Poetry

---

The spark began
with a painting of a man
with a dazed face,
a crown of thorns,
and a question
that burned inside
He took his future and fortune
and gave it to a group
to build a fire.
And that 100 year torch
traveled around the world
from continent to continent
like a baton on a marathon
and it is still burning.

Millenniums later
another man,
a Catholic priest,
stood for hours
pondering a Rembrandt painting
igniting his life theme
of writing about being the beloved.

One dreary day
a seeking woman
opened to the page
of a Bronte novel
and discovered a mistreated
yet calm character
whose eyes fixed
on an invisible being
while being
unfairly humiliated
and a shift happened.

Another dark night
a young woman sits
in the very center
of an crusty auditorium
where a musical of many colors
triggered a trail of tears
and a stream of snot
on her soaked sleeves
as song, color and dance
tap deep into a hidden heart strand
that had never been touched.

There she stood
causally browsing
through cluttered racks
as THAT song she heard before came on
She was planning to bolt
but then a thousand
angles of light
broke forth upon her
as the words arrested her:
Even though
there is no peace
outside my window
there is peace inside
and that’s why
I can no longer run…
Love, thy will be done…
Slain… to her knees
in the clothing store.

Sometimes
the real stuff happens
outside of a church.

---

PLEASE ENCOURAGE AUTHOR BELOW LEAVE COMMENT ON ARTICLE