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The Prophets Spoke

The prophets spoke The explanation of their ritual But nothing provoked In them faith infinitesimal As a mustard seed While scribes choked the spiritual With logics and weed Poets alight with the supernatural Symbols uncloaked From the weight of the traditional And fresh fires stoke Upon all their meanings marginal And no one heard their words Until the gospelling angels came And despised shepherds Saw them speaking in skies aflame They too trembled mute Before the mystery of the lamb But the manger bore truth Naked, in the miracle of the I am For where else was birth Possible for a lamb? And still we see Light on the rim of earth Blinding the eyes to deeper prophecy. B

Copyright © | Year Posted 2009




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Date: 12/26/2009 6:30:00 AM
birth...conception before it..all god gifted..all full...full of potential full of longing, grasping, loving..birth, ripe and randy, delicious with intention formed and unformed..........Light & Love
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Date: 12/26/2009 5:07:00 AM
Excellent write about the the birth of ( I am ) Also enjoyed the refrence to the mustard seed. A very small thing indeed but hard to muster up this infinitesimal amount of faith.
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Book: Reflection on the Important Things