i swear to god. stop. stop this right now. this is the worst. this couldn’t at least be random? do people who have accounts have to deal with this? why. whyyyyyyyyy. stop. just stop. let it end. has it been a minute yet
Soft gazes skim across the road.
“Don’t leave me!” Someone cried out in agony, raw sadness crying out from their heart.
It’s almost impossible for revival.
It’s impossible.
I M P O S S I B L E
Correct?
Beliefs believe and they believe that one day, they’ll be in another life.
And when that person had let out their final breath, their spirit had kissed goodbye to their loved ones, and transferred to another person who’s soul needs a bit of help.
And they were revived, because of belief and love
Her hands hung over the edge of the tub,
her body finding new strength…
she makes a decision,
that isn’t really conscious-
to pull her body from the cold, wet floor.
The people knocking on the door,
they would miss her..
one more sigh…
it’s time.
When I think of revival, I think of the old days when there would be traveling preachers who went from community to community and would pitch giant tents and then invite members of the community to come to the revivals and try to “save” them. These revivals often lasted all day.
Revival – a thing of dreams, evoking a sense of mystery and rebirth. The regeneration of life. Renewal, refreshment. Energy flowing through, empowering where once death had become preeminent. A beautiful rejoicing of the triumph of life.
Das ist das Ende.
Alles scheint so sinnlos.
Alles liegt in Scherben.
Nichts als Achse ist übrig.
Doch aus der Achse –
entsteht ein Phönix erneut.
Warum sollten nicht auch wir
ein Phönix sein?
I’ve never been to one of those big tent revivals. Do they even have those anymore? I imagine people all hot and sticky waving pamphlets like fans to flat the flies away while amening and carying on.
A second chance
Jesus
Redemption
Restoration of that which is gone, else that which no one hopes
Each day I wake up with the revival of hope that it will be slightly better than the last
to be revived, is to be renewed in a new sense, awoken from the dead, brought back to life, screaming and crying like a newborn, ripped from relative comfort and thrust into the scary world for all others to cast their judgement. It is through this process that we grow and yet, remain forever young.
The city is showing signs of revival
after the terrible events
that passed
yet
after so many blasts
most of the ladies and gents
had left to ensure their survival
She inhaled the sea air. It had been years. She scanned the horizon slowly, taking in the familiar stillness of the beach at night. It was good to be back. It was good to be in a place she recognized as her own. She wanted nothing more than to stay. Her car sat running on the side of the road. She took one more second, and then walked away.
The end of a season, the end of an era. It isn’t cold that brings about the numbness. It’s deeper, and not even the ice on the sidewalks can reach it. And yet as the scent of flowers change the taste of the air, I know I’ve been given permission to live another year.
the new era.
The broadway revival of The Producers holds the record for most Tony awards won. Which is ironic, because it’s a musical about making a crappy musical.
There’s going to be a revival in common sense, just wait and see. Honest. This post truth society can’t keep us in the dark can it? Maybe we need to think it over for a bit.
Revival of the fittest, discovering what we have to bring when we’re 30. It’s not a promise or a guarantee, but we must live our lives to the nth degree. I promise promise, telegraph road, on my way home. Turning 30 will be a revival, promise me at 40 I’ll look back and say, “My 30yr old self, you are no rival”.
The revival. Almost sounds like a movie doesn’t it? Revival is what I need now. I need to go back to my roots and ask myself who I am and why am I here? It is only through those answers that I can realize my potential power. I am here and I must do good.
I went to see the revival of a musical that hadn’t had a chance to grace a stage for about forty-seven years. Needless to say, it hadn’t aged well. Sure, the actors, singers, and dancers put their all into the performance, and it was clear that certain rewrites had been made to reform the piece into something less, well, unsavory. However, I found my lip trembling from time to time – not because the show drew me to tears, as its melodrama was originally intended to do, but because I was trying desperately not to laugh.
The plant was dying. Every morning the sun came up and shone the light on it that would never reach the darkness inside. And every afternoon the rain fell, watering it with the tears that would never be able to wake it up. The plant was dying. There would be no revival from the outside. The only thing that could save it now was within. The plant’s will to grow, to survive, to live. The sun and the rain had long given up trying to wake it from what they believed was an endless slumber. So the plant had only itself. And somehow that was all it needed.
