Nothing like the blended tunes
Of Birds and Words;
The Sparkling notes of poets
And the sing-song of Him who wrote us
That lives and moves and is and recollects
By sounding breaths
And rounding ashes into vowels.
There are lyrics in our bowels
That You allow to haunt us,
And yet some days,
On the songbird's strong days,
We are free to delight
In these mercenary sighs,
Sonnets of our original sin
Turned to tonic for our blindness.
Make me to sing
From even my muted inner organs
For I don't posses ears to hear
And long my eyes have longed
To glimpse your wind.
Only an undone child of God
Can see the bird and hear its song,
So breed the beautiful deed within me,
Seeded deep enough to bubble up
From but the faintest tough of day,
The way a lily
Is meant to wreck the worried world.
I'm yours I'm told,
So breathe a big bold blend of life sound
Into these quiet bones.
I'm alive, you know.