Read the words as the poet pens them onto the parchment.
Feel the parchment come alive as the poem is born in the inkwords.
Fear not, though the haters would slash and torch the parchment, and the inkwords become but ash upon ash; and though the ashes be scattered or buried; fear not, the poem will live on.
It’s clear, the ink and parchment had no life until the scribe shaped the words. Words brought the life.
And so it is that the parchment that is my body was given life by the Word.
Though haters would slash and burn this parchment of my life, like the poem, that part of me that is alive will never die!
Glory to God!
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1 comment:
you're a poet - keep it up
Love - Karl
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