I thought, one day, I wrote a thing of beauty.
Later on, when taking it in hand,
And sharing it with those, as was my duty;
Neither they, nor I, could understand.
The virtue of a verse is that its meaning,
Often may completely hidden be.
And God, it seems, prefers a lack of gleaning;
With His truth revealed more cryptically.
I thought I could, from Heaven, feel Him looking;
Sung my hymn about it, none could hear;
Though none would deign to join me in my brooking;
Never did a votary appear.
I read, again, my words much later; and
I finally began to understand.
I will sing it back to you and in soft, quiet words – and I promise not to drown out God.
Oh how true is this. We write. And honestly, so often I feel the need to not unleash it anymore. I see what it says. And in recent months…after some huge turbulence, the words have become so harsh, they seem not even mine.
There is little more in life I despise then liars and deceivers. It shows in my writing that I have a strong distaste in my mouth for them. But when the tie to one is close, it becomes unbearable almost. My words seem to have that encoded throughout.
Nothing worse then having the urge to spill words, spilling them, and then being unable to release them for fear one be called a gossip or slanderer…
Especially when I see some many buying into the lies and deceit.
Is it the divine speaking through me? Nope. Surely just my own frustration at what I see unfolding.
Hope you and your gorgeous faery are well David. :)
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It is as though you saw everything. One of my more cryptic ones. Clearly completely and delightfully transparent to you.
I think reading comprehension is one of my strong suits. Especially if it is in present day language. Glad I felt/read this right.
Enjoy your weekend.
And the same to you and yours, dear poetess.