I want to be where you are,
For you have a peculiar way of feeling so distant from me.
I am longing for another moment of triumphant belonging.
One that comes like a spurt of overflowing rapture
Within my weary heart.

I am released
From being drowned in deep waters
And suddenly, musical sounds break the muted,
Submerged silence
That for so long flooded my ears.

I see your face somewhere
In the glimmering iridescent halo of the sun.
My iniquities trickle from my eyelashes
And stream my cheeks.
They pool at my collarbones and rush down my arms
Once my chest heaves at the chance to breathe in
More of you.
Then off the tips of my fingers they fall; forgettable, insignificant.

Beached on the shores of my loneliness,
You meet me.
Seeing my shackles, a slave to sin, I am exposed
In my unworthiness and tarnished in self-deceit.
But you loosen my chains, binding only
My broken heart.

The iron turns to sand and I can feel it
Slipping and singing laments into the wind.
Right there is where the temple of self-righteousness
Crumbles.
In a heap of ruins lay my complacency and conceit.

You’ve been waiting to clothe me in the white
Of your salvation, and you wrap me
In a violet righteousness woven distinctly for me.
In the place of my shame, you fill that pit in my stomach
With a double portion of everlasting joy.

Beneath our feet
The earth brings forth sprouts of brilliant green.
Unimaginable colors spring up joyfully
Into a fruitful garden of immense splendor.
Individual flowers bloom for each prayer
Sown by your angels over my soul.

The moment is like a rare jewel or precious stone.
I want to collect it and hold it delicately in my hands.
I want to wear it on my fingers and wrists
For the chance to adorn others
With the sparkling gold and silver of your abundant grace.

Where there are jubilant fields lined with thick forestry,
I see emerald gems lodged half-revealed in the rock.
I see how the veins in my arms match the patterns
Of rivers carving through the land.
I notice the rhythm of my breathing
And the peaceful rise and fall of a gentle shoreline.

If I could see that the blue in the sky,
Green in the fields,
Gold in the sun,
And brown of the rich earth
Rests in the flecks of my eyes,

Perhaps I would realize that you have made me
To always be where you are.


h.v.

My mother was hit by a modern plastic bag.
No activity in her teeth. Monday.
That's blood? But he is still young,
Master,  even though the bridge is in the Christian world.
Advertisers are not white, yellow tomorrow's megabytes.
Japanese women, love and ice cream.
Since muscle changes are onscreen, we see
You must open the red skin. Another short summary
of the People of the foot.
This time Doxa; ancient Greek δόξα;
from verb δοκεῖν dokein, "to appear",
"to seem", "to think" and "to accept", a Greek word
meaning common belief or popular opinion.
Used by Greek rhetoricians as a tool for
the formation of argument by using common
opinions. Doxa was often manipulated
by sophists to persuade the people, leading to Plato's condemnation
of Athenian democracy.

The word doxa picked up a new meaning
between the 3rd and 1st centuries BC
when the Septuagint translated the Hebrew
word for "glory" (כבוד, kavod) as 'doxa'.
This translation of the Hebrew Scriptures
was used by the early church and is quoted
frequently by the New Testament authors.
The effects of this new meaning of doxa
as "glory" is made evident by the ubiquitous
use of the word throughout the New Testament
and in the worship services of the Greek
Orthodox Church, where the glorification
of God in true worship is seen as true belief.
In that context, doxa reflects behavior
or practice in worship, and the belief
of the whole church rather than personal
opinion. It is the unification of the multiple
meanings of doxa that is reflected
in the modern terms 'orthodoxy' and 'heterodoxy'.
This semantic merging in the word doxa
is also seen in Russian word слава - slava,
which means glory, but is used
with the meaning of belief
or opinion in words like православие - pravoslavie,
meaning orthodoxy, or, literally, true belief
                            rises to the famous crown.
The Burning of *****'s Famous Judges.
Road repair called graffiti.
This museum has a beautiful melodic mental model;         |||
This type of experience.
Fits adults beautifully, but not good:
but a bad translation
of when a girl's hair has a girls basketball game;
going to the Theme that is life according to Shoumana,
Fordi denne typen forpligtelse ikke er den manual.
Massage is in bed.       A voice calm and strong reports,
car Spesielt som i vores organer kan være,
for dem som ikke ønsker å høre på det.
Beside the side door stands leather footwear.
All of us must try to listen to the voices of the good, as long as the limits of.
Of the mountains that do not even pack up with the teeth.
The dog died
Pictures Monday it.  The woman really
Blizzard is warm yellow and a teacher.
Hot air performance for developers.
[A thermal path] one will be completed.
Japan has become the car,  so your life opens
to the search.
On your right, and your mother eats the skin.
Like white and shades of heat.
Tell us about the Muslim Brotherhood Museum;
He returned to the lab for gold Christian churches.       An address when a woman is good.
Men hans forsøg eksisterer ikke i Japan.
What does not change,               but the only place.
And skin against the skin. Of course, because they do not listen to sounds.
1 baby side|||