lost

she has cratersbut only a fool can deny her beauty.She silently stare sun whole night& reflects his lighthis love with stars at times.

The universe never complainsWhen you're wrong or right,She always loves and cares,She always gives and shares. When you get lost she becomes the light,Helps you to find what is right. But she never forgetsTo show you the light.

the star that I was wishingthe light that I was kissingsitting back and reminiscing that night, it was missing.

I don't know where to go from here, So I crawl back inside me,AndTurn the lights off.

Some days my thoughts refuse to silence themselves, and I feel like I'm walking around in darkness reaching for a stretched hand. I sometimes close my eyes to listen for that still small voice to steer me down a sound and narrow path.

To be without supernatural infusion of divine love and light is to have lost the glory

There was a man here, lashed himself to a spar as his ship went down, and for seven days and seven nights he was on the sea, and what kept him alive while others drowned was telling himself stories like a madman, so that as one ended another began. On the seventh day he had told all the stories he knew and that was when he began to tell himself as if he were a story, from the earliest beginnings to his green and deep misfortune. The story he told was of a man lost and found, not once, but many times, as he choked his way out of the waves. And the night fell, he saw the Cape Wrath light, only lit a week it was, but it was, and he knew that if he became the story of the light, he might be saved. With his last strength he began to paddle towards it, arms on either side of the spar, and in his mind the light became a shining rope, pulling him in. He took hold of it, tied it round his waist, and at that moment, the keeper saw him, and ran for the rescue boat.

I come to a red light, tempted to go through it, then stop once I see a billboard sign that I don__ remember seeing and I look up at it. All it says is 'Disappear Here' and even though it__ probably an ad for some resort, it still freaks me out a little and I step on the gas really hard and the car screeches as I leave the light.

Cutting my roots and leaving my home and family when I was 18 years old forced me to build my home in other things, like my music, stories and my journey. The last years I have more or less constantly been on my way, on the road, always leaving and never arriving, which also means leaving people. I__e loved and lost and I have regrets and I miss and no matter how many times you leave, start over, achieve success or travel places it__ other people that matter. People, friends, family, lovers, strangers _ they will forever stay with you, even if only through memory. I__e grown to appreciate people to the deepest core and I__ trying to learn how to tell people what I want to tell them when I have the chance, before it__ too late. _

We don't know where we come from and where we go, we fill the missing links with whatever our imaginations can provide us

We gave ourselves for lost men, and prepared for death. Yet we did lift up our hearts and voices to God above, who "showeth His wonders in the deep"; beseeching Him of His mercy, that as in the beginning He discovered the face of the deep, and brought forth dry land, so He would now discover land to us, that we might not perish.

When I can__ find my way, I pray to God to show me the way. And then, He creates the right pathways.

It kind of scares me though, to keep wearing it every day like I do. What happens when I run out of it? Will I forget what she looked like? What it looked like when the sun reflected on her hair? The way her pillow always smelled like her? Will my memory of her run out too?

She would let a speeding automobile hit her to show them all how unloved she was.

The shadow is dark and the woods are cold, but they are not endless. No matter how lost you are now, you are not lost forever. You are findable.Love just keeps on looking. Love is forever tries.

A woman who had fallen out of love with her life

It occurred to me that grief is like a tunnel. You enter it without a choice because you must get to the other side. The darkness of it plays tricks on you and sometimes you can even forget where you are or what your purpose is. I believe that people, now and again, get lost or stuck in that tunnel and never find their way out.

You make me want things that I can't have.