Lines, curves, connecting, pausing, parting.
Tones whose punctuation builds inside context.
The warmth of one’s breathe greeted with sound
The friction of one’s hand running along lined paper
The pressure of the fingertip upon keys square-shaped.
The force of the tongue upon the roofed arch of
a mouth, for the welling up of one's soul
as to petition the mind inside them with another.
The pine within us to be au fait with a friend and
the quest to know how to be able to be known
must hold hands with words written, spoken, …even signed.
The wellspring of the heart overflows to the lips,
the fingers with pen, the symbolizing hands, and even
the tap, tap, tap of the lettered keyboard.
Not only that, but the coos, cries, babble of the baby
seem meaningless to the mature but the deepest of meaning to them.
The written Word. The Agape Letter scribed for all tongues.
The WORD, before breath shook dust and shaped
the man, then woman from the rib of the Adam, once dust.
Breath from The WORD gave words to the first of His image,
so much, as to have him call every creature by name.
The grip of the WORD, no mark of mistake, no jot
or tittle out of place. The WORD that never falls
to the ground void, like ours do over and over and over.
If words true meaning were only able to be known by the speaker,
why would speech have been destined by The WORD Himself?
Inside a word, lay a gift from the Being who made us to have
mouths, hands, motion, expression, souls that sing and
more so, souls that will forever praise with Him or
groan apart. Words eternal? YES! Words meaningful?
Absolutely, to the deepest of depths. Words written by
His very finger in the dirt to the wearisome woman, whose body
and essence beckoned, even desired death; He so saved with those
words. His WORD, you ponder? A mystery of all mysteries, a piece
of art which calls even the most brilliant minds to bend down
and find with all their words read and said are left... speechless!
© Emily Murphy - March 8, 2011
I wrote this poem for this week's Random Acts of Poetry at The High Calling.
The prompt is "What's in a Word?"
I've read this through twice - and it gets richer the more you read it.
ReplyDeleteThe logos is the spoken word - the spoken word that -- as you say -- leaves us speechless.
Beautiful poem.
I agree with Glynn...so fun to connect with my bloggy friend through this poem--very well done, Emily:) honestly, beautiful and simply full.
ReplyDeleteI hope you've been doing the photography prompts at the high calling as well as you have so much to offer!