little stream...

The greatest of oceans can't offer you a cup of good drink,
yet the lowliest of streams can refresh you with its small but sweet waters.

Raging rivers, booming their threatening voice forward like a charging wall of horses,
is sure to awaken wonder like thunder frightens a timid child.
Yet, the quiet melodies of a meandering secluded brook,
mesmerizes the jaded soul out of its catatonic spell like the kiss of tender and moist lips.
Each ripple, soft as breath but as life altering,
as the moment Lazarus heard his name spoken once again.

Deep waters alluring mystery beckon us like a sirens voice,
but the whispers of bubbling glass dancing over small stones,
calls to our hearts like the fragrance of mothers embrace.
One can drown in the depths of a mountain shedding its winter coat,
but one can be born anew in the mirrors found in quietly gathering pools.

One can pass in the streams closest to the sanctuary,
but cannot ford the wild waters farther away.
Let go of chasing angels; abandon measuring depths that only celestials can fathom,
and being content to find waters too walk within is my present wisdom.
-Written 2.25.05.

I was inspired this morning by Henery Ward Beecher's chapter in Star Papers called "Springs and Solitude".
I turned the chapter into song in my morning devotions and out of that song came this poem. I love how literature breeds contemplation and contemplation births music and music turns to prayer and prayer marries ink and on and on it flows...