Sunday, April 29, 2007

Mystery (a poem)

Starting this week, and continuing throughout the next month, I will be going a little creative. Some poems and a serialized short story will be featured in the coming weeks. At the end will be an examination of the theory of what can make "good" Mormon creative writing.



The Stars Shone bright,
With purity and prudence covering patient lips
Of people moving softly against quiet halls of salient comfort.
They enter shimmered rooms that shone green high trees,
A promise of glory making greatness the treasure proscribed.
Houses are built for masses who start mirroring a master's heart
Among frames facing upright.
We must do and see, like Son for Father.
We will do and see, like Brother for Siblings.
We have seen and done, in turn back to Father.


The dreaded darkness vanished
And the ground does grow as against large skies
Forming brown dust against blue for a better day.
The bright sun emerges, stopped sudden by the moon.
Flapping wings arise with other world creatures new,
And their kind and God's kind were kept together.
With rest reastablished the sacred.
A task was given for two groveling folks
(Who were tricked by the half truth of a trouble maker)
Sent forth from the garden to fulfill a promise.
How great is our fortune,
What delight now I see.
Not before, but now shall we be
Like a seed makes us He.


The Moon makes them all
Come a little closer along the climbing latter
With a name in their hearts another never hears.
Those having washed hands shall wear white robes
Signaling the gratitude of glorious people grasped firm
In the love of the laborer who leads the thrones.
Those believing bow to promise.
Innumerable Kings and Queens unite strong as a tree.
With Holy Heaven approaching,
The annointed are two of the heart, humbled knee and hungered soul;
Having the past and present bound together to promise the future.
In circles do the courtly try to conduct peacefully
As they pray for those tired who see problems of life
Ever growing carefully gaurded by a garden of thorns.
All holy houses stand forward.


The gracious hands make a final stand,
As the silk that stops the sojourn is passed;
And only one can judge this our play
To decide those who come and those to stray.
So remember to be kind to nieghbors
And give all your best for the kingdom,
For anticipation of the feast of crowns.

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