The Shape of God
If the thing is God, what then should be the form?
Ought it be long, grand, obtuse, or simple?
Ought it be rhymed, metered, take the shape of a storm?
If my body is calléd God’s temple,
What then is the point of a poem?
What art lies in singing God’s shape:
The widening sky, the sea’s glist’ning foam;
The sleeping babe’s tender neck’s nape;
The minutest atom, intricately designed;
Whirling winds – dark grey skies dripping rain;
Whispered words, secrets quietly divined,
Or an unrequited lover’s pain?
If God is the thing, what then can be the form?
For He is there in all – a touch of a hand,
A poet’s words, an artist’s paint,
The insect’s wings, Autumn’s leaves’ fall,
The winter’s snowy skies, even the hurricane.
He is ever-present, in all.
Beyond definition, all things
Are centered in Him, and apart
From His grace, all confusion springs.
If the thing is God, what then is the form?
It is the Earth, this creation, you and me,
And all that is is His grand poetry.
Michael said,
January 12, 2009 at 12:31 am
hey you worked out an ending. i like it!
the whole thing flows really well. good job
Gabriel Gadfly said,
February 8, 2009 at 8:00 pm
I’m not a big fan of poems about God (though I’m guilty of writing my fair share, I suppose), but I like this. I still question the odd placement of the apostrophe in “glist’ning.” Does the excluding the ‘e’ really change the sound or syllabic count of the word that much? I don’t know.
Still, a wonderful piece of work. I’m really enjoying your writing. *goes to read more*