LOVE is........

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Chrycka Harper, Poet & Literary CriticLast Modified: 02:10 a.m. DST, 14 February 2014

What is the Key to my Heart, Photo by Alessio FeciI pray that LOVE is understood by the lover's eternal heart's beloved, no matter the speciality of the lover's craftsmanship.

Everyday, we present to each other locked packages, specialized by their beholders. Mine comes in a medium sized, cold metal box. Gray with swirls of turquoise and lavendar And sugary sprinkles of tangerine; all surrounding the one key hole.

Only a few people in this world have ever touched this box, fewer have gotten the key, and even fewer have understood to use the key to unlock the box to unleash its contents: my LOVE.

Two of those people are my Momma and my little brother- Brown Sugar and my little colored boy.

Brown Sugar! Don't ever lose your flavor. Amateurs always aiming to annihilate your flavorful accent But their heat drives them out of the kitchen... So don't ever leave the kitchen...

And my little colored boy. Hands academically shackled so you can only listen to your muffled potential. Schools teaching you how to type your prison numbers So when do you have the time to draw our freedom?

After the video games... Sleep Eat Repeat... Draw the next best game Draw the sheep that you count Draw the food that starving children should eat Keep going! Your humility and wittiness will carry you.

My routine may not be warm embraces but the contents that surrounded you from the box I presented to you is LOVE

LOVE is the universal, spiritual embrace we all relish in. It is up to the receivers to find the key of understanding: that LOVE also comes in different colors, shapes, and sizes.

I pray that LOVE is understood by the lover's eternal heart's beloved no matter the speciality of the lover's craftsmanship.

P.S. I pray that my audience understands my love for them through this story.

Amen.

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Twitter: @nahmias_report
Poet & Literary Critic: @chrycka_harper
 

The Prophet's Children | Khalil Gibran

happy-children-playing-on-brazilian-beach-photo-by-pic-hunting.jpg

Child at Water Fall Wall, Photo by Cuba GalleryYour children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. They come through you but not from you. And though they are with you, they belong not to you. You may give them your love but not your thoughts. For they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, For their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, Which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams. You may strive to be like them, but seek not to make them like you. For life goes not backward nor tarries with yesterday. You are the bows from which your children as living arrows are sent forth. The archer sees the mark upon the path of the infinite. And He bends you with His might that His arrows may go swift and far. Let your bending in the archer's hands be for happiness; For even as He loves the arrow that flies, So He loves the bow that is stable.

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Twitter: @nahmias_report Editor: @ayannanahmias

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When Nag the basking cobra hears the careless foot of man, He will sometimes wriggle sideways and avoid it if he can. But his mate makes no such motion where she camps beside the trail. For the female of the species is more deadly than the male.

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