Perplexing as the mind might seem,
Perhaps it’s the simplicity,
That entices us,
Forcing us to remain clueless,
An unconscience wreck of emotions,
Until eventually we burst forth,
Hoping no one can see,
And if they can,
Perhaps they don’t understand.
I see a thousand bullets,
Pelting through the sky.
Intricate patterns lapsing over,
They match the tears streaming,
Down faces of those who unwillingly give in,
To the forced fix of warm salty liquid.
Who knew,
Something as natural as tears could help.
But perhaps it’s all just our imaginations,
And when we say it helps,
We’re only willing ourselves to believe it,
Even if it is a hopeless lie with no truth to it.
Emerged in our selfishness,
As if emerged in the deep waters of the ocean,
After a sailing ship explodes,
Forcing us under the water,
Contemplating the chances of survival,
And what is the best thing to do from here,
Give up and drown or fight to get out,
With the flickering chance of having pain,
Every day there after.
And sometimes,
The arrival of a new thought,
Perplexes the last even more.
So what if we only care about ourselves?
But once it’s been said out loud,
We realize more depth to it.
We can’t just care about ourselves,
If everyone only cared about themselves,
This world would be a cold bitter place.
No wonder everything is so empty,
So void of respect and courage,
The courage that says it isn’t only about oneself,
But that every one matters,
And everyone has a part to play.
Because deep down we all know it’s true,
Whether we allow ourselves to realize it,
Or we simply live on for ourselves,
The truth is there waiting for acceptance,
Advocating love for all,
But not the sort of feel good love we all want,
The sort of love we all need,
The sort that lets us know when we’re wrong,
And builds us up when we’re down,
When we need it,
When we are willing to accept it.
And when we aren’t willing to accept advice,
Is willing to rebuke us,
In our wrongness.
But at the same time be willing to accept a rebuke,
To be able to admit when wrong.
The sort of love that is willing to die,
In hope that someone else will live.
In hope that someone else will learn to love.
The sort of love that can’t be given,
Unless it is first received.
Love none other,
Than Jesus Christ,
The first and only true,

About Robin Elizabeth

My name is Robin Elizabeth and I'm 21. I do not create with my own ability, but with the gift God has given me.

3 responses »

  1. Amen to that! Excellent writing. Moving and true!

  2. Jingle says:

    blessing, beautiful expression, thanks for the treat.

  3. Andy says:

    A thought-provoking piece indeed.

    Nicely done!

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