Moving Along Sacramentally
- If my house is burning
In a rain storm
And I do not call the fire station,
Am I a fool?
What if I trudged
Throughout Death Valley
In a pair of waders,
Then, am I to be considered a fool?
-at what depth is it called faith? -
Water drips onto the paper
Flowing over my poem,
The red ink runs
Across the entire page;
Blood.
Words, water...
A holy flow... moving.
- If I let go
Of meaningless stuff
I once worked so hard to attain,
Would I then become wise?
If I went where I felt I belong
Following the Voice
Of one who calls in the desert,
Then, would the Wisdom of my soul come alive?
-at what depth is it called hope? -
Life is written
With the Word of experience,
In the body and blood
Of saints and sages;
Word.
Wind, wayness...
The breath of God... moving.
poem by Smoky Hoss
Added by Poetry Lover
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