Church is poetry. Poetry is life. A life well lived.
There are three ideas of which, we who love words, can write;
birth, death and time between.
if you think about it,
those of us who dream,
how else would the grand oak grow?
wrangle tears from an acorn, long demeaned,
pour forth a mourning season,
cup the shelled seed within hearts
pray as the noon day sun.
Oaks of Righteousness!!
deliver this damning darkness to His bosom
Genesis waits upon God’s splendor
births a virgin dawn,
creation’s everlasting upon everlasting.
Weep not child!!
prodigal light perched on the river bank, no!
stars cast to the depths of dark, no!
clouds upon clouds upon clouds upon clouds
your stairway to the heavens. Yes!
Hope deferred makes the heart sick, but a dream fulfilled is a tree of life.
The beauty of writing is the inspiration found in the Google muse. Golijov’s work is beautiful. Be blessed by his imagination…