Does this Poem Know What It Needs?
My spirit calls me home.
Am I listening.
Will I follow?
When my soul weeps,
tears turn to laughter,
I hold hands with myself
and my soul takes my spirit to
the dance floor as I whirl
into the wholeness of myself.
My shadows peek around corners
stealing glimpses of light,
I reject, provoke, seduce, then invite them
to the Parts Apart Party,
where all exiled aspects of myself
are welcomed with delight.
God loves a trouble maker.
He made our bodies for mischief.
He likes to work with wood,
and gave us hands.
Works of art,
Works of love,
It is all the same thing.
Praising the Lord
Is no better
Or worse
then cursing him.
God could care less.
He would wish for you to nurture
your soul and it’s hungers.
Does this poem know what it needs?
Maybe not…
But this soul knows it needs
this poem.
2002
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