Poetry

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It draws me back
to the beginning of the beginning
when the earth lay without form and void
in a great sea of darkest deep.
And as its face lifted upward,
it felt the brush of God’s Spirit,
hovering over,
awaiting the word,
shielding from death’s darkness and any foreign caress.

And I, too, glory in the touch,
as I look upward,
a touch I feel upon my own face.
The Lord’s Spirit hovering still,
covering me,
waiting ...
then He speaks.
And my tongue knows only the sweetness of His word,
forgets all the bitter, foreign foods
once touching these lips of mine.

‘Let there be’ unfolds the manifold promises of love,
weaving His protective cloak,
as He hovers about this soul,
pouring out sweetest nectar.

As my tongue tastes,
savoring every drop,
the words upon my tongue wing upward,
speaking life and light,
spilling forth upon other faces lifted heavenward
where the Spirit of the Lord hovers
waiting ...
then He speaks.




The Spirit of the Lord spoke by me,
And His word was on my tongue...
(2 Samuel 23:2)




© 25 April 2005
DeAnna L. Brooks

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