Whether pen is on paper,
Words are spinning in my head,
Stories waiting to be told,
Poems yet unheard.

I’ve been busy living life,
Forsaking dreams,
Out of misguided love,
Secretly, planning for retirement and death.

Doing responsible things,
Weary at day’s end,
Excusing myself,
Sacrificing dreams for idols of responsibility.

Yet, love never demanded I turn away dreams,
It echoes the same phrase,
Year upon year, beginning and end,

Stories are only vapors,
Hidden in mind,
Poems dead verse,
Until pen brings life.


Stories echo,
Poems scream to be heard,
Pride holds me captive,
I fear never being great!


Write words upon words,
With joy, and rage,
Passion exploding in print,
Until storied bones become flesh!

Write of birth, and bittersweet death,
Of love, hatred, laughter and tears,
For the One who has written across creation,
Author, Founder, Beginning, End.

Word and Truth,
Breath and Life,
Father, Son, Spirit,

© John A. Taylor, 2013

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