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All poems: copyright by
Nicholas Gordon
Free scrapbook poems
permission to use
provided by the author. |
Blessed are those who doubt the word of God,
Opening their minds to what might be.
No literal truth is literally true,
Nor can one see unless one sees anew,
In lieu of faith observing faithfully
Each metaphor writ deep within each word.
Murderers would worship every word,
A band of cutthroats in the name of God,
Reasoning unreason faithfully,
Knights of night, whose end cannot but be
Unholy, though the righteous reign anew,
Sure as angels of what words are true.
Let wit and wisdom wonder what is true.
Inside, we face the being of the word,
Light lost within its depths, condemned anew,
Immensities as infinite as God
Trapped within the confines of "to be,"
However we pursue them faithfully.
Grant faith its grace, but reason faithfully,
Always doubting what you know is true.
Being needs no temple fuel to be,
Resting on the reason of a word
In myth, with reason, uttered first by God.
Each mind must light the universe anew,
Letting being be in words anew.
Eight days we light the candles faithfully,
Lest we forget a miracle of God.
Let go the miracle, false or true,
Even as you venerate the word,
Nor do you need to know to fully be.
Sing, then, of words that wake the will to be,
Each generation ravishing anew!
The past and future mingle in a word
Hammered into gold, as faithfully,
Embracing in the beautiful the true,
Lamps alight, we thank an ancient God.
In such a God we find solace anew,
Zealous to be singing faithfully
A text as true in pitch as that first word. |
