Who am I to write a sermon?
I silently ask myself,
As I settle into my being,
And wonder,
I wonder and it extends to my hand,
Travels down through my fingers,
That now itch with a need to write,
To write words of hope,
Peace,
Contemplation,
Resilience,
Awe,
Transcendence,
And then
Breathless with completion,
I stare down at my work in wonder,
Who am I to write a sermon?
Tag: self
In Spirit
I’m most with spirit
When creating works of art,
In faith formation
I’m off in spirit
When mind and hands are melded,
Creating a new
Spirit is in me,
Always, and I am in it,
I’m never alone
Write On
I have run to you,
I have run from you,
In fear of self,
In fear of the unknown,
I have deleted my poems,
Confessions,
And such,
Fearing the power of others hands they might touch,
But who am I?
Whose feelings could be wanted?
So needed to be manipulated?
I am no one.
And therein lies the rub,
If I am no one,
I am nothing,
But I am something,
I am someone,
I cannot be no one,
And thus,
I am important,
I am unique,
I am valuable…
And if so I have much to protect,
I can either refuse to live, to preserve ever being harmed,
Or I can revolt against fear and oppression,
Determined to preserve my existence and living,
And thus,
I wage my own internal battle against uncertainly,
And pledge to live;
And so I write on.
Identity
I am
Who I am
Despite how others see me,
I will persevere with my identity,
With my abilities,
With my disabilities,
I am,
Because I exist,
Because I am here,
And that is good,
In whatever plane I reside on,
My identity defies convention,
Challenges boundaries,
Stretches imagination,
Ensures my breath is not wasted,
Promises promises,
Of something grander than believed possible yesterday,
My identity is, was, will be,
And when I go to my next destination,
I leave behind a legacy,
That I am building with the creation,
The priceless artwork that is my identity.
Unusual
Voice
Standing solo,
This is my uncomfortable spot,
But this is right where I need to be,
I call out,
And hear nothing,
But the sound of my own voice,
It is this voice that I am tasked with coming to know,
How close you are,
Originating from my center,
And yet how foreign you are to me,
Taking you in,
Taking you on,
I must come to know you
Like a separate being,
Alive, with wants, needs, desires,
I feed you my thoughts,
And must learn to be less self-conscious about them,
My fears threaten to starve you,
As they have before,
Voice,
I must aim to make you strong,
To let you mature with the taste of my tongue,
and the hum of my throat,
Like a babe I must learn to speak,
To have a voice.
She of Letters 