We loved each other with the same desperation a junkie seeks his syringe: in the dead of night, in darkness, without shame.
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In this age of Grace
(which doesn't mean we abrogate
but fulfill the law) we are to be:
A prophet by encouraging what God's Word says, and by warning of what God's Word says (Ezekiel 3:21)
we are to be a priest by ministering to others to serve others graciously
(2 Cor. 9:7)
and we are to be kings as we rule our lives according to godly living (1 Peter 2)
1 Peter 4:11c "that God in all things may be glorified through Jesus Christ"
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"Birds are the witnesses—
Before soaring the skies,
They fall a thousand times to rise.
Every fall is a lesson,
And every flight, a victory."
~Shruti
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“Our lasting legacy lies not in the towering stone structures, but in the forests we nurture, the oceans we safeguard, and the skies we keep pure.” - Aloo Denish Obiero
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May blue skies and sunshine days
Bless you now and always.
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The skies in Oregon before this Easter are cloudy, rainy and stormy. Like the storms in our lives they pass, the sun comes out, and we have been washed clean and there is a sense of peace. Ever storm eventually passes—with faith, hope and patience, we find a lesson.
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To this day, there are field niggers, field honkies, house niggers and house honkies, but issue is we're being belligerent when we're on the same level.
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I too have come to the cave;
within: strange, half-glimpsed forms
and ghostly paradigms of things.
Here, nothing warms
this lightening moment of the dawn,
pale tendrils spreading east.
And I, of all who followed Him,
by far the least . . .
The women take no note of me;
I do not recognize
the men in white, the gardener,
these unfamiliar skies . . .
('The Gardener’s Roses' ?by Michael R. Burch)
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What would Santa Claus say,
I wonder,
about Jesus returning
to kill and plunder?
For he’ll likely return
on Christmas Day
to blow the bad
little boys away!
When He flashes like lightning
across the skies
and many a homosexual
dies,
when the harlots and heretics
are ripped asunder,
what will the Easter Bunny think,
I wonder?
('What Would Santa Claus Say?' by Michael R. Burch)
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6. Poetry is cherry blossoms, crying for the soft, cool winds to wave their beauty to the awaiting sun and the gasping skies.
Robert J. Lindley
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"It's time to make those grey days, blue skies."
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When the skies over Naples are gray, Neapolitan people liven it up to their somber moods by singing and playing merry songs.
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This little poem looks good enough to put inside a fortune cookie.
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When the aliens come, when humans become robotic, when sci - fii movies become a reality... Do you want to stand and watch?
Be a part of this change.... We are the luckiest generation for getting an opportunity to live thru this change.
Make every single effort, not just to witness, but to be the change.
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Existence shouldn't be murkier than shadows, but brighter than the ever-lasting sun which gives life to all and everything around.
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This nigh is more than cold grey skies
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Though skies are gray I remain unbroken, committed in my resolve for life’s purpose shall out weigh this moment of natures doing.
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When in doubt, be slow to make cookies for the wrong reason.
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Cookies made at grandma's house are 1/3 percent sweeter, as she adds extra, every time. Then later, she says, "gimme some sugar" and takes it back to make more cookies.
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To Son of Spock---I see you fishing on the dock---At rainbow skies you spin your mock---You bleed the colors with your unwanton talk---Apropos of trollers
that shock and stalk---Why puddle in the mud when your poetry rocks---To waste this talent at the bottom is such a shock---I wish you cast godspeed and good stock---For I pity the day that you are banned and blocked---
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After the waterfalls of tears are laid to rest~There would be a river~A stream~A pond~Where little duckies are singing~And schools of fish be starting out~Up above the receiving skies blue~Clouds will be here and there~The sun will set~Night will fall~It will be a new day with open arms~Your father was a good man-The rapid of life spoken and now good reflections
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For all the poets knocking on the door-
May your poems find the sunny shore-
Like bottled dreams washing ashore-
Beckoning to become uncorked and more-
As the sun peeks your horizons at the core-
The beauty from your blue skies for evermore-
To some day leave your footprints of lore-
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When it comes to love, I'm 60 years old and still a rookie
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I'm not lazy, I'm a dream junkie.
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The rain of april will soon go, as the showers turn sun in may. Keep your head up and look to the skies.
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Poetry: more efficient than a book, and more rewarding than a fortune cookie.
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Don't tell me the skies the limit when there's foot steps on the moon' Anonymous
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GIFTED ONE, WRITING FROM BEYOND THE SKIES. PL
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Euphoria
God sells crack
and I'm a junkie.
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“They asked me if I would be light or if I would be darkness. I told them that I would be darkness because sometimes the greatest of people have gone through the hardest of times. Darkness helps us more than the light. We don’t learn from light. We learn from those pitch black nights…and those star filled skies. I’d rather be the darkness that pushes someone somewhere than the light that never takes them to their final destination.”
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