It Is Written

 

I can write ---

Oh, I can write…

spending hours

with pencil in hand

catching words

from the sky of my mind

like clouds on a breezy summer’s day,

molding phrases

into lines of meaning,

painting with words

frames of landscapes

remembered and imagined ---

fashioned from memories

observed and remembered

and imagined.

 

Oh, I can write ---

all day if I want to.

But why should I?

Is there such a gap

in the opus of poesy

that the world is lacking

my thoughts?

 

And who is listening?

And if I don’t ---

who is missing it?

Will the Tapestry be anything less?

 

 

Yet anything I do,

and everything you do,

thru the senses ---

adds stitches of form and color

to the Great Tapestry of this Day

God is weaving,

and woofing,

and warping,

and stitching,

and weaving, weaving ---

 

If not me  --- then who?

If not you, then someone else

might grasp that cloud

and manifest what’s necessary

to be read and heard

and added to embellish the Tapestry –

with the forms, the colors

the sounds, the music,

the feelings,

the joys and pains.

 

And in the end

God will mull over it

and think ---

Hmm… not bad.

And like the sand paintings of Tibet

God’s breath obliviates all

and a new Word is spoken

and a new loom is threaded

to become a new Tapestry

of another day in the Life of God.

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