When she saw the spaceship, she fainted. Her revival took an hour, of people standing over her, fanning her. The ambulance had come and the medics had pulled out an oxygen tank. She woke to their worried faces looking down at her.
“Did you see it?” She tried to sit up. “It was so beautiful.”
I don’t often think about being dead and why I’m still… cognitive. I’m not sure what the world for that would be, what the term for that would be. I do wonder often how my ‘revival’ of sorts came to be. I wonder if I’m the only one. How can I tell if others are also deceased but still walking? I’m not decaying so they wouldn’t be either, and I can’t just go up to them and feel for a heartbeat…can I?
Wiederbelebung. Vielleicht ist es das, was ich brauche. Irgendwie wurde ich totgemacht, früher. Weil die, die optimale Bedingungen für meine Entwicklung schaffen sollten, so viel Angst vor meiner und ihrer Kreativität hatten, davor, dass alles außer Kontrolle geraten könnte, dass sie es vorzogen, all das kaputt zu machen, was eine potentielle Gefahr darstellte.
this is my revival
-selena gomez
it’s more than survival
‘this is my revival’
‘this is my revival’
it’s more than survival
‘this is my revival’
Holy spirt comes down.
i swear to god. stop. stop this right now. this is the worst. this couldn’t at least be random? do people who have accounts have to deal with this? why. whyyyyyyyyy. stop. just stop. let it end. has it been a minute yet
Soft gazes skim across the road.
“Don’t leave me!” Someone cried out in agony, raw sadness crying out from their heart.
It’s almost impossible for revival.
It’s impossible.
I M P O S S I B L E
Correct?
Beliefs believe and they believe that one day, they’ll be in another life.
And when that person had let out their final breath, their spirit had kissed goodbye to their loved ones, and transferred to another person who’s soul needs a bit of help.
And they were revived, because of belief and love
Revival is the act of bringing someone or something back to life. Revival is hard to do, as you cant just grab a reviving machine of some sort.
Her hands hung over the edge of the tub,
her body finding new strength…
she makes a decision,
that isn’t really conscious-
to pull her body from the cold, wet floor.
The people knocking on the door,
they would miss her..
one more sigh…
it’s time.
When I think of revival, I think of the old days when there would be traveling preachers who went from community to community and would pitch giant tents and then invite members of the community to come to the revivals and try to “save” them. These revivals often lasted all day.
A Party I really like to go. Just like an old Memory coming back to life. It’s just heart-warming and smooth.
Revival – a thing of dreams, evoking a sense of mystery and rebirth. The regeneration of life. Renewal, refreshment. Energy flowing through, empowering where once death had become preeminent. A beautiful rejoicing of the triumph of life.
Das ist das Ende.
Alles scheint so sinnlos.
Alles liegt in Scherben.
Nichts als Achse ist übrig.
Doch aus der Achse –
entsteht ein Phönix erneut.
Warum sollten nicht auch wir
ein Phönix sein?
I’ve never been to one of those big tent revivals. Do they even have those anymore? I imagine people all hot and sticky waving pamphlets like fans to flat the flies away while amening and carying on.
Always I thought everyone need improvement. Since no one is perfect but what makes a difference is that how much one is ready to change him/her self.
A second chance
Jesus
Redemption
Restoration of that which is gone, else that which no one hopes
Each day I wake up with the revival of hope that it will be slightly better than the last
to be revived, is to be renewed in a new sense, awoken from the dead, brought back to life, screaming and crying like a newborn, ripped from relative comfort and thrust into the scary world for all others to cast their judgement. It is through this process that we grow and yet, remain forever young.
A revival of the spirit, a revival of the truth. The revival revolution is happening now.
The city is showing signs of revival
after the terrible events
that passed
yet
after so many blasts
most of the ladies and gents
had left to ensure their survival
Things will never be the same again.
