LOVE.LIVE.SMILE.PEACE & POETRY

I hope you find this blog to be filled with love while inspiring you to live and experience life, smile, and to spread peace to the world, with poetry accompanying you along the way. Welcome to Peyton's Place.

“Not deep the poet sees, but wide.”

—   Matthew Arnold  (via leaveyouapen)

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(Source: worshipgifs, via godsjammer)

Can’t Give Up Now

There will be mountains that I will have to climb
And there will be battles that I will have to fight
But victory or defeat
it’s up to me to decide
But how can I expect to win, if I never try

I just can’t give up now
I’ve come too far from where I started from
Nobody told me the road would be easy
And I don’t believe He’s brought me this far to leave me

Never said there wouldn’t be trials,
never said I wouldn’t fall
Never said that everything would go the way I want it to go
But when my back is against the wall
and I feel all hope is gone
I’ll just lift my head up to the sky and say help me to be strong

I just can’t give up now
Come too far from where I started from
Nobody told me the road would be easy
And I don’t believe He’s brought me this far to leave me

No, you didn’t bring me
Out here to leave me lonely
Even when I can’t see clearly
I know that you are with me, so I can’t

I just can’t give up now
Come too far from where I started from
Nobody told me the road would be easy
And I don’t believe He’s brought me this far to leave me

“A writer is a world trapped in a person.”

—   Victor Hugo (via uh-huh-shes-alive)

(Source: maxkirin, via morethanametaphor)

“Let me live, love, and say it well in good sentences”

—   Sylvia Plath (via introspectivepoet)

(Source: goodreads.com, via rmoloch)

“as a poet. words are my characters. just as in a novel. you may met a character over and over again. and as you read. they are fleshed and drawn. this is how my poetry regards words and themes. you will meet them over and over again. because they are telling you a story. and they will continue to circle high and through. until the story ends. i write the way my being goes. so all the stories it needs and wants to tell. for however long and wide they need to travel. i let them. i let my poetry choose. it is who it is. it is not something i create. it is something that creates itself. within me.”

—   nayyirah waheed (via nayyirahwaheed)

(via nayyirahwaheed)

itspeytonsplace:

During Holy Week,
my mother explained to me
there is usually cloudy weather on Easter Sunday
because two suns can’t shine at the same time.
Once, I read about how the sun
loved the moon so much
he died every night
to let her breathe.
It was never revealed
how the sun has to exert its selflessness
on the third Sunday of April
to let the sinners and saints know
the sun doesn’t have to shine
for the world to shine bright.

lilysofthefield:

There is a man standing
on a mountain, feet laid
bare, holes in his hands.
Blameless, with a crown
of thorns. He asked us
to have faith like a
mustard seed and showed
us how to love. With his
last breath he gave
his Father the glory
and said my name.

tortoises-in-the-tardis:

Silence is my friend.

It doesn’t say a thing, yet

hears all of my words.

kushandwizdom:

Good Vibes HERE

Spoken Words by Isaac Wimberley

thebeautylifeoffers:

If there are words for Him then I don’t have them. 
You see, my brain has not yet reached the point where it could form a thought that could adequately describe the greatness of my God
and my lungs have not yet developed the ability to release a breath with enough agility to breathe out the greatness of his love, 
and my voice, you see, my voice, is so inhibited, restrained by human limits that it’s hard to even sing the praise of…  
You see if there are words for Him then I don’t have them. 

My God, 
His grace is remarkable,
mercies are enumerable, 
strength is impenetrable,
He is honorable,
accountable,
favorable, 
He is unsearchable yet knowable,
indefinable yet approachable,
indescribable yet personal, 
He is beyond comprehension,
further than imagination,
constant thru generations, 
king of every nation. 

But if there are words for Him then I don’t have them. 
You see, my words are few,
and to try to capture the one true God, using my vocabulary will never do, 
but I use words as an expression, 
an expression of worship to a savior, 
a savior who is both worthy and deserving of my praise, so I use words. 

My heart extols the Lord,
blesses his name forever, 
He has won my heart captured my mind and has bound them both together, 
He has defeated me in my rebellion, 
conquered me in my sin, 
He has welcomed me into his presence, 
completely invited me in. 
He has made himself the object of my sight
flooding me with mercies in the morning
drowning me with grace in the night. 

But if there are words for Him then I don’t have them. 
But what I do have is good news, 
for my God knew that manmade words would never do, 
for words are just tools that we use to point to the truth, 
so He sent His son Jesus Christ as “The Word”, living proof, 
He is the image of the invisible God,
the first born of all creation, 
for by Him all things are created, giving nothingness formation, 
and by His words he sustains, in the power of His name, 
for He is before all things and over all things he reigns,
holy is his name, so praise him for his life…

The way, he persevered in strife, 
the humble son of God becoming the perfect sacrifice, 
praise him for his death… 
that He willingly stood in our place,
that he lovingly endured the grave, 
that he battled our enemy and on the third day rose in victory. 

He is everything that was promised, 
praise Him as your risen king,
lift your voice and sing for one day he will return for us 
and we will finally be united with our savior for eternity,
eternity. 

So it’s not just words that I proclaim, 
for my words point to “The Word” and “The Word” has a name, 
hope has a name, 
joy has a name, 
peace has a name, 
love has a name
and that name is Jesus Christ.

Praise his name forever!

“There’s no saving the damsel in love with her distress.”

—   (s.r)  (via silhouettes-of-my-soul)

“Words have been my tongue,
for years—scribbled letters underneath my skin
is like antiquated mailbox in front of
derelict lawn, unable to open.
Dear,
Dear,
Dear’
Yours Truly,
(I talked to no one)
Like shouting on the top of the
mountain, all I could ever understand is
my own solitude voice bouncing back and forth
against imperceptible parapets, crying for the
words you suppose to hear.
Like writing your name on the seashore,
it gets eradicated once the waves pulled back
themselves, they leave full blankness as though
a wrinkly clothe has been ironed,
—gone.
I have sent and hoarded bruises, pains
and most of all silence underneath my
flesh. In the end, I added another part
of my body—I called it mailbox.”

—   The Mailbox (via fauxexister)

“Writing is an underestimated art,
you are painting colorful images
in people’s minds by using words
of black and white.”

—   i.c. "The Art of Writing" (via delicatepoetry)

(via ambiguous-transparency)