Actually, the title format, just like my theme for the month, started with the very first poem in this thread! It was a sentence, so I decided to make every poem have a sentence for a title. ^_^
But the Fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law. — Paul the Apostle
Winter is inevitable. Spring will return eventually, and AstralHunter with it.
There is odd comfort in being dwarfed by the unfathomable.
It occurs to me You haven’t laid eyes On the deep blue sea, Vast in its size, Which frightens the weak And awes the wise.
You might just surmise, When your gaze meets The great ocean’s tides, Life is a dream. Ahead of you lies Infinity.
But the Fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law. — Paul the Apostle
Winter is inevitable. Spring will return eventually, and AstralHunter with it.
The instrument of creation And the product of destruction Scoured mountains and meadows, Salvaging order from chaos. Evil was vanquished and peace restored!
Yet… whispers of vice continue To pervert ignorant minds, Seeding empty fields with thistles To be hailed as public icons. Weeds bloomed while all else withered.
Can we still the recognise just Base w hen be comes entit lemen t Anth em th e of da ily o ur li ves Hyp ocr isy our and cre ed p ers ona l? Mu rd er ed by wa s r ea so n c ro wd s j ee ri ng.
Ash would be joy in a righteous world.
But the Fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law. — Paul the Apostle
Winter is inevitable. Spring will return eventually, and AstralHunter with it.
The heaviest bones are always those that long to be discarded.
I think we are especially susceptible, you and I, To the attrition of confrontation and responsibility. There are times where the indifference of ingrates Becomes a lingering contagion, content on lying dormant Until fatigue of the spirit allows it to shed its latency, Thereafter pulling dust and ash to dust and ash. The words of playwrights are then the cure to seek, For all disease has been borne before and duly treated. While the alluring promise of sleep may seem kind, It is as was said: donning the shackles of the dream Offers escape, but there might not be an eternal winter To herald the coming of freedom violently embraced.
But the Fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law. — Paul the Apostle
Winter is inevitable. Spring will return eventually, and AstralHunter with it.
Does the fire demand more fuel, or does it beg its own demise?
It is a sad and terrible thing To see loss and pain perpetuate Though the hands of those Themselves subjected to the cycle. Heartache burns brightest When forgiveness and self-control Become its first victims, For that is when the hunt begins.
We found only glowing coals Deep within the trembling viridian, But the winds of our coming Stoked the undying hunger for prey. Children of dust and ash Were perhaps the best opponents For a furnace that longed Most of all to consume its own shell.
Though that same spark Might someday have threatened To ignite within your chest, Your compassion smothered all flames. Where others saw a demon, You saw a soul devoid of all hope, So you delivered an end And a final breath of warmth.
But the Fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law. — Paul the Apostle
Winter is inevitable. Spring will return eventually, and AstralHunter with it.
Glacial mirrors reflect the beauty hidden in longsuffering hearts.
Even daring souls would likely prefer To let sleeping mountains lie, So none could fault reason’s blade For preaching caution in the face Of rousing a slumbering giant. A brumal barrier blocked our passage, But summoning snow to sweep clear The alpine dirt was a bit… much.
For all that I joined the protest, We nevertheless charged inwards, Shattering frozen bones and scattering Any semblance of montane peace. A displeased rumble announced our success, And though it seemed myth incarnate Had also woken to declare its ire, “Only” tales of a tragic birth awaited.
Our journey might have ended in sorrow, But our trek was as grand as it came! How could I ever forget surpassing trials To receive the gifts of the ancients, Not simply witnessing the flight Of a pristine spirit, framed in grace, But also soaring in body and soul Beside the only angel I’d ever see?
But the Fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law. — Paul the Apostle
Winter is inevitable. Spring will return eventually, and AstralHunter with it.
Please note that I'll be working on this poem/song for a while, so please return later!
This is our journey’s end and my final gift to you.
Ashes to ashes, dust to dust; It is you must go and I must stay. You pursued all you thought was just, But my night has lost, again, its day. I shall seek fate in stars once more And, with faith, attempt to soar Under moonlight shining hoar.
Spoiler! :
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Tate ta ta ta ta ta ta. (8) Tate ta ta ta ta ta ta ta. (9)
But the Fruit of the Spirit is love, joy, peace, longsuffering, gentleness, goodness, faith, meekness, temperance: against such there is no law. — Paul the Apostle
Winter is inevitable. Spring will return eventually, and AstralHunter with it.
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