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The StruggleThough once I said it was adversity
That birthed the most imaginative verse,
In darkness lies no creativity,
Despair itself destroys and gives no birth.
It murders, leaving no recourse for mercy,
Swallowing up the brightest minds, its maw
Insatiable except for vilest cursing
Of self-inflicted wounds all rubbed and raw.
But when the light inside me flickers fire
And cuts through darkness with its needle rays,
The smallest candlelight might then inspire
Poetic justice for defeated days.
In light alone do shadows find their shape,
The struggle from which poems find escape.
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
My ParadiseMy Paradise
They speak of angels
High in the sky
Hither and thither and yonder
The angels I know came to earth
Famous for my love's birth
She is my divine guardian
My way and my key to paradise
Heaven is between our breasts
When we embrace
Love and peace reflected
In that sweet face
I shall climb the tallest hill
For the bestowal of dearest Puabi
I miss youWhile the year will be moving on
The autumn leaves will fall
I will wear a coat and my ochre colored trousers
And I'll think of you
Christmas will come soon
And snowflakes will whiten the roofs and trees
Bells will ring
A Christmas tree will be cheering up the house
And I'll think of you
New Year will follow as well
With all its fireworks and feasts
I'll wish you a happy new year from afar
Full of good moments and luck
Spring will show up again
With Carnival and Easter eggs
It will make me feel light and cheerful
But there will be a few tears
And I'll think of you
Summer will follow and dry the tears
And at the end of August
After all the vacation
We will meet again the last week
After a year full of ups and downs
But a hug will fix my broken heart
Before scars show up again
For a next year
Loyal to the End"Don't Let me down,"
You whispered to me,
I did my best,
I hope you can see,
But those words, they do follow
They are haunting me,
And they shadow,
My every move...
"Don't Let it Show,"
You asked me to,
Be the strongest
Out of us two,
But I have been broken,
By the weight of you,
And I find myself,
begging for help...
"Don't let me down,"
your voice barely held,
As my guilt and my love,
You attempted to weld,
Together and create,
A new material to meld...
But it's too late,
I know I have failed...
I let you down,
Though I tried and I wailed,
In the blink of an eye
My efforts were derailed,
By one swift inward motion,
I was so quickly impaled,
By the words,
Of my former close friend.
I won't let it show
That can wait for the end...
I'll draw in this breath,
And then never again,
Will I, on any
but my God depend,
And it is HE I will not let down,
For you will never be crowned.
And it is you, whom has let me down.
My DarlingMy dear, my darling
How long must we wait?
I'm tired of being lonely,
I don't want to carry this weight.
My love, my darling
How long must we stay
A distance apart that feels like miles,
Why must you be so far away?
My honey, my darling
How long must we hide?
I tired of keeping it a secret,
How you're by my side.
My sweetie, my darling
How long must we wait
To be together in this life,
And see what it means to feel great?
My heart, my darling
How long must we like this live?
I'm sick of sleeping all alone,
With no person to receive love I give.
IntertwinedIt is softly raining
I am standing on a porch
the moment feels restraining
I am burning like a torch
But then I can sense you
Coming closer from behind
And you gently hug me, oooh
Making us so intertwined
And I am sure I love you
Snuggling and CuddlingMy arm is around the crook of her waist
our bodies are so carefully placed
laying in this gentle hug
so warm and so snug
yet we still remain ever chaste
Your EyeI’ve never loved as I love you. A glimpse,
Fleeting, yet timeless, enamors, and eyes,
Discerning, yet revealing, ravish; hence,
Soul, entranced, I bound to conquer your eyes.
Hands, quick, yet hesitant, inspires, and
A touch, brief, yet lingering, arouses,
And fingers, long, yet artistic, demands;
So, Being, inflamed, I yearn for douses.
Your mind, individualistic, yet stayed,
Intrigues; your Black, dark, yet illumined, delights;
Your White, frosted, yet hidden, exhults; saved,
My mind craves for yours, by day and by night.
Only yours in Soul, Being, and Mind, I
Yearn to love, love pure and passioned, your eye.
Most of AllShe came to me upon the wave
The tide that falls upon the shore
And to this dream I can't refuse
Except to only hope for more
She came out from the thin of air
And I wondered, if she was there
Or is it dream, rising from mist
Do I exist, and do I care
She came to me, from thunderstorm
As lightning cracks, and thunder rolls
In truth, I could never avoid
The deep void, from which she bellows
A crest, a wing, a halo of light
Enraptures me with it's twisted might
A trench, a grave, I could never bear
Has been left hollow, if she is there
I can not grasp just what she is
The earth, the birth, of me anew
I can not know, just what she sees
Sympathy, for the wind that blew
I can not capture, what is free
I can not be, holy as she
I only know, the things I am
And yet, I can, only be me
I am ashamed, that I do know
The truth, and yet I let it go
For to feel joy, what else is left
The very best, of life, I know
A song, a toy, and I'm always hers
Gives rise to love that never withers
A rose, a fen
five hour energyi suppose
last week was only an aftershock
of the earthquake you were before.
this place used to vibrate
with metal strings and melodic,
testimonies to life,
emitting coffee-scented moods
and the burn of it too.
i had memorized the
sounds of silence,
i couldn't help but relish it.
no longer had i known
the sounds of folk
and scent of mocha-
you became nothing more
than an echo of the laughter
i so desperately needed to hear again.
then the echoes got louder,
bouncing ferociously off the walls
to be made manifest
i walked into your room
expecting exactly what i found-
an unmade bed,
and an empty beer
(the one that you insisted you needed
just days ago).
i pressed my nose
into the pillow
for incense and cologne and starbucks
to penetrate my mind
and thinking fervently
i already know
what a clean sheet smells like."
how strong an aftershock can be,
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scheinbar is a much-loved and well-known deviant. Just one look at her gallery, filled with enchanting photography, will have you mesmerized. A deviant for over 7 years, Christiane can always be found posting inspirational features as well as regularly commenting on other deviations and encouraging and empowering her fellow deviants. We are inspired and insist that you too stop by and congratulate ... Read More