The Poet and the Family

So Poet,
Done is prophecy—
Active force not.
How might you, Poet, see the viewpoint
of Me?—the unfathomable Father
who art in Heaven.
Imagination?—Self-projection?—Desperation?—
Humans made in My image
but not in My house—
Active force forever?—
Forever—
Revealed word?—
From past prophecy—
Word of knowledge?—
Further light on the meaning of My name?—

Marked
by My most holy writ but not said when—
Cause I
My servants to become whatsoever choose I—
Modern, in your eyes, living, in your days—
living modern-day example unto you—
You saw it all, Poet, though not a fan—
Smiled I as caused I—free will respected—
The tournament—the testimony—the movie—
The story spread through decades—
Your slow self pondering possibilities—

Yes, you, Poet, having heard the testimony,
(Hearing, ‘Jehovah gives the victory’)
Forgotten the tournament,

(The fourteen-year-old intruder
giving the world’s top-seeded
a run for her title)
And before the making of the movie
which would remind you of the tournament,
You pondered what the testimony meant—
Choices three accruing—

Said the snake: I paint
An image of the one I hate
Showing partiality
Choosing champions
Lumping losers
And I laugh.

Asseverated the sheep: I munch
The luscious pasturage
My shepherd
Has appointed
And I burp.

Screamed the eagle: I soar
On wings of glory
That I ascribe
To one the highest
And to Him
I give the glory.

So, Poet,
The tournament having been remembered,
The testimony having been heard,
The movie having been seen,
Know you what you know—

And My gaze shifting,
To you, My servant Richard and the family
over which you held the scepter—Thanks.


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