Inspiration

1:27 AM Marcellino DAmbrosio 0 Comments

The holy Pentecost of pen to paper,
When a language, then unknown to this little image of God
Returns to him, and is pressed through his being like a sieve.
These letters, scratched out of the white,
Marked and messy,
Tangled remnants of disregarded thoughts
Litter the field

But the rest remain,
Unmoved by their charred brothers,
Fixed and proud, spinning on their axis,
Spheres, wrested into being by their co creator.

They have been pulled forth and pressed through
To bring back those who have been divided since Babel
Each word is a language,
A tongue of flame above the artist's head
Prophesied foretold eons before at man's first beginning,
When the Beginning Himself said:
"Let us make him in our own likeness."

He was born to create.