Gift from God
God,
My Dear God.
My Loving Lord.
My Giving Governor.
My God,
You have given me the right to experience the pain of love.
Now you give me the pain of experiencing what’s right.
Now the right suffers in her white dress.
And the black gown of pain was worn by her once.
Not just once, not taken off and on,
But torn and stitched back together—
With the threads of living.
Made with dead dark animal fur, black and reflective under the light of the winter sun.
Each hair convoluted and dense in its layers.
The sheen of fur appears glossed and smooth on the surface.
Wrapped tightly so that she may escape the cold.
Oh but the sun never gave its heat in the winter.
And the white linen of rightness, expensive and earned,
is too light to be worn against the harshness of its counterpart.
Oh but how the fabric folds.
How it drapes and flows with the pleasant weather.
With the revealing nature of the sun.
And the hot sand reasoned under her feet— crusted over with its millions in number.
Yet she dances with delicate drapery— her white fabric
Flapping and waving.
As if to say:
“I’m here! I’m here, I’m right here.”
Once again, your words are so beautiful, and I even think I understand this one this time. Yahoo! I really like what you do in the beginning of the poem, with the swapping of pain and the concept of what is "right." I think it's an intriguiging topic for a poem, and you execute it effectively. Well done
ReplyDeleteYou did such a great job with your description, it flowed so beautifully. I liked the way you led into the concept of "what's right" with the concept of "the pain of love".
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