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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
I think of 'you'Peering out my window, noticing, the lilac bush in full bloom.
Picking up one of the soft petals
and raising it to my nose;
the air is 'warm'
the fragrance sweet...
I think of 'you'.
The day is lazy.
Soft music comes drifting by my window
from the house down the road.
I notice the gentle hum of the queen bee
as she feeds off the flowers,
and the soothing monotony of the crickets song.
I am so 'aware' - of 'life' taking place...
I think of 'you'.
The cemetery's aglow, with bright flowers,
and fresh, young graves...
I walk, down the mental paths of my mind;
the sun, shining warmly upon my hair, and face.
The birds, ask and answer - the sweet questions
only 'they' understand; as, I walk.
And the tomb stones, look back at me
introducing themselves by name,
welcoming, my company;
'offering', perfumed fragrant gifts
as a symbol of life...
Lifting one, to my nose.
Smelling it's gentle fragrance, and touching it's soft
EnvisionIn my thoughts I'd 'hope' for you....
I wish we could have been...
I'd close my eyes and see in my mind
an ever so sweet envision.
The truth had come to me too late;
though looking back in the blue
the feelings stir, inside me again,
the beautiful ways in which I'd seen you...
I was as a mountain
peaked, with soft white snow;
til the Spring of 'you', came into my life;
then gentle waters flowed....
And went with me
through valleys and streams
of my life, I'd never seen before.
Our differing ways, just intensified
to show me more.
I learned a whole new world of 'me'
things, you already knew...
Of the sun in the sky
it's effect to warm.
You 'showed me' the sky of blue.
I learned of the birth of flowers
as they opened, to the dawn.
I knew then what it was to smile.
You taught me, and then you'd gone.
And slowly I looked about me
at everything that you 'were'.
All the beautiful things
of which, together; helped me
to paint your picture.
Then I understood - and felt the wa
Closed DoorsLeave me alone
Let me lose
Myself in the ocean
Where I will be
Let me stay
Away from the clock
Of our days.
Of the reality
Waiting for me
With a knife.
I don’t want
To leave behind
The best years
Of my life.
What I like
Fades it out.
Soon will be
Dust these words
In your memory.
Finger TipsTake my hand, and let us fly
We both know you are not shy,
Just scared of rejection
I, too, lack affection.
Though I would never use you
To fill holes no one can view.
So, are you ready yet?
Please, my dear, do not fret.
Let me take you far away
As to help you make your day.
No harm is intended
For hate here is ended.
You deserve only the best
Not because you need a rest,
Since time is drawing signs
Guiding me to your lines.
Serenity's AngelI am she, Serenity...
Thou knowest not my beauty.
But if ye sought the face of the Lord
surely, I would come to thee.
My wings are bound and chained
to fly, only, unto the sincere;
whom have searched with the angels
of Patience, and Mercy; and Truth,
for the key to my seal.
I reside not, in the halls of vexation,
nor do I neighbor with wrath.
I know only the ways, of love and justice
and all they of whom, such qualities hath.
I flyest through the beginings
unto the ends of the earth; my candle
an eternal flame.
Given to me of the Lord
SEEK HIS FACE
and share my name.
Saving HerSave yourself, because I can't save you.
You are drowning in your own sorrows,
Lungs burning with the need for air.
Your wrists feel numb,
inviting you to cut deeper.
You pull your hair out,
Scream into your pillow at night.
You have stomach ulcers,
Light one cigarette after another.
You look in the mirror and see the ghost you have become,
Sickly smile at yourself.
You give your body freely,
Even if you hate it.
You lift your chin high,
But let your heart drag on the ground,
Kicking stones away,
While tripping in your mind.
Falling, you laugh.
Not even bracing for impact.
less or morea little darkness
tugging at my sleeve
trying to bring me down
and get happy to leave
a cloud eager to rain
upon my parade
a simple game
of less or more afraid
if I doubt
the things I know
my candle will
if I fear
their empty threat
I'll lose myself
to nagging regret
I Am, Am I?Am I to die, am I to sleep?
Am I to swim in pools so deep?
Am I to smile when I should cry?
Am I to fake oaths for the Sky?
I am the Ground that broke apart;
I am a Tennessean heart.
I am an empty ventricle,
I am a pointless article.
My chipped polish is ancient blood,
My hair bow shields me from the flood;
My scratches glimmer in the light,
My bruises—such an ardent sight!
I am pointless, I am content,
I don’t mind falling through the vent;
If others join me down there,
It will beg me to disappear.
His Pony DakotaThe day I was born
There was so much joy
I was moms sweet little baby boy.
Days turned into weeks
And weeks to years
I was so scared and lonely
No one ever saw my tears.
Locked in a stall
Where the walls were so high
The only thing I could see
Was the great big sky.
All I ever had
Was just my name
In all four of my feet
I was in so much pain because I was lame.
I would tremble from noises
I could never see
I was always so afraid
Something would hurt me.
Then with a kind voice
He would reach out to me
He would never get angry
When I would turn and flee.
He would always come back
And reach out his hand
With his kind voice he would say
"That's ok little man, I understand".
I thought I would never know
Love and happiness again
Until the day I licked
The hand of a friend.
He paid 50$ for me
And to some that was cheap
To him I was priceless
And his to keep.
He took me home
And cut down my walls
When I hear him pull up
He would answer my calls.
It was ok with him
That I could not pull my weig
MSC II: ForsakenThose nights when sleep is fleeting and my dreams
Are fainter than a nightlight in the darkness
Come creeping more and more so now, it seems.
I'm weeping not because the sky is starless,
And not because the moon has hid its face,
But rather since they never seemed to be
At all. No constellations there to trace,
No northern star to guide, that I may see
This all-consuming grief as sweet relief.
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Endorell-Taelos is very well known within the community for her selfless giving and gracious community spirit. Since joining DeviantART over seven years ago, Alicia has continued to make a positive impact on many deviants. Her helpful and thoughtful approach was one of her finest attributes when serving as a Community Volunteer, and this has continued throughout the many contests which Alicia provides on a regular basis. As we approach our Birthday celebrations, we can't... Read More