|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
WoundsThe time when verses flow most freely from my mind
Is not when life has altogether been too kind:
The echoed strains of joy, what words could catch and capture
The speechlessness of laughter, hearts abrim with rapture?
It's hopelessness and sorrow baring wounds through words,
A crust of scabbed emotions daring to be heard;
It itches mightily, and though you want to rip
Apart the hurt and all reminders in one strip,
It stings to know there is no bottom but an ooze,
This awful spring of inspiration, pain-infused.
But give it time to heal, protect it from all harm,
And off it comes. The skin beneath is new and warm
And paler than before, but solid in its form.
Memory #4: The CostIn my sophomore year, we would have prayer meetings every Wednesday afternoon. I would say that weekly meetups and prayer meetings were the times I learned the most that year. On one level, I learned about prayer itself, and how many different ways you could pray. You could pray through the Word (praying through a psalm was a particular favorite of mine), you could pray in one voice with each other, you could simply praise and adore God, or thank him. Along with my meetups I learned more about confessing in prayer as well. On another level, I learned a lot about the many different things we could intercede for. We would pray for our campus, our ministry, our missionaries, and most importantly, our people and the various facets of their lives. It felt that every prayer meeting was learning a new thing about prayer.
But even more than these substantial lessons, I learned a lot from the older people who led the prayers. Seeing their example as prayerful men and women left a deep impressio
UnspokenUntil the day appointed when I stand
And tell you all the hope you fill in me,
I'll tell you naught of what I understand
Within my heart, unseized by urgency.
For in the promise now I see no need
To haste the swelling feeling deep inside
Nor give up hope: to pray and not to plead,
To slowly bridge this shortening divide.
But we are closer than I could have thought,
And in the light of such proximity
The sentiment our interactions wrought
Are all too easy for your eyes to see.
For now, let this reward you for your wait:
The tenderness my actions indicate.
LifthrasirWhose princely air proudly
Passed the sea in freefalls,
Who sought peace, sword flaming,
Striking words like forgefalls,
Pride of Berk, battleworn,
Breathing life where strife falls,
Prized by Líf in prayer:
Their pressed lips, blessed footfalls.
Away at HomeLord, be my home and all my stay
When even home feels far away:
Let my own kin say what they may,
Lord, be my home and all my stay.
For heaven holds me in its sway,
My single passion day to day.
Lord, be my home and all my stay
When even home feels far away.
Sandwich IslandPotato salad and a turkey bacon:
All it took to show me how the days
Have heaped on like a sandwich in the making.
Twenty years now stacked on bright red trays
With food and paper plates and Styrofoam,
Symbols of good taste and friendly ways.
I wonder what had roused her then to roam
And settle in this aging college town.
She heard me speak the language of her home
And something must have moved her heart deep down
To save my weekly order in her mind.
Some turn to comfort food upon a frown,
And yet more consolation there I find
A fullness of a heartfelt， hometown kind.
Memory #2: NinjaIn the final days of APUSH my junior year, our teacher had us write letters to ourselves five years from now. Last week it came into the mail, and understandably, I was curious to see what my 16 year old self wanted to tell my 21 year old self. As it turns out, he didn’t really have much to say (so my memory of not knowing what to write was confirmed), only to talk to a bunch of my friends and to refer to a game we used to play: Ninja.
I don’t remember who brought Ninja into West Ranch High School, but I remember that when it did hit it was the bomb. The basic premise of the game was that everyone would stand in a circle, and you would count to three. On three, everyone would strike a pose, and taking turns, you would try to hit other people’s hands to get them out. The goal was to be the last person standing.
I’ve played it a couple times in college, and hearing of other people’s different versions, I can safely conclude that we took Ninja way too serious
Memory #1: The Perfect BiteI don't remember what age I was exactly when I had In-N-Out for the first time. It was when I was five or six, around preschool or kindergarten. But I can vividly remember what it tasted like, where we were, and how I earned it.
At the time, I had two major haunts: the Duarte public library and the LA Zoo. Now in those days, the public libraries had a deal of some sort where if you read five books, you could get a certificate for a free hamburger. Being the kind of kid who would check out and read 20 or so books a week, I made short work of it. I remember my mom taking me and my little sister to the In-N-Out in Arcadia, the one that has no indoor seating, and I remember she took us to a park. It was quite a nice summer day, and we sat on a picnic bench in the shade. My mom let me carry the bag, and I remember that I was ravenous by the time we got there. It smelt so good, and when I bit into it, I don't think I have ever had a better bite of a burger than that first bite. Soft bun, sau
A Frozen Ballad, Part VThe First Time in Forever
Three years had passed, and all the world
Was sailing on its way
To Arendelle, for Elsa was
To bear the crown that day.
How towering the stately masts
And billowing the sails!
How joyful were the people's songs
Sung over hills and dales!
