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06/22/09 - (2)
My Best Prophecies
Once upon an inappropriate closure To an altogether different poem from this one (Which might or might not come to robust fruition),
I wrote this auspicious, if presumptuous, three-line stanza, Believing I'd struck just the right chord To let God know I'd recited His language of angels:
"And I've saved my best prophecies for what's yet to be: Those millenniums, eons, eternities God promised me, When He spoke to Avram and Moses."
As for that other poem I composed, so long ago, I'd almost forgotten about it, until tonight, When I focused, again, on those three discarded lines,
Which I've carried around with me, in my notebook, Curious about why I excised them, Even more intrigued as to what that stanza could mean,
The reason I've never expunged it from my thoughts, Rather saved it for a future occasion, As though it, standing alone,
Were a mystical scripture, testament, gospel, psalm, Capable of disclosing who I was, am, just may be, Assuming God's prophecies can really speak to me.
06/22/09 - (2)
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