Ann Foster Poet Narrative

Notes About The Poem

The Living Word

The Living Word

In a country, far from this place. 
The word is not written down. 
They are not allowed. 
They will hunt you, 
and kill you…
for speaking
hope and heresy. 

They gathered. 
The sons and daughters…
Missionaries of Light. 
They read by day,
they read by night. 
They became,
one with every page. 

Soon, they traveled, 
as was their dream, 
to lands far and wide. 
No paper to hold and burn. 
No words to be found, 
and death to be dealt. 

The soldiers they looked. 
High and then low. 
They punished a few. 
In the end they found, 
nothing, 
as they were looking 
for words, 
written by men. 
not by God. 

The missionaries left the boat. 
The missionaries left the train. 
They left the plane. 
They moved across the land, 
Freely. 

The word, every word…
alive, with every breath, 
remembered and 
sang to the birds, 
that fly, 
and the fish 
that swim. 

He is Risen!

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