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 Aug 2015 Yasmine
Alice Baker
Strain my brain
Of pretty words for you
My dear I cant be near
Without falling into you
¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯ ¯
Love
is a fire
in each of us;
it is fueled by every
breath we take and it is
kindled by wholesome
faith and passion.

Love
is a persistent
blaze that is only
extinguished
by the
suffocation
of our death.

Love will
burn
until
there is
no air left
to feed it.

Hatred is
not the absence
of love; hatred is the
conflagration that sparks
from the haphazard tending
of the inherent love-flame.

Hatred is merely
the byproduct of a
series of choices that
ultimately result in
suppressing or
denying that
which is
undeniably
aflame within us.

Hate steals our breath—
the precious air—causing
the flame of love to wane,
yet love's fire will burn
at any cost.

Love,
of
its
right
to consume,
will always aim to
overcome and redefine itself
as well as any flame that rivals it.

Destruction is intrinsic of a flame.
Yet, love's fire endures to make
us pure.

Severe
structural damage
is inevitable, as love will
destroy all that is not of it.

But, love will never
destroy us.

Love
works
to destroy
the machinations
we have allowed
the ruinous
world
to
*****
within us.

We must all choose a
flame to tend and we must
also choose how to tend it.

We must never misuse
the bellows of faith, lest we
start another fire that will ultimately
starve that of atonement and purity—
the one we were all born with—
the one in what's absence
we would cease to exist.

Fighting fire with fire
accomplishes nothing directly;
it only succeeds in adding
'wild' to the fire,
encouraging an
incinerating confusion.

We must focus our attention
to giving the love-flame
the fuel it desires
and let its
nature
take
course.

As love thrives
to grow within us,
all other fires will
cower and die.

The flame
of love
will
leave
us clean
and whole;
a tended flame
by any other name
will leave us
ashen and
wasted.


∘ ⊱‧⌍  ⌈✞⌋  ⌌‧⊰ ∞
﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋﹋
Trust came as a blade catapulting through the air
          Unsure of its trajectory
Unsure of where it may land
    Unsure of where it was even thrown from
     But it was so gorgeous rotating in its path, pushing light from its edges
          I had to have it
          That feeling of utter security
  
I reached and in half a second my hand was gone
    Trust had sliced every ligament and sinew away
         Carved muscle from bone

         And I felt weak
   I quite literally could not grasp the double edged blade that was trust, and now

       I think I may not ever even reach for it again
Painted walls
Colored windows
Wood benches
A man on a podium
Talking right and wrong

The boy with the piercings and tattoos
Front row
Kneeling hands folded head down

The collection gets passed around
Judgement being passed around
About this boy with the piercings

A lost soul looking for a home
Trying to forgive and forget.
Trying to repent and receive forgiveness.

"Go in peace"

People start leaving
Talking to each other
Giving thanks

The boy with the piercings remains
Head down, hands folded, front row.
Giving another prayer up
A prayer of acceptance with these people
He's just another lost soul like the rest
Trying to find his home

Amen
the wind wrapping
the water into grey ghosts,
the darkness twisting
like a flower.
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