Brian Faulkner Poet Rhyme

I Play the Harp

I play the harp;
It understands
     what's in my hands;
And what's in me
     my hands set free:

Delicate joy 
     for simply being,
Delicate love
     for all I'm seeing:

Quiet hills
     that roll out far
To where all shimm'ring
     waters are;

Where, up with sun,
     fulfilling dawn,
Arising birds
     flash on and on;

Where laughter, silent,
     shouts up leaves,
Glist'ning, list'ning
To the harp-like breeze.

For I am a wind
     that is never still,
Unbeatable rush
     of a trembling trill,

And through soft hands,
     quick fingers, light,
I ripple the message
     "All is right".

For all _is_ right
     in the center---me,
When I'm free to be
     what I choose to be:

A teller of tales
     that weave a spell
In the heart and mind
     of who listens well;

A spell of innocence
     void of fears,
A spell of trust
     that fakes no tears,

A spell of the awe
     of my childhood's flight
When Lo! I saw
     the perfect sight!

A face reflecting
     mine, brand new,
A mindful soul
     connecting through,

A being glad
     To spell in me
And weave one life
     of integrity.

Integrity,
     Adventure, Flight,
Joined in joy
     in our marriage rite.

And that is why,
     seeing eye to eye,
I play the harp.
It understands
     what's in my hands.

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