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SeashellsI found a matched pair
Of broken seashells.
They were halved, but not from the same whole.
Each orange half-moon had been trampled
By a careless tourist with eyes only for the waves;
Each had been bored through and gnawed at from the inside
By some seafaring worm;
Each had been beaten by water and stone,
Battered by wind, tossed by the gulls.
Their tips had been worn down to points like wings.
It was as thought hey flew together and met in my path.
I threaded wire through them to make earrings,
So that the pair would never be apart.
Ella Violo - Chapter 2Ella liked autumn. The sun didn't rise too early or too late, and the air was still warm while gaining an air of crispness. She rose on the morning of the thirteenth with an enormous yawn. A mouse in the corner echoed her sentiment.
"Good morning," she said to the little creature. The mouse skittered back into its home in an old holey chest against the wall. "Gotta get a cat," muttered Ella as she threw off her blankets and poked Tomas and Alejandro awake.
Maria was already up and about, frying eggs in the kitchen. She was only two years older than Ella, but she already looked like a mother. Her brown hair was tied up in a messy knot at the base of her head, and smile lines were appearing around her red lips. The smallest thief, a four-year-old boy with quick fingers, clung to Maria's apron as she swept around the room, stirring bubbling pots of porridge and soup.
"Up already, Ella? Must
SistersWe are the worriers, the wishers
on low-flying Boeings, willing them up and
away from our homes and businesses.
We found ourselves in old England in
New England, winters with no heat and
summers of more weight.
We see love in white and wrinkled faces,
in cupcakes and pencil boxes, in train schedules
and in ordinary time, cut time, and thyme patches.
We may sit quietly but we will never be
silenced save by shouts and each other's
We were the perfect girls, and we are the working
women of east and west, the white North,
wit and will and worship.
Panick 3Do you ever worry about going mad, Mother?
I do. It started one day
when my mind stopped sounding like poetry
or conversation. The transitions rambled.
I found that my head was off-kilter, or my eyes
wanted blue and red more than usual. Did you
ever feel that, Mother?
I had hoped it would go away, but internal
monologues don't stop when the script does.
The crazy, I mean. Why does
it linger? I would think that better minds
than mine need the twisting. But what if
we all went out of our heads for a while?
Could that fix things? If we could forget,
maybe problems would vanish like the ponies on the highway.
Wouldn't they? Like the posies? I've never
seen a posy, Mother.
Ella Violo - Chapter 1Chapter 1
So, you want a story? How about The girl who grew up too fast? Its one of my favorites. I know, youve heard it before, but theres so much you can learn from it. Especially if you want to grow up to be like me. Dont give me that look, Tomas, I saw you watching my hands on that job earlier. Good thieves dont come from nowhere.
Here goes. But you only get part of it tonight. Weve got a big day ahead of us tomorrow and you lads need your sleep.
Once upon a time, I had a little family. Just me, my Papa, and my Mami. We lived in a modest house in Caligari territory. Papa was a merchant, and Mami sewed and cooked. She and her friend Amelia made the most beautiful things with linen and lace, and Papa sold them to traders from Castille. I went to the market with him one day, when I was about four,
Unworthy This, Unworthy That
Forgive me in the times of each day
when I come to see my truer colors.
The less suitable ones that bring down a godly smile.
My efforts to betterment have yet to cease,
and I've nob intent on making such an appointment.
They wait like thieves and murderers,
mere inches from my soul, in wake and slumber,
outnumbering me and breathing down my aching
neck whilst I struggle to breathe
the purer air I am deprived of.
Though cognizant of my sins,
they are doubtlessly committed by a guilty
consciousness which has been undermined with a
pride that bear in deep shame as opposed
to a better way to walk.
The list will be long, as you,
as with all things, are more the perfectly aware.
I am the guilty by my own confession,
and grace is a concept that is greatly welcome
and unconditionally existent in the presence of my unworthy soul.
I know not why i write what is already known to Omnipotence
perhaps a confessional to my one and only
King who spared me the eternity of fire and ice
in a realm witho
like St Elmo's fire,
a light fugitive, inconstant,
cousin to the will'-o-'the-wisp,
causing the body
to glow with life,
dazzling, in the dark night
All compounded of light,
glowing ruby with
the cool warmth of compassion?
Were there such things,
where could ugly spirits come from?
Spirit possessors, who insinuate,
fuelled by the toxic fumes of resentment
they rise from the mind's
lava pit of anguish,
from deep pools of molten wrath,
dense clouds of negative emotion
inner spaces; they conquer
torment and destroy, unloosing
mental cancers and plagues.
