One

When I touch’d the rock of magic red clay,
it was severely difficult for me to fathom
that such a pretty stone would have me
thousands of feet up off of the ground,
all I had to do was clench it tightly,
and never let it go. . . even though it shook me violently
i was command'd not to let go;

Two

When I enter’d the blue tent of promise,
and laid down supine in humility to
The One, the earth growl’d;

and

my whole body, spirit and awareness
in The Now were lift’d up. . .

at first, I panick’d. . .
but He kept his Promise

And took my body upward towards His Skyy

Three

The One allow’d me to see the beauty

Of this planet that The Opposite attempt’d

To keep to Itself, and as ask’d myself:

 Why did you choose me to travel

With The Others?

 . . . there was no answer;

only a quiet Opportunity
to actually be on the same level
as Creation’s Highest for but  a moment,
. . . it was The One’s gift to me. . .

and I was free for once. . . I became someONE’s Freedom Song

Four

As my belly surf’d the Winds of Transformation
I reach’d out and rubb’d the thin-skinned palm of my left hand
against sedimentary Rocks of Ages,
I became intimate with creatures of Skyy,
and could feel the outer crust
of what The Opposite attemp’d to destroy. . .

Grand Uncommercialized Canyons of Beauty.

Five

then The One brought me, and The Others
back down to Mother’s alter’d bosom,
—and i never knew anything so beautiful
in all of my terrestrial life, . . .

i understood Mother from Mother’s Point of View

and oh how  my soul quivers to think
that I almost hearken’d my ears
to the voice of The Others,

almost exchang’d  my Rugg’d Rock of Ages
for something less than genuine

--that is, if I had thought on my own--

I knew that a handful of sylvre coins
would not carry me safely home again,
so, I decided to walk on dry land

Six
But those who chose to think on their own

Took their chances. . . they re-enter’d God’s Tent

With an unapprov’d sacrifice. . .

. . . a sacrifice of their one of their own denominatory approval,
and at first I thought, “I will go with them”

but I didn’t go.

As i watch’d  them hold their shining sylvre proudly,

The Others mock’d my fear, and re-enter’d the tent
with the wrong element,

but I still treat’d them

As brothers and sisters,
waving and wishing them God Speed

and a basketful of Heavenly Mercies

Seven

But as Truth would have it,
the Winds did not do what The Others thought,
and they began to fall, saw them fall
and God’s Tent collasps’d because

they forgot that God never exist’d in the tent

to begin with. . . but remain’d ground’d
but then, it was too late.

 . . they. . . began. . . to. . . fall

There was nothing I could say,

Nothing I could do. . .

For we all knew what we need’d to see
the unmarket’d Truth. . .

and still yet, some of us choose to do differently

but i will always bear in mind
The One who allow’d me to witness
The Collapse

© 2005, cynth’ya lewis reed

All rights reserv’d.
 

© 2005, cynth’ya lewis reed

All rights reserv’d.
 

Note to my readers:

Something interesting happened to me today before I posted this poem. I was moved to pray on my knees. I figure that I can pray anyway I want, even if it means standing on my head (which would cause me to be dizzy) but here’s the point:

When I prayed, I just simply asked God for one thing: Safety. Not for me, but for my family, (both related and non-related) and especially for those in the war, and those like our AD Sister, Sandra A. Mushi who is hopefully safe in Tanzania.

When I posted the poem to search for an appropriate graphic, I learned of a plane crash.

Flying dream. Plane Crash. Somehow this poem only took about 15-20 minutes to write, something that is not always the case with me right after a dream since I often struggle to recall them. But this dream was clear as a hawk screeching in flight.

Who says God doesn’t use poetry. The entire old testament book of Song of Solomon and Psalms is Poetry. Lamentations is Poetry. God loves poetry.

So much for my testimony. Blessin’s,

c.