These Words Will Not Wait Til I Am Gone (audio poetry 2:41)

Woman Waiting for the Moon to Rise, Uemura Shoen, 1944

Welcome, old friends and new, to my revamped site! This is my third (fourth?) site makeover since I started my blog in 2008, and the transition from Be Whole Now to Words Divinely Wrought seemed to go on forever. (Truth be told, I did not always exhibit the sublime patience of the woman depicted here.) Take a bit of time to wander through my offerings. Because I don’t engage through social media (at least not now), I always appreciate receiving Comments and I moderate them all before posting. I’m still tinkering and learning and digging out older material so let me know if you run into any issues with links or legibility. Whether you arrived here via rachelsnyder.wordpress.com or wordsdivinelywrought.com, you’re in the right place for intelligent inspiration, sumptuous art, and a bit of what-have-you. Even though today is definitely not yesterday, here’s a piece I wrote back in 2010. Great to see you here: Big Love!

These words will not wait til I am gone,
fate springs to their side
lifts them off twigged perches
nudges them from gargoyled sills
for the love of god, they whisper,
can we not fly now
on the nascent breeze?

these words are not mine
they have destinies far greater than I alone can offer,
their universe lies not within me
yet beyond all manner of a limited life,
they have been born
for their own becoming
and clung to my bosom
they cannot remain.

these words carry the power
to carve canyons out of stone
fashion armies of tender hearts
from blades of serrated steel,
in their presence the molten melts,
walls tumble a-rustle,
what is a pen stroke
in the face of creation
but creation’s very voice
found a temporary roost?

these words I travel with,
I am but a porter
while they apportion truth
for the hungry
 I await in the wings while they
glisten in the moonlight
center stage is their domain
I, a carrier oil for the essential
anointing they advance,
my humility their exaltation,
my mouth their lute.

these words, they beswarm me,
plant sweet kisses round my neck
and whisper,
always they whisper
their unceasing invitation,
they outstretch themselves
in my direction
and fall as virgin snow upon me

these words will not wait
til I am gone.

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