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Alyssa Underwood Nov 2015
come if you're thirsty, come if you're stained
come if you're weary, come if you're pained
come to the water, the bread and the blood
come to Christ's soul-saving covenant flood
there's no one too *****, no one too poor
no one too broken whose faith He'll ignore
come if you hear Jesus calling your name
come to be free of all guilt and all shame
come if you're willing to cast out old strife
come lay your burden and take up new life
~~~

"'Come to Me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest. Take My yoke upon you and learn from Me, for I am gentle and humble in heart, and you will find rest for your souls. For My yoke is easy and My burden is light.'"  
~ Matthew 11:28-30

"Jesus answered, 'Everyone who drinks this water will be thirsty again, but whoever drinks the water I give him will never thirst. Indeed, the water I give him will become in him a spring of water welling up to eternal life.'"  
~ John 4:13-14

"Then Jesus declared, 'I am the bread of life. He who comes to Me will never go hungry, and he who believes in Me will never be thirsty.'"  
~ John 6:35

"On the last and greatest day of the Feast, Jesus stood and said in a loud voice, 'If anyone is thirsty, let him come to Me and drink. Whoever believes in Me, as the Scripture has said, streams of living water will flow from within him.'" &nbsp
~ John 7:37-38

"'I am the vine; you are the branches. If a man remains in Me and I in him, he will bear much fruit; apart from Me you can do nothing.'"  
~ John 15:5

~~~
ThePoet Oct 2015
Trust is heavy
in weight and it
is too great a mass,
it is the foundation
of love and yet
as fragile as glass.
For trust is easy
at loss but so hard
to be regained,
because once it is
broken it will
forever be stained.

© Sarah Ahmed (ThePoet)
ryn Sep 2014
Destination home...
Making my way
Sleepy heads leaning
End of the day

Different people
Diverse ethnic races
Same endpoints
For us nameless faces

Where we're headed
Timeless cues
Rain-stained windows offer
Only blurred views

Beautiful display
Droplets colliding
Like liquid missiles
Crashing and merging

Yellow street lamps
Neons on buildings
Vehicular signals
Intermittent flashings

Reds, greens and ambers
Fighting for attention
Blues, whites and their hues
Feast for perception

Myriad colours
Refracted and broken
Prism induced dispersal
Little light show haven

Quite the spectacle
This dance and flight
Kaleidoscopic effect
Between water and light

Rain didn't abate
Unleashing full fury
All of us still safe
Capsule of tranquillity

Watching the chaos
Still silently looking
Overwhelming wonder
Heart is choking

Found myself tearing
At the sight of this view
Realised for certain
That I'm missing you...
Bus ride home in a rainstorm. Beautiful...
JayceeJellies Nov 2014
Nothing is the same anymore.
I feel like I'm in a whole nother lore
My world has been stained,
and I have no one but myself to blame.
Holly Bromley Feb 2018
She lit the flame at the end of his lipstick stained cigarette,
smoking it was like kissing her all over again.
The smoke burnt his eyes and scratched his throat,
attempting to breathe the oxygen just wasn’t there.
She suffocated him.

Their love like a cigarette, set alight and raised to rebellious lips.
Their romantic tragedy like smoking in the rain,
It was painfully beautiful yet short lived.
She became his addiction, little by little she consumed him.
If only he could quit her.
His lungs would not ache when he’s alone.

Unlike his cigarettes, she didn’t come with a warning label on the cover.
She did more damage to him than the cigarettes ever could.

So, he left her and returned to his lipstick stained cigarettes.
She left a hole in him no amount of nicotine could ever fill.
Now he lights cigarettes just to watch them burn.
Maxine Nov 2017
Precious baby, counting sheep.
Tell me why your eyes can’t sleep?

Sweet baby..
No sheets.
This is different, not so sweet.

Darling baby, you can only laugh.
Memories they stay,
like Mary on stained glass.
overcoming the enemy
Austin Ryskamp Jul 2018
Verse
Turning what looks dead into only sleeping
Dreaming while dead was deceiving
At the very depth of my despair
When there was no oxygen in the air
You made a path for my nightmare
To be changed into my greatest weapon

Pre-chorus
I understand what breaks your heart, in breaking mine
Change my every morning from endless mourning
Thanking you for the reconstruction in my destruction

Verse 2
Am I whole to you father or a mistake
Did you forget to finish this masterpiece
You don’t make flaws in your paintings
Your every brush stroke made with precision
Guide my decisions choosing you over my own will today

Chorus
You are my way
You are my truth
I will forever hold onto you
And your promises guarantee
Saying the past me is nothing
Compared to your blood stains on me

