Christ’s Life And Poetry

The unnameable voice whispers
with a breath made solely from light
–Its voice speaks a vocabulary
uttered as vast permutations:
migratory flocks, tree leaves, innumerable
insects… tropes, colors, atoms
and not least, the miscounted stars
significantly smaller than the total
array of fiery synapses and neuronal
connections added synergistically
when you dream, dance or smile
after love’s quiet absence
has at last been fulfilled.

An empty wine skin
found among ancient texts
becomes synonymous with a symbol
I rename my soul–
no more nor less real
than the vacant dead…

And if heaven is only what one imagines
ye who genocide the world with nightmares
how I pity you in estranged eternity.

Long rivers made in salvation’s
image going back to John the Baptist
…countless centuries o’ trespasses
memorialized by novel sacrifice
as my own for your redemption.

I cleanse the weight of a single
choice the same as a million;
my acts raised by the powers
of ten raised ad infinitum.

Gazing into the azure horizon
I patiently wait for Its return.

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Phillip Quotient

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i'm a 42 year old writer and have spent the last two decades sifting through books in a variety of libraries all across the southern United States while writing poems, stories and novels and am only now standing at that precipice where i'm willing to share my work with the world. my single greatest fear with regard to writing is that what i've penned would waste someone's precious time.
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Rebecca Alick

Your pen and you words did not wasted my time in fact it led me to a meditative mode….thank you for writing!


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