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Poetry Pleases: Sacred Reality

"Each life a story cut loose upon holy ground...'' Irene Attwood's poem promotes serious thought.

Imagination births reality’s child,
Pages of golden veils fall from within.
Drawn by God’s own sacred hand
Faces threaded from history’s ghosts
Rise torch-like behind the night,
Setting ablaze ships centred nowhere seeking belief.
Fallen ashes sink below over earth’s dusty covers
Scattering the fertilization of all hope.
And hope it does not rise again skyward
Defying death in faith’s escape.
Freedom’s cry ringing true the result.
Each life a story cut loose upon holy ground,
Weathered in mind, burst in heart
offered winded and gutted by reality’s grip
That is sin wounded.
Oh life that sinks so deep, so brief
Where is the relief to relive dreams sweet release?
Blood born weeps myths strange turning
Imagined in every soul’s yearning.
Breathed like wind lifting waves upon a silent sea
The answer bursts forth
Born a man was God, is God,
God is, God is, god is….


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