the glow of the moon makes you think and reflect about all things beautiful. ALl thingspure and all things that glow. Its the purity of something that makes it glow and that’s how you know for sure that the angels are involved somewhere.
I stood afoot at a lightpost that was glowing a mellow golden glow. i went to my mind and saw that it too was glowing. i am glow. this is what the light told me as i went to the heavens and shouted at the gates to open and let me retreve my lost family members. i then fell and landed on my head.
The lights glow in the dark, then suddenly they all go black. What is going on here? I look for Grayson as I slowly move towards the light bulb. Why is this happening? I finally found Grayson but it was hard to see him in the dark.
The glow of the fading moonlight rest on the tranquil waters of Cambury, a tired town in the middle of no where, unattached to the vast world and unaware of the advancements made throughout the years.
Don’t go.
Go.
Be slow.
Be flash.
Glow.
Radioactively.
Humming electricity
that’s thrumming on
piggyback waves of a
Strum drum trance
Shooting constellations
Into projections behind the eyes
We are threatened with suffering from three directions: from our own body, which is doomed to decay and dissolution and which cannot even do without pain and anxiety as warning signals; from the external world, which may rage against us with overwhelming and merciless forces of destruction; and finally from our relations to other men. The suffering which comes from this last source is perhaps more painful than any other.
The pain from hearing no,
from that interviewer, after
you’ve felt victory,
desiccates,
prideful, rivalry.
The premonition,
ignored, by winds and storms,
of intuition.
Sun and moon,
dark reepers, and bright cliff-edges get steeper,
in either climate,
the carafe still pours orange juice the same way.
From the gut feeling, metaphysical
glows try to cause famine,
then rain and hail
fail to keep their promises and
gavel us to hell.
A battle field with different armies attacking
us
from different angles,
post guards up on every side of the war trenches,
and glow, glow with sheen,
with a flash light stemming from the soul
thats obscenely bright.
Her smile flooded her whole body. She could feel it in the tips of her fingers and right below her navel. She tried to compress it, but she couldn’t. Everyone could see her.
glow in the dark. The glow of the moonlight. The glow of my son when he discovers something new or talks about things he is passionate about. The glow of my wife when my son does something interesting and she smiles.
When you stand in the sunshine, your skin will start glowing
A lamp will glow when you turn it on
Your eyes are glowing while thinking about him or her
You always glow in the dark when you think of yoursels
The stars are glowing at night on the top of my head. The fireflies are buzzing around from tree to tree signalling others to join them in the fun by glowing their majestic yellow light.
I like to see people glowing. Glow is part of life.. most people miss this important aspects of our life. I like to glow myself, like to help other people to glow.
so few things glow that I knew you were special. You in a room full of people. Standing next to a suit me in a white dress our impromptu wedding. I promised myself to you before i even knew your name.
not everything glows in fact most things don’t. its the reason i was drawn to you. You kinda had this glow. there in the room with a bunch of other folks looking half interested, a little bit smug.
The light was eerie, unnatural; here in this dark, isolated cave, should there be any light at all? But it was the glow of the working glowworms that gave off the light, not anything artificial. I paused for a second, the breeze lifting my hair up a little bit. Was this a safe place? I did not know, but it seemed to be, so I rushed off to alert the others.
There was a soft glow emanating from the top of the hill behind her house, and she knew that she had to closer to it but she was also very afraid. There were no good options going forward; she had already seen the light, and from now on she could either proceed toward it or head back to her bed, devastatingly unchanged. She did the only thing that made sense, and took a step forward.
Suddenly, my room is green, and I realize I don’t just like to sleep in complete darkness, I nearly need it. To add insult to injury, it begins to flash, seemingly forever before suddenly turning into an ominous red. I never realized how bright crosswalks signals were, or how nice curtains really are.
More than darkness, I need something covering me as I sleep, but all I have is a travel pillow, a blanket too hot that instead has to be used on the thin cushion I borrow until my futon arrives, and a towel I’m left to use as a blanket, that I wake all night to find it crumpled to the side. My days are spent shopping and falling asleep on my desk and hazily praying I’d figure out how to get a real, good night’s sleep under these conditions. Tomorrow I must get curtains, I decide. Turns out I would buy a second set for the same window in the coming weeks, and I would still be dissatisfied with the amount of light slipping through the cracks. But I’ve somehow gotten used to it, and I greet it with a roll of my eyes and a roll of my body so it flashes on my back. It’s far harsher than the only light in my old bedroom on the other side of the world; the faint light coming from cheap stars and planets the size of a fingernail on the ceiling, never having bothered to remove them from the room I never moved out of. I didn’t want to touch the popcorn texture, because it would flake and dirty my bed below. So I would stare at them some nights, fascinated that the more directly you looked at them, the sooner they seemed to disappear, and only the stars in my peripheral seemed clear.
