Saturday, December 10, 2011


thought becoming music,
synapses firing symphonically,
mighty swelling winds of be,
wood, flesh and spirit

magnetic flux gathering
all roots of desire to itself
then stepping upon any
obscure stage anywhere,
prophesied exactly there,

for a thousand years,
stepping forth at what became
the centre of history,

introduced by the Father:
"This is my beloved son,
hear ye him."
a thing the poor and oppressed
are always glad to do.

He said "I do nothing of myself,
but what I see my Father doing,
that I do."

We look around us two thousand
years later for signs of the Father's hand,
opening our eyes,
plucking strings, voices singing,
flutes and violins,
watering the earth with words of redemption,
this we do.

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