The Song of Myself: A Poem

Wednesday 19 July 2006

A Poem

SUNSET

Sunset
Red, orange, Gold.
Sunset
Proclaiming God
He exists, He lives.
Sunset
How Can you look at
Sunset
and tell me God is dead?
Sunset.

Sunrise
Red, orange, Gold.
Sunrise
Announcing the day.
Sunrise
He exists, He lives, He loves you.
Sunrise
Do you see?
Sunrise
God is alive in you and me and
Sunrise.

May 1991

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The Song of Myself

Many times I have wanted to sing the song of myself, but I've never been willing to take the time or pay the price.

What would it take to sing the song of yourself?

You would have to take a long, careful look into what is deep and hidden within you. What memories and obsessions haunt you? Who or what speaks to you at night when the raw cut of your home movies are shown on the screen of your mind?

Knowing yourself takes a long time, but even if you take that journey, you might still not sing the song of yourself. What would stop you?

Cowardly fears and righteous obligations.

Because....

Singing the song of yourself means telling the truth, and the truth has a way of severing ties to people and places and things.

Because....

People don't want to hear your song. They don't want to hear their own songs.

So if you dare to sing the song of yourself, be aware that you might be standing alone at the end of it.

So what is so great about singing the song of yourself?

Descartes knew that the only truth you can know is the truth of your own existence.

The song of myself echoes in my ears every day because I would like to write the truth about one human being. And I'm I will ever truly know.

RLP: www.reallivepreacher.com

The Story of A Life.....

.... One would think that it was fairly easy to write about ones own life. Just start at the beginning and move forward through history until the present day is reached.

It isn't that easy.

Most of my childhood is lost in the trauma of survival, some is jumbled and can't possibly be exactly as how I remember it. Some memories only exist in a series of photo like images that flash into my mind and then are gone before I can really understand them. Others are too painful to comtemplate and yet they will not be silenced.

It is time I think to allow them to speak, sometimes in the small voice and sometimes to shout, to give voice and words to and articulate-ness to the inarticulate scream of a frightened child.

She will not be silenced, not know, not anymore.

Come forth Child, for here you will be heard, here you will be safe.

The Song of Myself

Wednesday 19 July 2006

A Poem

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