I thought after the futon, after the curtains, after turning empty rooms into a home, I’d turn my lights off early, close my eyes and drift away in seconds. I’d sleep in sometimes—just sometimes—and look fondly upon my time asleep and the dreams had. But a new light has invaded my room, and keeps me awake with its green, rhythmic flashing all the same. An early night to bed turned into the latest all week with blink in the night. My consciousness nearly blanks in seconds, but something tells me to crack open my eyes one last time—can my arms even move right now?—and I see the color of summer putting just a little shock of energy in me again. A promised firefly out of season. I might roll my eyes all the same, but I don’t turn my back; I keep the light in my hands, waiting for it to disturb me one last time. But the more I stare at it, the less I see it, the little crossing signal in my hand warning me the journey from words to thoughts and back again is too long to begin now, and I don’t dream, my sleep is late, my waking early, afternoons close my eyes before I realize, but I’ve gotten used to it.
More or less, I’ve gotten used to it.
She’s been gone too long, years removed from the flames that used to burn from the tips of her fans. It will take time, dedication, perseverance to relearn tricks of old and master those of new, but one day she will burn again, worthy of the tool that calls to her through their flickers licking the wind.
oh that glow!
when the cheeks redden
happy radiance
you know you’ve touched the soul
set the heart on fire
the color on her face
a reflection of love’s flame
it is so important to have a glow on your face and pass it on to the people you meet daily and lit their life.A glow filled with positivity, compassion and love.
My glow has disappeared
It always does when I notice those who think it it not glowing
With the right amount of light, the right color, or the right intensity.
My glow has disappeared
And I don’t know how to get it back
Because there is no energy source.
She used to glow. Warmth and happiness radiated from her soul. Until one day, somebody sucked it all out and took it for her own. So now she cries, at night, alone.
the campfire that sits below me
lighting up the faces of girl younger and older than me
singing silly songs about mooses and baby bees
and illegal songs about pajamas
The light glows like a lava lamp, if that lava lamp was knocked over, to the side and glimmering faintly, for the light is hopeful yet is null and void; important, but too distant to hold any real meaning. But if that light truly is a person; then what make of it then? We do not know.
Sometimes it is hard to see them- the stars. They hide behind the clouds that are so far below them. But even when you can’t see them, you know that they are there, glowing. And even though they are unthinkably far away, you can feel them as if they are brighter than the sun.
I stood in front of the preacher’s crowd, and every congregant began to glow. They glowed red for Christ’s passion and blue for Mother Mary’s mood, and gold for monarchs’ piety and silver for peasants’ real dedication. I took the new theses and hammered them on Father Warren’s door, waiting for him to read them. But they were in ancient tongues, and as I was afflicted, my body convulsed with the Holy Spirit.
The glow of the fire lit our faces. Sparks sprinkled out onto the grass. We were just a couple of teenagers having fun on a summer night. We had that feeling that there would be many more night like this to come.
She didn’t see herself as valuable. She said she was too plain, not good enough, would never reach her goals. She looked up at me with her stage makeup on and said, “I’ll never really be a star. I’ll never get a big role.” I said “Look in that mirror. See how the lights reflect on your face and in your eyes? You glow.”
Glühen. Fieberglühen. Durchscheinende heiße Haut. Glasige Augen. Glasige Wirklichkeit. So als könntest du durch die Realität hindurch in eine andere schauen, die sich dir aber entzieht sobald du sie fassen willst, fassen mit den Augen, mit dem Gehör, mit dem Gefühl, du wirst wach und du liegst im Bett und dier ist heiß und kalt zugleich.
She is bright in the dim light… amber shining…like glass glowing in the sunlight. Everyone around her is aware of the magic she brings. She is an angel. She is enchanting. She doesn’t even know, she doesn’t even see her glow in the darkness.
He’s smiling at me from across the room. I could feel his eyes on me before I even turned my head – I knew they were there already. He’s positively glowing, though I’m not sure if it’s the kindness in his eyes, or the way he smiles, or the dim pink lights of the room against his skin.
The warm glow of the fireflies in the late evening calmed my racing heart. I sat on the porch, folding his words over in my head.
“You weren’t enough. Not this time.”
the glow of the moon makes you think and reflect about all things beautiful. ALl thingspure and all things that glow. Its the purity of something that makes it glow and that’s how you know for sure that the angels are involved somewhere.
The sun glows and so do lights. Light bulbs are florescent but LED lights are more energy efficient. What if a glow bugs poop glowed to.
