Words, by intelligent design - digitalized -
Distance not a factor
Nor time of consequence.
Seasonal elements powerless to abrade
As seen – as sent
Man-made messaging made eternal
Trump of man over God?
Created not made.
Heir to nature -
Tossed and tangled
In thoughtless winds.
Brief tremble of beauty -
Momentary glimpse of mortality.
Who then the greater power?
Maker of e-mails
Deleted but not
White blinking cursor
To revive – to remind - to tease –
To reflect in melancholy –to recriminate –
To never be silenced in a black abyss
Of infinite static.
Holding us mired to where we were and not where we are –
Or, would wish to be.
According to man, in man’s image made,
Sisyphus to ever roll the boulder
Up the hill.
Of the winged creature?
Mirror of rainbow;
Bridled with sweet nectar and dangling reins
Attached to our very souls.
Oh, but to grasp them and ride her paths of
Random fancy – free but for the pleasure of
Untethered by yesterday’s ties.
Present and alive in the moment –
Fleetingly senseless to the decay of our mortal shells.
According to God, in God’s image made,
Winged victory -
Trump of man over God – who the greater power?
Made by man. Made ever-present
By words and phrases
Into electronic ciphers.
Decipherable (it seems) but to himself;
And infinite in its causal
Regress – always looking backwards.
Yet, still a Titan over mortality.
Created by God. Made Ishmael -
Always with us.
God, creating a finite creature of dust
To dust to return.
One whose memory can be found
In the butterfly's broken wings lying
Beneath withered leaves.
Sorrow over death.
Surrender to cruel fate -
White Heron in Panther’s burning eye.
But then –
No languor hesitates
The butterfly her course
Nothing abets her to
Unfurl her wings to the air.
She cannot but be a poem written in
Taking flight - unfettered by fear.
In quiet beauty she soars
Bearing awe in her journey -
Lifting our laden souls.
And, by that then we know who trumps - who the greater power?
By stroke of key on keyboard
Burning indelible tattoos
Reminding him only of himself -
As he was.
Endless writing/reading of encryptions that
Seem to haunt
His ability to create more
Than what is beyond himself.
Unable to create that which would leave his soul -
Author of the poem of the butterfly
Written to His readers whose very hearts beat in
Perfect rhythm to her flight
A poem without words
Bringing peace and serenity
Through her whirling fairy dance.
Borne upon her fragile wings
Our imaginings soar
Her transient journey
Even to its mortal end.
Finding at last
Under the withered leaves
Not crippled wings
Battered by capricious winds
Stained arms that
Once lifted its traveler above
Her own prison walls.
Springs in our earthly breast –
That beyond the decay flutters
Greater beauty – memories of what
Is yet to be.
Shadows man's electronic history -
Deleted, but never vanquished.
To prick us
Our regretted vanities.
The opinions expressed by authors may not necessarily reflect the opinion of FaithWriters.com.
Accept Jesus as Your Lord and Savior Right Now - CLICK HERE
JOIN US at FaithWriters for Free. Grow as a Writer and Spread the Gospel.