The Spirit

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Contently Deranged Travelers

Submitted: April 06, 2019

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Submitted: April 06, 2019

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3/23/19

 

Silently, in mind, drunk lillies sing

Their quiet tunes of defeat.

Too tired for dancing,

They slump down towards the ground

Underneath a darkened sky.

Leaves thinking of reaching.

I expect their expecting mercy

From the rain,

The sky doesn’t look too relenting

WIth its various shades of

Purple, blue and gray.

I wonder if they see it that way.

The trees at times seem to be dancing as their branches sway

Almost as if their branches (their hands)

Are playing with the wind today...

Or, rather, playing the wind like an instrument;

Soft movements

Caressing,

And In this moment I can understand the tree.

I really feel the wind

Like I never felt it before;

The power,

The magic,

The force.

Like a wave

Hitting the shore

Again and again

With miraculous otherworldly strength.

In this way I feel the holy spirit;

I understand the metaphor of which the bible speaks:

The spirit is the wind

Surrounding;

Fierce yet

Indescribably

Comforting.

The lilies give me a nod of acknowledgement

Like an elder, far, far older than me.

I imagine, they already know the secret.

Now they bob their heads up and down

In joy and in humor; they’re elated

Laughing at me, a child,

Endearing and naive.

 


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