I’ve seldom tried writing poetry. It’s not my gift. This morning, I was having my daily conversation with God. First thing after waking I like to “feed my soul” with the writing of others. I picked up James Taylor’s Everyday Psalms and checked out the Psalm 85. (set out in the lectionary for this week). I was inspired to write the following. It might be a poem. I don’t know. It doesn’t rhyme so it could be blank verse. It came from my pen in short lines. MY QUESTION IS, WHAT COULD I DO TO TURN THIS INTO POETRY? MAYBE NOTHING. This morning I feel called to share it. Please comment.
That present looks spectacular.
A gift of beauty sent from God.
And on My shelf.
Chefs know presentation is everything.
I see that gift every day.
Sometimes I turn it to catch the sunlight,
Appreciate it from a new angle.
I lift it. Check it’s weight. Even shake it.
Still the gift remains unopened.
I don’t need it.
I’ve done nothing that requires this.
Opened now, there’ll be nothing for the future.
It’s meant for someone else.
The one who believes.
But I long to open it.
If I were starving and this a gift of food,
I would surely open it.
It doesn’t disappear, or fade.
It’s always there.
Can I? Will I?
It’s my choice, always my choice.