The light from her laturn glows through the dark ally. All the buildings around her leave shadows in every direction as she walks.
I stood afoot at a lightpost that was glowing a mellow golden glow. i went to my mind and saw that it too was glowing. i am glow. this is what the light told me as i went to the heavens and shouted at the gates to open and let me retreve my lost family members. i then fell and landed on my head.
The lights glow in the dark, then suddenly they all go black. What is going on here? I look for Grayson as I slowly move towards the light bulb. Why is this happening? I finally found Grayson but it was hard to see him in the dark.
The glow of the fading moonlight rest on the tranquil waters of Cambury, a tired town in the middle of no where, unattached to the vast world and unaware of the advancements made throughout the years.
I want to study Italian here
Can you help me?
Thank so much
Don’t go.
Go.
Be slow.
Be flash.
Glow.
Radioactively.
Humming electricity
that’s thrumming on
piggyback waves of a
Strum drum trance
Shooting constellations
Into projections behind the eyes
We are threatened with suffering from three directions: from our own body, which is doomed to decay and dissolution and which cannot even do without pain and anxiety as warning signals; from the external world, which may rage against us with overwhelming and merciless forces of destruction; and finally from our relations to other men. The suffering which comes from this last source is perhaps more painful than any other.
The pain from hearing no,
from that interviewer, after
you’ve felt victory,
desiccates,
prideful, rivalry.
The premonition,
ignored, by winds and storms,
of intuition.
Sun and moon,
dark reepers, and bright cliff-edges get steeper,
in either climate,
the carafe still pours orange juice the same way.
From the gut feeling, metaphysical
glows try to cause famine,
then rain and hail
fail to keep their promises and
gavel us to hell.
A battle field with different armies attacking
us
from different angles,
post guards up on every side of the war trenches,
and glow, glow with sheen,
with a flash light stemming from the soul
thats obscenely bright.
Her smile flooded her whole body. She could feel it in the tips of her fingers and right below her navel. She tried to compress it, but she couldn’t. Everyone could see her.
glow in the dark. The glow of the moonlight. The glow of my son when he discovers something new or talks about things he is passionate about. The glow of my wife when my son does something interesting and she smiles.
glow
falling into the stars and the leaves
and the dust particles, sparked with
new
light echoes down our ribcages.
our wings are light.
Stars glow brightly. Star light, star bright.
When you stand in the sunshine, your skin will start glowing
A lamp will glow when you turn it on
Your eyes are glowing while thinking about him or her
You always glow in the dark when you think of yoursels
The stars are glowing at night on the top of my head. The fireflies are buzzing around from tree to tree signalling others to join them in the fun by glowing their majestic yellow light.
I like to see people glowing. Glow is part of life.. most people miss this important aspects of our life. I like to glow myself, like to help other people to glow.
so few things glow that I knew you were special. You in a room full of people. Standing next to a suit me in a white dress our impromptu wedding. I promised myself to you before i even knew your name.
not everything glows in fact most things don’t. its the reason i was drawn to you. You kinda had this glow. there in the room with a bunch of other folks looking half interested, a little bit smug.
The light was eerie, unnatural; here in this dark, isolated cave, should there be any light at all? But it was the glow of the working glowworms that gave off the light, not anything artificial. I paused for a second, the breeze lifting my hair up a little bit. Was this a safe place? I did not know, but it seemed to be, so I rushed off to alert the others.
There was a soft glow emanating from the top of the hill behind her house, and she knew that she had to closer to it but she was also very afraid. There were no good options going forward; she had already seen the light, and from now on she could either proceed toward it or head back to her bed, devastatingly unchanged. She did the only thing that made sense, and took a step forward.
Suddenly, my room is green, and I realize I don’t just like to sleep in complete darkness, I nearly need it. To add insult to injury, it begins to flash, seemingly forever before suddenly turning into an ominous red. I never realized how bright crosswalks signals were, or how nice curtains really are.
More than darkness, I need something covering me as I sleep, but all I have is a travel pillow, a blanket too hot that instead has to be used on the thin cushion I borrow until my futon arrives, and a towel I’m left to use as a blanket, that I wake all night to find it crumpled to the side. My days are spent shopping and falling asleep on my desk and hazily praying I’d figure out how to get a real, good night’s sleep under these conditions. Tomorrow I must get curtains, I decide. Turns out I would buy a second set for the same window in the coming weeks, and I would still be dissatisfied with the amount of light slipping through the cracks. But I’ve somehow gotten used to it, and I greet it with a roll of my eyes and a roll of my body so it flashes on my back. It’s far harsher than the only light in my old bedroom on the other side of the world; the faint light coming from cheap stars and planets the size of a fingernail on the ceiling, never having bothered to remove them from the room I never moved out of. I didn’t want to touch the popcorn texture, because it would flake and dirty my bed below. So I would stare at them some nights, fascinated that the more directly you looked at them, the sooner they seemed to disappear, and only the stars in my peripheral seemed clear.
