Never meant to be

Perhaps, we were never meant to be.. May be you and I were destined to meet and become strangers again.

A love story with no beginning and no end, still causing a lot of pain.

Your presence did inflame the love in me but now your absence like a sudden rain, dampens my heart. 

I guess this is how we are meant to be apart. 

•  Grayce

Mary Magdalena

Painted by many masters of distinction throughout history,

displayed in Museums and Cathedrals with touches of mystery.

In agony and sorrowful tears or in blissful prayers,

the woman with Christ by biblical affairs.

Saint patron of cruel Dominicans and prostitutes,

witness of the his resurrection and crucifix prosecutes.

Apparently also mother of his child and lover,

when she had to flee Galilee for no one will discover.

Relics suppose to proof that dust of gold,

holy matrimonies for pilgrimages forever sold.

Her Image in many sculptures as the ultimate devotion,

tears of sorrows and transcended bleeding heart notion.

The woman that anoints Jesus feet and being a disciple,

representing the spiritual love as the feminine part of Bible.

She had been healed of evil spirits and infirmities,

because Christ empowered woman in his ministries....

You will not change me

You hate me
I love you
You despise me
I love you

You want to see me
Fall
Fail
Hurt
Broken

I want to see you
Fly
Succeed
Be built up

You try and you try to bring me down
You can't change me
No matter how hard you try
I am still who I am 
And nothing you say or do will change that
That's right NOTHING

Go ahead do your worst
It will do you no good

The awaited desire

As I'm drowning into my bed, trying to bury myself way under 

Thirsting to surrender

 Whereas fearful of Gehenna

 I wonder will it ever be a happily ever after

 Just like snow white,

 and all the fairytales I recall and remember

I wonder, would the reality ever be alluring as the fantasies I engender,

 or at least bearable to live the day after with no sorrows, or agonizing horror

 a reality where my Innards could dance freely,

 reckless of whatever could swing, or muddle the living funeral clutter,

wobbling the big day, in the white eerie attire,

we waft up fiercely to the cupidity we've been longing for,

sense even the laughter had laid a guilt trip on the sore, attentive morrow

of the living corpse that lacked the braveness to shut it all and just retire.

Soul hunger

 Starving for love and affection,

For the actual connection,

For being understood from a seem without having to mention, 

For sensations enhanced than my mind's contention,

Pouring into me willingly, ending all the affliction,

Filling me up till I suffocate and can no longer experience the tension, 

Forgetting bout it all, with no fear of it being deception, 

So pure the intention, can not even think of an end or the inception,

Too mesmerizing that it is almost a reflection of perfection,

A rebellion on all of the world imperfections,

That's all I want God,

no longer anything but to know the direction, 

So this miserable soul can in the...




Like 


    
 1
Continue Reading...