soulhearts

soulhearts

There's something about people, photographs, music and words that speak to my soul. I feel God's majesty personified and exemplified through them. All of life's complexities somehow gets simplified because it makes you realize how beautiful life is and how awesome people truly are.
renardiere:

Carol Cavalaris

renardiere:

Carol Cavalaris

(via lynjaxge1)

singlestepphotography:

'Kiss Goodnight' - Pinery Provincial Park, Canada
By Single Step Photography
Facebook 500px Twitter

singlestepphotography:

'Kiss Goodnight' - Pinery Provincial Park, Canada

By Single Step Photography

Facebook 500px Twitter

(via tea77green)

pixography:

Ernesto Arrisueno

pixography:

Ernesto Arrisueno

(via davidwsmalt)

contemplating

micropoems:

contemplating
the cause of it all
I stand alone
my reflection coming at me
from cracked glass

(93 characters incl. spaces)

#micropoetry



http://micropoetry.com/contemplating.html
by CliveOseman

“Late August,” Margaret Atwood

“Late August,” Margaret Atwood

(Source: cigrette, via youreyesblazeout)

melimelo85:

 

Francesco Clemente (Italian, b. 1952) | Friendship, 1991 | Tempera on linen, 30 x 24 in.

melimelo85:

 

Francesco Clemente (Italian, b. 1952) | Friendship, 1991 | Tempera on linen, 30 x 24 in.

(via youreyesblazeout)

A Poem To God

deadsensescompany:

"A Poem To God"

Please God;

Forgive me for what I’ve done

I never meant to hurt myself

I never meant to hurt anyone

On my deathbed of sin

All that I can ask

Before my final hour begins

If only you can grasp

And see things the way

That I see them now

I don’t know what…

thusreluctant:

The Covered Lane by Renoir

thusreluctant:

The Covered Lane by Renoir

(via rokuroku)

There’s an always in…

There’s an always in…

(Source: madaeli26)

Dissipating smoke from dying…

Dissipating smoke from dying…

(Source: madaeli26)

and to walk across the floor
to an old dresser with a
cracked mirror-
see myself, ugly,
grinning at it all.
what matters most is
how well you
walk through the
fire.
Charles Bukowski, excerpt from How Is Your Heart? (via emergentpattern)