Words

My words are my hope.
Where they originate, I am not sure, though I speculate upon their birth.
Inside of me, my children wait patiently, growing from seed to verbal seedling
Searching for inspiration like sunlight to pull upon a single root to
Lift up symmetrical leaves that perpetuate motion in all directions.
Inside me without appendages of fingers and toes and miniature limbs
Without eyes or tongue they will exist and somehow I know
When the universe calls one shall come forth and sing life’s experience
Sweet like a lead choir boy before the crack of voice.
Without physical limbs he shall moves mountains and create winds that touch the Souls of the multitudes, without voice he shall be heard among the silence and Voices shall cry out and laughter will tickle the throats of the throngs
And tears Shall fall in acknowledgment of truths and smiles
Shall follow knowing the silence of oneness has been broken.
Through the great source of all, into my hands, the words shall be born
And I will lift them up and give them names.
I will connect them together by imaginary dots and offer them to all
Willing to hear,
To all willing to know,
To all who are willing to see.
From the inside they shall reach out and into - and be planted into Eden’s unknown
He will flow like a river and churn stagnant ponds and
Awaken movement where once was still.
And he’ll find voice when read to another and song when sung by angels
And he will say what needs to be said...
and then wait patiently until another comes and they will stand together
and yet apart
Special in every way and full of hope...


Richard Nedervelt