"Ooo, You Make Me Live..."
Aug. 20th, 2008 10:07 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
I wrote a poem from
mhari. Is short.
From the gradual psalm of my book bound shiny red
There are any number of words of worship
And I read them in verses of twos and threes.
From the gradual language of comfort and certainty
You have reawoken me so many times to living, opening the flower of me to sun.
Leaves are made broad to gather up light.
You are as tall and slender as a sunflower and as warm as new russets
And hold me up as truly as the curve of yellow birch over the stream.
You wake up the joy in the earth sleeping closely;
You carry strength under your ribs like the bending heart of rich oak
A hundred feet old.
From the quiet complication of the beauty your head achieves
You make the things there are always too few of in the world,
Your Stradivarius violins crafted out of letters.
There is the quiet contradiction of your hand holding mine and letting go
Of your own that makes me sometimes full of heartache at night.
But you are wondrous.
Let me be your psalmist and bind you books in startling red,
Verse you in twos and threes and rejoice in you before the unwise world.
Sparrows fall; someone sees.
I want to send you flying without fear.
I want to lift your wings as you have guided mine.
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From the gradual psalm of my book bound shiny red
There are any number of words of worship
And I read them in verses of twos and threes.
From the gradual language of comfort and certainty
You have reawoken me so many times to living, opening the flower of me to sun.
Leaves are made broad to gather up light.
You are as tall and slender as a sunflower and as warm as new russets
And hold me up as truly as the curve of yellow birch over the stream.
You wake up the joy in the earth sleeping closely;
You carry strength under your ribs like the bending heart of rich oak
A hundred feet old.
From the quiet complication of the beauty your head achieves
You make the things there are always too few of in the world,
Your Stradivarius violins crafted out of letters.
There is the quiet contradiction of your hand holding mine and letting go
Of your own that makes me sometimes full of heartache at night.
But you are wondrous.
Let me be your psalmist and bind you books in startling red,
Verse you in twos and threes and rejoice in you before the unwise world.
Sparrows fall; someone sees.
I want to send you flying without fear.
I want to lift your wings as you have guided mine.
(no subject)
Date: 2008-08-21 02:29 am (UTC)*wibbles*
*hugs you so much*
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