Bridge
My testimony hunts down the enemy
I speak it proud
My breaking point is your starting point
All darkness hides from the savior on the tree
Lyrics for my band Covenant Waters Worship
Lauren Pascual Oct 2018
seated at the backseat
with our song on repeat
she reached for a stick
inside the back pocket
of her faded denim jeans
i heard a familiar flick sound
only to see a lighter on her hand
silence fell upon us
not knowing what to say
i glanced around
trying to find an excuse
not to continue to blatantly stare at her
still, she is all i see
through my peripheral vision
savoring the smoke
letting it all fill her lungs
puffing,
inhaling
yes, a stick could ****
sooner or later
if no one dares to stop her
but what if she's already dying inside?
or what if she's just doing this
to fight the demon
who made its way inside her soul?
chained her heart
no plan of letting it go
i may have seen her burned her throat countless times already
yet, it still feels like the first time
her thin lips pressed against the filter
how i wish it was my lips, instead
Vexren4000 Aug 2018
The painting like pristine,
Stained glass that graces church walls,
Colorful dancing sunlight,
Landing on listening faces,
Even people of no religion,
Can appreciate the beauty
Of religious pieces.

©BAS
CK Baker Jan 2018
who lit the candles
placed eloquently
behind purple rock?
the sculpted radiance,
chapel grace
wound in a chosen
defined way
down the spiral
stone stairs

street cars dawdle
alongside
the packer slew
biding merchants
and frontmen
shuffle their wares
as the madman
and pock face
sing their
holy blues

cut jazz echoes
over the accompanying
gabble and drone
incense and haze
pour from
a lower trap door
sack fish, truffles
and splendid crafts shine
inside the stained glass fronts

a wide mouth snapper
with a bloated tongue
greets the
morning tide
(not camera shy
in the least!)
the fish traps
and beaneries
bring life
to the flourishing causeway

hula hoops
and ballers
join the
cobaine stage
favoured rogues
and mac jacks
speak easy
of the big daddy

beth’s triple by pass
taking firm hold on
tricky ****
and the nutcracker
maze ways,
taggers and
lost tunnels
of cu chi
strike a
nerving blow

a poised finger man
belts out his tune
(with a sniff sock
and iterating glare)
his nosey neighbors
cut artisan bread
(with a white wine
and jelly spread)
midwives push forward
for an afternoon
toddle and stroll
Hollow Steve Dec 2014
Stricken by the absence of color,
and the absence of rainbows that once sung to me.

Nullified and numbed by the irrationality of my ego,
and my hatred for sanity.

These are punctured wounds by the hands of the stained glass,
as this shattered hourglass speaks gibberish to me.

I'll take all the blame,
it was all my fault anyways.

As if my world wasn't trippy enough,
the only thing standing in my way is you.

So let violence sing one last time...
Scream for me poetry.
CK Baker Dec 2016
six lanes
in a sight line
past the cedar shims
and trim tempered insert
past the washed murals
and water stained tiles

covered eyes
fight for focus
over cork strung ties
and dark, distant bridges
foot crawlers on lemon pegs
teaming
under clouded halogen light  

dreamers contend
in a variation of chant
(thrown off in a
complex drawl sequence)
a glimpse of the guard
and warm towel assignment
forge comforting relief
in a task filled day
Azurel Mata Jul 2018
You call me
She, Her, Daughter, Girl
Shhhhh...
You speak with a blind mouth,
Look at me, see me
She isn't me,
Only a fantasy that you clutch till your knuckles grow pale.
I am not broken, I am free
But you hide behind a veil
Afraid to finally let go of...

Long hair, Lipstick, Lace dress
You question each time I show you my truth,
"Are you trying to hide your femininity?"
No, my femininity is simply not my definition.
Spend a day in my skin, in my cage,
And don't cry when the words start to pierce you like daggers,
Shhhh... Stay silent, don't worry, it's just a phase.
Now do you see that "She" just doesn't make sense?
You speak to me but your voice seems distant,
Bouncing off of me and echoing
Like I am the hollow statue of the girl you used to see.
"I am right in front of you, you know"
But my words are only heard when they come from her lips.
Do you see me now?

Mother, Children, Wife, Woman
A silent prayer each night for all the things I am not,
Stomach swollen, hair to my waist
The glow of an expecting mother on my face.
Curves, not edges,
Pink, not blue.
Delicate hands grasping the man who stands in my place.
Do you see me now?


