Love is Cruel

Profound thoughts, as usual. Love is indeed not for the faint of heart. It rips us to shreds, then sits back and laughs until it cries.

iithinks's avatariiThinks

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O’ Seeker of secrets
Traveller of the untrodden path
Do not retreat in your footsteps
When you face the cruelty of Love

Love does not announce her presence
She forces you to seek door to door
Until you discover her hiding place
And understand her priceless worth

Love comes in the darkness of the night
Splashing water on those who sleep
This is when she undresses
Long before the rooster crows

Love ties knots inside your stomach
The Lover loses pleasure of food
For pleasures act as dusty veils
Blanketing the beauty of Love

Love carries an axe and hammer
Tearing apart all that you know
Your foundation must be broken
So you may be resurrected anew

Love has many stages
Blocked by obstacles of fire
Your dirt calls for purification
If you wish to climb her ladder

Love pushes you to your limits
That moment you scream no more

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Thailand

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Clash bang stifle swing
Drop dank doom dapple
Blood dip zoom rip
Tangle bow envelope

Tip swipe baffle whack
Cringe kick cleats quit
Running screaming
Hiding hoping praying

Giving sparing mercy
Mop clean wash sanitize
Heal suture thread close
Swallow drink cook heat

Wrap cover warm soothe
Peace generosity charity
Love blessing forgive
Friends enjoy justice.

California Notebooks, 2014

The worries of life draw us away from the things that really matter. Sometimes we forget about the simple things, the most essential things, as we struggle to deal with life’s daily distractions. Well said, Anna.

anna mosca's avatarannamosca

*

I’m formless yet

so worried about
doing and looking

forgetting the sweetness
of being alive forsaking

god somewhere on my
own map of events

duties and having to have
being liked and praised

endless strife if I could
just stop it a minute

to get – that craved
drink of fresh water

transparent and true
on the shore of

consciousness
.
.

anna mosca copyrights 2013

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.

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About Those Tickled Ears

“Having a form of godliness, but denying its power…” This is quite common in Christian circles today, as it has been for a long time.

Rebecca Trotter's avatarThe Upside Down World

“For the time will come when they will not endure sound doctrine; but wanting to have their ears tickled, they will accumulate for themselves teachers in accordance to their own desires, and will turn away their ears from the truth and will turn aside to myths.” – 2 Timothy 4:3-4

As a general rule I do my best to adhere to the policy that one ought to promote what one loves rather than bashing what one opposes. But today, I feel the need to warn y’all about the ear ticklers. “Have their ears tickled” was something of an idiom in ancient Rome which meant that a person was listening for things which were pleasing to them rather than the truth. What people looking to have their ears tickled really had a preference for were ideas which were new or novel. Paul warned young Timothy that the day would come when ear…

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Coloring Innocence

A poem about painting, a poem about truth. Right up my alley! 🙂

Paul F. Lenzi's avatarPoesy plus Polemics

Photo by Shutterstock Images At photo-dictionary.com Photo by Shutterstock Images
At photo-dictionary.com

how does a child view this world
does she see only colors she’s learned
or the whole shocking spectrum
of concatenation
we adults disarranged
with deliberate malice

does she recognize dark shades of war
in our black-and-blue purples
with subtle distinctions
of just war from unjust
of mercy from weakness

can she appreciate bright hues of love
in our radiant yellows
with gradient edges
eros blurred into agapē
storge into philia

how can we train her young eyes
will she learn only colors we see
or the whole lovely spectrum
beyond limitations
imposed by the ignorance
stalking our ill-matured guilt

she deserves more than blindness
to true colors we never perceived
she needs better than our
impaired vision as guide
perhaps we should give her a
palette to mix her own paints

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The Boy from the Neighborhood

A sad story that rings with truth…

Butch Dean's avatarWordsmith's Desk

The following story has been published before. The message is important for we never know who we affect by our words and actions. So, this morning I share once more about my friend, Wesley.

 ~~~

I don’t remember much about this boyhood playmate. I was pre-school age and he lived two doors from me. His name was Wesley. I remember his mom and older sister, Midge; they were both nice. His dad’s name was Red. He sat in the front room and didn’t say much at all. Their house was old and weathered, with no paint left on it.

Wesley was very shy, almost afraid to say anything to anyone. He walked with his head down and appeared as if he were trying to be invisible. These traits would be more pronounced as he grew older, but in those preschool days, he was like any other boy. We played together…

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