Poetry

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What Kind of Spirit
have You embedded
inward, beyond
our pourous skin?

What incense flows
from the fire
of our days?

One of miracles
at any moment.
By the minute,
quiet, personal ones
hidden from all
but angels,
both dark and light,
and the gigantic cloud.

If we were to see ahead,
or even in the now,
the everflow of gifts
available and operating,
we'd see beyond survival;
we'd see movements
towards thriving.

Who can turn
small gestures
into spiritual fireworks
in hearts,
leading desire
into an expression
too dangerous
to contain?

And yet,
a Spirit that has
reins to our thoughts,
to keep Himself reigning
over our minds
making us more sensitive
to His subtle tugs
as He adjusts our feelings
to the force of His words.

Slicing off
the foreign
disease-ridden
worldly wisdom
and human limitations
of His character
that try to suppress
his ableness.

Oh the beautiful book
that points to the nature
of the only One
who has the key
to our desires.

It suggests that
He is powerful
and sovereign
and His hand
is moved by our
pure prayer.

But child,
do you believe?
For if not,
you must reread
and reread
until the seed
is conceived.

And child,
breath in,
more in,
the things
of His dreams.

H. Stone (C) 2005

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