My pen speaks, What my spirit leaks, As the broken, fragmented, Lines appear to me to be, Disjointed, but as they flow, In another’s ear and stays there, They become anointed, And I then become appointed, As the one to bring to you, What my spirit heard, In that realm, Also known as His Word. Him being the best poet on earth, The source of conception, Of the gift buried deep within, Long before my birth. Knower of the depths of all truths, And depths of fallacies, Creator of all lovers’ paradise, Crusher of all fantasies, Because His words are life. His words lift off the pages, And are turned into weaponry, To war in the heavenlies, And pull down strongholds, And principalities, I become bold As I read His scribe, Knowing that its power, Will never weaken or pass away, Even to the ends of time, And even then this Poet, Will have the last say… I admire You…. As I become engulfed, In Your write, As it brings light, To my darkened view… Your written Word, Spoken…have you heard? Help me as I learn to flow with it, With You, God, the Poet.