God’s Gift

I see you,
behind the curtain,
behind the wall,
behind the facade and
the whites of your eyes
scream of the madness behind them.
I hear them scream.
That is God’s gift to me.
The screaming meemies,
the Iwo Jima eeby jeebies.
I hear them all –
Lashing in your web.

I see your sillies,
your midnight willies.
Your absolute dillies
when you thought no one….
was watching.
I wasn’t.
But I still see.
That is God’s gift to me.

It’s like watching a child
who endeavoring his plight
thinks he’s absolutely right.
It’s not your ignorance friend
that will drown you in the end.
It’s the stones of unwavering certainty
that you heave upon your soul,
to weigh your body down
into the eternal fiery hole.

A violinist talents his gift,
plays a sweet sonata…
A painter flares his brush
and fancies his ware on canvass.
A surgeon saves a life
and pays his heed and deed to Father.
Great gifts these all and all with proof.
The results are in the pudding.

But what of mine, this gift from God?
No results to come but yours.
My sonata thusly, is simply this:

I can see your stones.
.

.
© 2013 John Allen Richter

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About johnallenrichter

I am an aspiring Poet and adorer of life, a conqueror of nothing. However I am a champion curator of truth and friendship and hold both of those things most dearly to my heart. Welcome to my mind's eye. I hope you will enjoy what you may find and please know that you have a friend here. View all posts by johnallenrichter

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