
Whispers from Eternity

Faith, Health, and Other Musings
May our minds flourish with creation, and may our hands never deny its expression.
It seems
contrary to my faculty
to craft poetry
that uplifts
a reader,
rather than
pulling her
deeper into
introspection;
but it is likely
that I’m simply
overthinking it.
So, I’ve created a poem
to raise the reader
to heights of joy:
smooth coffee
dogs
radiant sunsets
good music
snow days
chocolate
captivating books
love notes
sandy beaches
inside jokes
new shoes
budding flowers
What simple things bring you joy?
A poem is not a poem
if it doesn’t rhyme.
And a song isn’t music
if it’s out of time.
Language isn’t proper
if the grammar falls,
and a piece isn’t literature
until a publisher calls.
But, the listener laughs,
for he knows
that art is actually
full of shadows —
without rhythm
and without form,
art isn’t order
but, instead, a wild storm.
To burden word
with prescriptive rules
and to press down expression
as if a footstool
is to empty art
of its power,
to pluck to death
a vibrant flower.
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May peace reign
and harmony fill the halls;
may our hopes rise
as the glittering snow falls.