I thought after the futon, after the curtains, after turning empty rooms into a home, I’d turn my lights off early, close my eyes and drift away in seconds. I’d sleep in sometimes—just sometimes—and look fondly upon my time asleep and the dreams had. But a new light has invaded my room, and keeps me awake with its green, rhythmic flashing all the same. An early night to bed turned into the latest all week with blink in the night. My consciousness nearly blanks in seconds, but something tells me to crack open my eyes one last time—can my arms even move right now?—and I see the color of summer putting just a little shock of energy in me again. A promised firefly out of season. I might roll my eyes all the same, but I don’t turn my back; I keep the light in my hands, waiting for it to disturb me one last time. But the more I stare at it, the less I see it, the little crossing signal in my hand warning me the journey from words to thoughts and back again is too long to begin now, and I don’t dream, my sleep is late, my waking early, afternoons close my eyes before I realize, but I’ve gotten used to it.
More or less, I’ve gotten used to it.
She’s been gone too long, years removed from the flames that used to burn from the tips of her fans. It will take time, dedication, perseverance to relearn tricks of old and master those of new, but one day she will burn again, worthy of the tool that calls to her through their flickers licking the wind.
oh that glow!
when the cheeks redden
happy radiance
you know you’ve touched the soul
set the heart on fire
the color on her face
a reflection of love’s flame
it is so important to have a glow on your face and pass it on to the people you meet daily and lit their life.A glow filled with positivity, compassion and love.
My glow has disappeared
It always does when I notice those who think it it not glowing
With the right amount of light, the right color, or the right intensity.
My glow has disappeared
And I don’t know how to get it back
Because there is no energy source.
She used to glow. Warmth and happiness radiated from her soul. Until one day, somebody sucked it all out and took it for her own. So now she cries, at night, alone.
In the morning
Light through the window
Soft illumination
Falls on her face
Exposed shoulder
Sheet on upper arm
She glows
Glowing in the night. Fireflies, jack-o-lanterns. Wolves eyes on the hunt. Electric eel, a mother to be, oh how she glows
the campfire that sits below me
lighting up the faces of girl younger and older than me
singing silly songs about mooses and baby bees
and illegal songs about pajamas
The light glows like a lava lamp, if that lava lamp was knocked over, to the side and glimmering faintly, for the light is hopeful yet is null and void; important, but too distant to hold any real meaning. But if that light truly is a person; then what make of it then? We do not know.
Sometimes it is hard to see them- the stars. They hide behind the clouds that are so far below them. But even when you can’t see them, you know that they are there, glowing. And even though they are unthinkably far away, you can feel them as if they are brighter than the sun.
Her face apppeared as half innocent and half guilty in the amber glow of the campfire. Light and shadow divided like the waning moon.
I stood in front of the preacher’s crowd, and every congregant began to glow. They glowed red for Christ’s passion and blue for Mother Mary’s mood, and gold for monarchs’ piety and silver for peasants’ real dedication. I took the new theses and hammered them on Father Warren’s door, waiting for him to read them. But they were in ancient tongues, and as I was afflicted, my body convulsed with the Holy Spirit.
The glow of the fire lit our faces. Sparks sprinkled out onto the grass. We were just a couple of teenagers having fun on a summer night. We had that feeling that there would be many more night like this to come.
She didn’t see herself as valuable. She said she was too plain, not good enough, would never reach her goals. She looked up at me with her stage makeup on and said, “I’ll never really be a star. I’ll never get a big role.” I said “Look in that mirror. See how the lights reflect on your face and in your eyes? You glow.”
Glühen. Fieberglühen. Durchscheinende heiße Haut. Glasige Augen. Glasige Wirklichkeit. So als könntest du durch die Realität hindurch in eine andere schauen, die sich dir aber entzieht sobald du sie fassen willst, fassen mit den Augen, mit dem Gehör, mit dem Gefühl, du wirst wach und du liegst im Bett und dier ist heiß und kalt zugleich.
She is bright in the dim light… amber shining…like glass glowing in the sunlight. Everyone around her is aware of the magic she brings. She is an angel. She is enchanting. She doesn’t even know, she doesn’t even see her glow in the darkness.
He’s smiling at me from across the room. I could feel his eyes on me before I even turned my head – I knew they were there already. He’s positively glowing, though I’m not sure if it’s the kindness in his eyes, or the way he smiles, or the dim pink lights of the room against his skin.