
and I think it was this:
as soon as he was facing me,
with unadulterated adoration,
all I could feel was terrified and ugly.
It was so good. Far too good for me.

I was afraid. Afraid he would eventually see.
That I was hideous. He wouldn’t want the real me.
I didn’t think I could live up to the look in his eyes.
When he saw I was only a spunky, confident model on the cover,
and an insecure shitshow amidst contents inside, he would leave.
A fragile little girl so afraid she is unlovable, unworthy, ugly.
When he saw how uncomfortable I could be in my own skin,
he would let go.
I didn’t like me, so why the **** should he?
I ran from connection that night, after tilling it for hours.
Hauling *** with windows down,
I slammed the brakes and careened. End scene.
He reeked of bliss and impending heartbreak.
So I abandoned him before he could leave.

I’m frightened of anyone who truly stirs me.
It makes me feel big, scary feelings. They straitjacket hug me.
Skewing all my outward signals. I come off standoffish.
Pushing away the very thing I want and need.
I’m not good at expressing intense feelings in real time.
Except in ink. And bed.

I get locked up inside. Feels like I’m gonna die.
A fight-or-flight ignition by erroneous head triggers.
I project my unlovable feelings onto others,
in the face of blatant evidence to the contrary.

I’ve done LTRs, just not with the required equipment.
I know the gears are sabotaged out the gate,
but I go for it anyway. It’s safe (or so it seems). And empty.
I crave intimacy, but I’m terrified of showing up entirely.
In front of someone with eyes that can see.
I quickly sense who is capable of meeting me,
and thoroughly **** it up for myself,
by not feeling free. Not authentic. Not open. Hiding.
Editing. Hot fish, cold fish. Rotating masks. Blockades. Running.
Constantly scanning the environment for signs of rejection,
that I’m not enough, indeed. To validate my own self-worthlessness.
I wanna be right.
I’ve only done long terms where I can remain alone, bored and/or dead.
No real intimacy. No full disclosure. No BAMF duo status.
No seeing to the back of each other’s skulls.
No blasting through the cosmos.

I freeze and evade in the face of what I crave.
Shunning delicious plates I’ve just ordered and ravenously drooled over.
I have more examples, but this is the most concise and blatant...

Except, this one time:

I told my gut to shut the **** up,
while I cosigned utter inner *******.
Denied the eyes of my own soul,
as it floated into my periphery.
It took all of my focus just to breathe.

He didn’t turn around,
just looked over his shoulder.
At me. Up, then down.
And drifted away.
Electrocuting my cosmic antennae.
Leaving me reeling. Still tingling.

I almost called your name,
but doubt surrounded fear mountain.
Plus, I thought I was jus straight trippin, err, trollin.
Going crazy. Weaving my own alteration atop reality.
Pretty pro @ that yuh know...

We push and pull and run and chase,
because it feels safer pursuing what’s out of reach.
Until it turns around.
Or looks over its shoulder...

With eyes that can see.
maybe we need a few less chairs, as we have some mutual guests: http://www.huffingtonpost.com/emily-wilcox/the-pushpull-relationship_b_8241126.html
Alyssa Underwood Jul 2016
It is out of the heart’s cavernous longing and furious search
for love, significance, acceptance, approval, identity, security,
freedom, belonging, innocence, intimacy and transcendence—
out of its primordial memory of what was lost to us in the Garden—
that we begin to ***** idols for ourselves.

Unconsciously we hope they might restore to us a taste of paradise,
taking away our fear and shame and isolation.
We yearn to go back but, alas, we cannot get in from there.
We ache to connect to beauty, to be desired by it as much as we desire it,
and Jesus is the only door by which we may enter.
He is the Beauty, and all the rest are simply there like pealing bells
to arouse our hearts to Him and tell us that He is coming for us.

Still, as if we haven’t quite yet heard and believed the message, we keep
aimlessly trying to forge a false righteousness through our false gods.
When they are lost or the dreams of them unrealized we are devastated,
for the shadows, echoes and reflections we had supposed would finally
make us feel good about ourselves have been exposed as frauds,
and once again we are left to feel naked but without fig leaves to cover us.

It is at these precise moments, when the bottom of our false hope falls out,
that we are best prepared to encounter Christ in His intimate
fullness and most apt to recognize at last that He alone is
everything we have been so desperately wanting.
It is our boiling point, where the unbearable weight
of failed expectation so crashes in on us that we are finally
begging God to lift our idols off of us and deliver us from them,
pleading with Him to come and capture us,
crying out to Him to possess us fully.
~~~
Lovelyn Eyo Jul 11
I have a dream
Where your dream
Is mine
My dream your dream
The dream of never -giving up
I shall never give up
You too never should
And together we live up
Be lit-up
Stand up
For this dream
To stand and stay real



                ©LovelynEyo
Dream big, no matter the struggles, fight positively to attain your dream,you deserve the best
Al Mar 25
Dust in a bowl,
an empty page.

You are the dust gathering, day by day.  A mirror image of an empty page, the stars are shining but your curtains obscure.
Lovelyn Eyo Jul 11
If I were to pick a colour
What would it be
If I were to paint the world with it
What would it stand for
What image would it portray
The world strays
Let's bring it back home
With THE LORD'S help
we paint the world
Heart and soul
with the color-
H harmony
A alluring
P peace
P perfection
Y Yielding




©LovelynEyo
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