01 September 2007

September Poem of the Month

Set Apart
A Villanelle

He spoke of holy words one day. I thought
of writing sacred songs: I thought I could
compose inspired poetry. But I could not.

He gathered reeds beside the Nile and taught
me paper-making. We wove scrolls that should
proclaim my written holy words one day, I thought.

He plucked three quills from golden geese and caught
a phoenix feather. Surely such pens would
inspire perfect poetry? But they did not.

He crushed a blood-red pomegranate, brought
me inky juices from Parnassian woods,
and spoke of writing Sabbath words that day. I thought

I needed time. He gave me what I sought:
eternity. Then He said, “It is good.
“And now compose your holy words.” But I could not,

for I thought He said “life” there where I ought
to have heard “words”—had I misunderstood?
He speaks in sacred words of holiness: I thought
inspired poetry was good enough. But it is not.

~ Admonit


Darlin' said...

This is beautiful. It paints such an exquisite picture in my mind and on my heart. It made me cry.


Iambic Admonit said...

Thanks, Darlin'! Would you like to post one of your poems on here? Please do!