Poetry

The target of poetry is the soul. The goal is to attract the soul like a flower attracts a butterfly. But sometimes it is a thistle on which the butterfly lands. Who can predict the pattern of a butterfly’s flit? Poetry changes our flit plans, not always predictably.





Friday, January 02, 2009

Bless the Child

Bless the Child

Deep inside my sweetheart
Dwells a little her
Concentrated, distilled, pure
Exactly as she came off
The finger of God
Sometimes she comes out to play
A splash of laughter
A kiss for just nothing
A dance around the room
She comes from deep inside
To bask in a moment of safety
Jesus, bless the child
For though she
Cannot be cut by swords
She is so easily slain by words.



Just me learning to be careful about my words.

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