The Spoken Word Poet
In all that you are, you stand before us in triumph
And there is the sacred moment that you are still yourself, before you are transformed.
You open your mouth
And through your voice, your lips, your body
God speaks through you.
In a rush, we are swept into the sweet silvered slipsteam of your words,
Transported through bits of your life
Given a view of your heart
Peeking through a keyhole given to us by you, to see your soul.
Without a mic, you are still heard, completely clearly.
You call out the words in your best "Cappucino on the bar" voice.
A preacher, a prophet.
And when you've finished and people ask you how you did it, most don't understand your answer.
You tell them that you just open your mouth and The Creator speaks through you.
But I know.
The truth is no more complex than that.
You once said in a poem, "My words will haunt you."
And they do.
They inhabit my thoughts.
They float, like spectres in my dreams.
They infect my writing.
In this moment, you glow.
And we bask in the essence that is this, your moment of perfect triumph.
All writing contained in this website © 1998-2005 by Betty A. Parker