“With This Pen”
With this pen, the gliding of the tattoo’s nib,
Bestow but golden glyphs in beatitudes upon my flesh―
Remembrances of diagrams of holiness
Upon upon a stage of natural parchment aching for calligraphy
Applied to treated surfaces of the vellum―you see
Where seriphs of the lip
Or brow should be, the wounding chips
On treated space; upon the marble, pure geography
Of all that I may be, hung high above the altar
Of my temple; these where only God should be.
I cannot guide the stylus, nor should the page be pierced
Nor the open door disfigured with the signs and images of fierce
Unruly passions that waste themselves in bold and brutal scars
Where no man’s rhymes define where eternity and creation intervene.
What I’m getting from this poem is we “write” our “life” and, usually, with no calligraphic “flair”; and, even if with flair, without God’s guiding hand…
Also, I’m very sorry I haven’t “kept up” here with your poetry—such a lack of Refreshment I feel—so much work piling up as I prepare to write another book………