Minds invaded and subdued
are closed, lost to the world
where love and courage
can be shared.
The dreadful stench
of the killing fields.
The spirit violently expelled
destroyed in an anguish of terror,
nothing but rotting carcasses
many dismembered, remain.
The eye can scarcely bare to see
this ghoulish aftermath,
Yet the pattern repeats
Broken ChordMy heart alone is a instrument in God's temple
Playing songs of worship for hours and hours
But then the chord breaks and music cannot be played
Have to get the chord fixed, but too sad to fix it right now
That one broken chord; curled and twisted
Can I ever play music right now?
The tragedies of this world makes it seem impossible to play
Then nothing but tears roll down for there is no songs playing
The broken chord that used to play many songs
The broken chord that used to play songs of worship for hours and hours
My heart broken and nothing but songs of tragedy plays
Songs of brief tragedy plays in the haunting silence
Tears roll down my eyes and wonder if I will ever play songs again
But in the grace and love of my God
In all the things He can do
He takes the broken chord and just smiles at it
There's nothing He cannot do
The chord maybe plucked and no more music can be played
But the Lord himself plays His songs on a broken chord
Song of worship reenters my heart from a broken ch
The Heart of HeartsI have seen the fire that burned creation into being,
Heard the song of the universe at it's beginning.
I have known home in the heart of hearts,
I have been eternal in a sea of stars.
When we are born we know that we are one,
Yet as we grow we are taught to become,
So profoundly alone
So lost to ourselves,
We will buy anything to save our souls from this hell,
We will work to the bone and empty our shell
With hate and lies, an inability to recognise
Ourselves in each other, in each flower, in each lover.
We do so weep when we are wrenched apart
Yet we are one in the heart of hearts.
And forever, without care,
We are and will always be there.
Is more of a choice
Than a feeling
It is hard
Fear and doubts
Try to smother it
And to cover it
It takes a choice
Not to listen
To those fears
And to those doubts
It is hard
It is worth it
It frees you
From those fears and doubts
There is the ultimate hope
In something more than this world
That is true and faithful
That loves no matter what
Who is there all the time
It is that hope
That keeps me going
Day in and day out
And I would not
Have it any
Blessings in the StormThrough the shadow
Of the storm
There is light to be seen
Even though it is raining
The light can be seen
Behind the clouds
As this storm continues
I feel Your love
I know that
You still care
About my family,
About my dreams
Big or small
You shower me
That I never thought possible
Or in a way that was not expected
There in none like You
You are my Love, my Lord
And my Savior
You are my Daddy
And I am Your princess
And I know You love me
More than I can love You
You gave me
Life, love, and light
There is none that equals You
You have given me
Dreams to explore
A talent to show Your love to others
And hope to keep me
Faith to stand the valleys and mountains
Hope to keep moving forward
Love, the greatest of these, to give to others
Like You have given me
StrongLifting all the weights in the world and train to a pulp
Thinking the world can rest in the palm of my hands
Not giving a care in the world
Bench pressing the world and pouring out sweat
Studying all day and all night
Hitting those books and jogging the miles in knowledge
The world is in the palm of my hand
Sweating out with the strength of moving walls
But as the pressure gets too much; there is always aching
The strength that make one stronger than oak starts to fade
Crawling on your knees when the pressure gets too much
The pressure is unbearable and you can’t do anymore
But my God gives me faith that can move mountains
My God has no limits to His own strength
My God releases the pressure and puts it on Himself
My God has no limits
My God is stronger than the roots of the mighty oak
My God is stronger than the volcanic rocks
My God is stronger than metal chains that binds me together
My God is stronger than any superhero in 30 pages
My God is stronger even on that day on Calva
13lightning boiled my frontal lobes
i can feel it
dripping down my cheekbones,
no-longer-neurons, an ejaculation
uncertain rooted in unthought
define boundaries; far as the eye can see
but no further and sigh complacently
no more bumping into buzzing barbed wire
How to Build a Soul1 Know that you are lost
victim to a world of chaos
[don't allow yourself to resign]
2 Close your eyes
put aside lies born of senses
[explore virtues of being blind]
3 With deep breaths, calm
the turbulence inside
[stirred from workings of mankind]
4 Detach yourself
discover a new perspective
[nothing is real save the mind]
5 Circumvent your desire,
anger, pain, and happiness
[take note and leave it behind]
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