She inhaled the sea air. It had been years. She scanned the horizon slowly, taking in the familiar stillness of the beach at night. It was good to be back. It was good to be in a place she recognized as her own. She wanted nothing more than to stay. Her car sat running on the side of the road. She took one more second, and then walked away.
I am going to revival you. Now it is time to get baptize you.
The end of a season, the end of an era. It isn’t cold that brings about the numbness. It’s deeper, and not even the ice on the sidewalks can reach it. And yet as the scent of flowers change the taste of the air, I know I’ve been given permission to live another year.
the new era.
The broadway revival of The Producers holds the record for most Tony awards won. Which is ironic, because it’s a musical about making a crappy musical.
All empires fail
then former subjugated
will have REVIVAL
Wu, Jin, Lu, and Han
Lodi, Rajaput Mewar,
Roma and Carthage
Mali to Songhai,
Moroc Pashas, Massina…
who forms to fail next?
by: Raimal Jair Raja Bahuldar Singh
[just kidding….thought it a cool, noble name to have.]
There’s going to be a revival in common sense, just wait and see. Honest. This post truth society can’t keep us in the dark can it? Maybe we need to think it over for a bit.
Revival of the fittest, discovering what we have to bring when we’re 30. It’s not a promise or a guarantee, but we must live our lives to the nth degree. I promise promise, telegraph road, on my way home. Turning 30 will be a revival, promise me at 40 I’ll look back and say, “My 30yr old self, you are no rival”.
The revival. Almost sounds like a movie doesn’t it? Revival is what I need now. I need to go back to my roots and ask myself who I am and why am I here? It is only through those answers that I can realize my potential power. I am here and I must do good.
I went to see the revival of a musical that hadn’t had a chance to grace a stage for about forty-seven years. Needless to say, it hadn’t aged well. Sure, the actors, singers, and dancers put their all into the performance, and it was clear that certain rewrites had been made to reform the piece into something less, well, unsavory. However, I found my lip trembling from time to time – not because the show drew me to tears, as its melodrama was originally intended to do, but because I was trying desperately not to laugh.
“Revival!”, the priest shouted.
The time has arrived.
The people cheered. The podium rocked.
Standing in the middle of the congregation was a guy. He wasn’t smiling. For he had other plans in mind.
But no one took notice of him.
As he was invisible to the common eye.
Revival of the greatest
Master’s glee
Don’t get caught in jubilee
Revival of the master
Slave’s disgrace
Don’t get caught in cool embrace
The plant was dying. Every morning the sun came up and shone the light on it that would never reach the darkness inside. And every afternoon the rain fell, watering it with the tears that would never be able to wake it up. The plant was dying. There would be no revival from the outside. The only thing that could save it now was within. The plant’s will to grow, to survive, to live. The sun and the rain had long given up trying to wake it from what they believed was an endless slumber. So the plant had only itself. And somehow that was all it needed.
changing, evolving, you could say reviving my life
jumping into ships i know not the destination
sailing to shores as a stranger
When she saw the spaceship, she fainted. Her revival took an hour, of people standing over her, fanning her. The ambulance had come and the medics had pulled out an oxygen tank. She woke to their worried faces looking down at her.
“Did you see it?” She tried to sit up. “It was so beautiful.”
I don’t often think about being dead and why I’m still… cognitive. I’m not sure what the world for that would be, what the term for that would be. I do wonder often how my ‘revival’ of sorts came to be. I wonder if I’m the only one. How can I tell if others are also deceased but still walking? I’m not decaying so they wouldn’t be either, and I can’t just go up to them and feel for a heartbeat…can I?
Rain. It signifies change, rebirth, new growth, but sadness at times. Did the second brother’s lover really want “revival”?
Tell me again
Start up a anew
Out the old life
Spring fourth a new edition
And sell my soul its due
Wiederbelebung. Vielleicht ist es das, was ich brauche. Irgendwie wurde ich totgemacht, früher. Weil die, die optimale Bedingungen für meine Entwicklung schaffen sollten, so viel Angst vor meiner und ihrer Kreativität hatten, davor, dass alles außer Kontrolle geraten könnte, dass sie es vorzogen, all das kaputt zu machen, was eine potentielle Gefahr darstellte.