Pants swollen, hair to my brow,
Along my jaw,
Down my legs,
Sprouting from my toes.
Do you see me now?
Bulged, Buzzed, Boy
Blood on my sheets, not between my legs
Stained by the girl who lies in her place
Fresh coat of gel and cologne,
Swirls of shaving cream.
Bare chest, Burning skin
Twitch of an Adam's apple when breath comes short,
Nervous fidgets with a tie,
tick tock,
"Pick me up at eight"
"Treat her right" "I will sir"
"Will you be my..."
"You're going to be a father!"
"You are the best daughter we could have asked for"
...."Son" I whispered.
But you didn't hear,
Please tell me
Do you see me now?
Any one who can relate to this but can’t say it, I hope I can be your voice.
Jenn Dec 2018
why do I keep looking for unhappiness
why do I look for things to upset me
am I broken
how do I fix me
how do I mend the pieces that you made
without cutting my hands open
J Aug 2018
I guess there is that
kind of beauty
in this world;
when the flawed
and broken shards
are picked up
and pieced together.

Though it sometimes  
require bleeding cuts
and punctured hands..

..it's all worth it.
it's all worth it.
ymmiJ Mar 30
Returned pages of this worn out letter
Written so long ago on wasted paper
Yet, I read those words over and over and
again and again dying to read a different end
Always hurling around that same tired bend
Reading the same three words we always said
Whether I close my eyes or open again this sad
Tragic tale unfolded on paper long stained
The one saying I love you goodbye the end
julia rose May 2018
she had flaked away her memories
and stepped up
with a ponderous heart,
held by two gentle hands;
and saying goodbye, did she,
as she slipped off her skin,
for the moment blood stains
the kumari's tender soul,
bereaved, will she become,
for a goddess never bleeds.

her feet shall never touch
the tattered, naked ground,
for it engulfs and devours
and burns off the kumari's flesh.
holding her pure spirit, and
  accepting a cruel death sentence,
her quivering soul
cupped but a glimmer of hope,
as the fire would flicker
and lash and whip
as her skin flakes again,
and the kumari vanishes.

but, if she remains unscathed,
blood shall be drawn,
and the gods will tremble and
her body will collapse.
the world will consume her
once again.

a kumari's blood,
drawn, now at death,
trembling and alone,
had she sobbed tears of joy,
for no longer the weight
must she bear in her heart,
of being a kumari;
but a kumari is she,
and the world has not chose her,
but she has chosen to be.

she had withered away,
heart no longer ponderous,
she stepped up.
and her wishes from within
passed on to the fearful others,
held by two gentle hands, and
with a gentle flutter of her eyes,
next to her charcoal stained skin,
had her heart stopped;
for her bejeweled crown had been stained with blood,
and the kumari realized that
she had died long ago.
i worked really ******* this
elaine Jul 2018
I started drinking coffee, not because I enjoyed the taste, or even the burst of energy it gave me late at night, but simply because you loved it. Always seen with that coffee stained smile.

I hated it though.
I had hated its bitter taste that no amount of sugar or cream could sweeten.
I had hated the way it scorched my mouth and throat as I slowly gulped down the warm liquid.
But I drank it. Every morning and night, tricking my mind into thinking I liked it.
You soon moved on from my try-to-hard self, and left me all alone, with a coffee stained frown.

I threw the mug on the ground, shattering it in a million pieces. I threw out that coffee *** and those silly little brown beans. I accepted the fact that I hated coffee, it was for the better though. I was much more a tea person.
Kaitlyn McGauley Nov 2018
Her fortress wall stood exactly 12,410 empty memories tall.
Crumbling brown bricks of broken promises.
Empty words precariously balanced upon lonely days and set among nights spent in the arms of another.

Until the artists' foolish knock.

Dubious exchanges of self, through fractures in her wall in which the sun peered through, risked permeating the soul and casting color by way of the elaborate stained glass windows he dared to solicit.

And so bricks she threw.

Disquisition of frankincense and myrrh.
Tarnished metals and warped wood tirelessly became freshly painted and brightly adorned stones of poetry and brass he proposed would sit where rock once rested.

And so bricks she threw.

One by one, and amidst her chaos of metaphors, he patiently picked up the shards of decaying wall she hurled.
Carefully tending to each flaw, he sculpted her a throne of good intentions.
Well formed promises he would keep, graceful words he would speak.
Inspiring sunrises and passionate sunsets in his arms of what could be her tomorrows.
Fragmented adobe became priceless art and rare gems far too precious to throw.
Her stronghold became a rare exhibit of her fears sealed away in well lit display cases.
From her towering stockade emerged a glass palace and everyone knows not to throw cinder blocks in homes of stained glass.
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