faith

Poem: The Hundred-First Psalm

A psalm of David.

The city of your love
sings through me
before you, My Lord

you hold my writing hand
that makes my living
creative act

won't you come to me?
I sit here in my house
with an open heart

no willful image
blocks the door,
I just won't see

the theatrics of personality
crowding
the openness you allow

this art that hurts
those with ears for only jewelry
they go far away

locked within themselves
their self-flattery
I've reduced to silence

their narrow eyes
inflated pride
blown away

I'm always looking
for your people
to share this space

the contact of imagination
inspired
by necessity

beyond the stage doors
of weak characters
cut off from real streets

no more precious actors
costumed in sound
to litter this town with cliches

every morning
I silence with your light
desperate images

they run away
from the city of your name
that calls an open heart.

- David Rosenberg
Indexing: ,

Posts from This Journal by “poetry” Tag

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    - Walter de la Mare Through the green twilight of a hedge I peered, with cheek on the cool leaves pressed, And spied a bird upon a nest: Two eyes…

  • Poem: The moon on the one hand

    - Hilaire Belloc The moon on the one hand, the dawn on the other: The moon is my sister, the dawn is my brother. The moon on my left and the dawn…

  • Poem: as freedom is a breakfastfood

    - e.e. cummings as freedom is a breakfastfood or truth can live with right and wrong or molehills are from mountains made —long enough and…

I'm not usually one for free verse, but this captures the bubbling feel of creativity when everything's just ... spinning along.
Free form and free verse aren't my favourite either but I do like some and this one speaks to me :) Thanks for sharing!