The castle gates, which once were closed
For thirteen weary years,
Now opened, and the eager throng
Streamed in with loudest cheers.
And yet, against the tide, a maiden
Hastened out the door,
The first time in forever she
Could go out and explore.
Sweet Anna, with her rosy cheeks
And eyes aglow with glee,
Was singing, dancing in the town,
For she had been set free.
Now as she sauntered up and down
The dockyards and the streets,
She crashed into a foreign horse,
And swept right off her feet.
The rider was Prince Hans, who hailed
From Southern Isles' shores,
A handsome face that hid a heart
With malice in its core.
But Anna, captivated by
His warmth and princely charm,
Returned to Elsa with no clue
Of near-impending harm.
Broken RecordInsanity is doing something with a lack of reason
A deranged state of mind; everything's an illusion
Doing it over again, expecting a different end
Almost like a broken record that you're trying to mend
You set the needle back, hoping for a tune
But only vast, empty silence fills the room
They say the broken record would never be fixed
But still the insanity continues, leaving you transfixed
A different result you expect, from setting the needle back again
But never did it hit you that the attempt was vain
Endless trying, never succeeding
Perhaps it was just the insanity speaking...
We are all sick..Bacteria,
passed over and over,
from lips to lips,
from finger to finger,
from life to death,
and from soul to soul.
small to big,
dangerous to fatal,
and terrifying to adored.
passed from flowers,
and dark caverns unexplored.
traveling through the air,
into the blood,
into the water,
and into the soul.
All passed by us,
traveled through every passage,
and slipping through every gate.
Some would wonder,
what is the meaning of this poem?
Just to list some things that most are already afraid of?
To waste time of us who have lives?
or does it have a deeper meaning,
that we are all just to blind to see?
Well you see,
but the disability to not see how others see.
The disability that poisons the soul,
that weakens us,
and that will kill some of us.
Some people need to understand,
that before you judge,
or ignore something,
that you gotta think about what the other person might b
Different is GoodWhy do people seem to think
That its good to fit in?
That being different is evil
That not conforming is a sin
All people that conform
They are sheep, you can't trust them
But one who dares to be themselves
Now there's a hidden gem
Just think of who you'll meet
When you decide to just be you
So many fascinating people
And friends who love you true
Those who have a dream
Or a passion, or an art
They bravely face their fears
And can truly touch your heart
If you just be yourself
And love to live and learn
That is truly beautiful
And you help the world turn
Being different is good
Despite what people say
I'm different and I like it
It's easier that way
Ruba'i of MichelRuba'i of Michel
Rulers fell since history
Times change and stay the same
I look outside and still I see
But they claim it's in freedom's name
Everyone may be to blame
I head for my room silently
There can be only one thing true
In my privacy I am really free
Nobody can interfere with me
When I tell my honey
I love you
And I do
all I seeshifting sands
cacaphonic self saturation
all I see
relates to me
La Main de GruyereLe pieu rubicond de mortalité,
À l’assaut de mon membre fermenté,
Affine la flasque main de gruyère,
Pour lever ses croûtes et cratères.
Sur l’épiderme fondant et bulleux,
Les cloques claquent leurs corps fibrineux,
Suintant la bistre et laiteuse liqueur,
En une superficielle douleur.
La pâteuse meule anthropomorphique,
Laisse germer cinq doigts analgésiques,
La pasteurisation est amorcée,
Je vois, sa voie lactée cailler.
To My Own Worst Enemy (Writing Prompt)He's knocking on my door again,
He whispers, "You can do that another time."
"Just put it down a minute and then..."
Before I know it, it's a quarter to nine.
I must refuse him, I must --
or else I'll never get anything done.
Before it collects any more dust,
I must force myself to run
To the finish line, and don't give in!
Tell the procrastinator inside, "No way!"
I can finish, I can win!
I will not waste my time -- not today!
Found and LostYou danced naked in the dark to Mystery
And found Jesus hitching on the highway.
You found another self across the Wild Sea,
(Nearly Discipline, if not for your attention span)
And Peace from Eastern Philosophy.
From a looking glass you were Born Again;
And found Fortune in the bottom of a cup of tea.
You wore Religion like Fashion when it was the trend,
Collecting Faith, never Wisdom, you see?
You bet your Future on a game of cards,
Threw it all away when it got too hard,
And where I won, you lost when you left me.
A Man and His GuitarHe sings of things that were and are,
Sitting in his office chair,
A man and his guitar.
And though his mind meanders far,
The chords contain his every care,
He sings of things that were and are.
Those calluses, like hard-earned scars,
Speak temperance and not despair,
A man and his guitar.
Now syncopate, now by the bar,
Now dissonant, now fair and fair,
He sings of things that were and are.
I caught his music in a jar,
A leaky one. I stop and stare:
A man and his guitar.
A glow too cool to even char,
A brief but distant signal flare,
He sings of things that were and are,
A man and his guitar.
Keep in Touch!