In the instant of creation
I am a channel of pure light,
translating truth from some wordless space,
forming the formless
and joyful at the privilege.
But then,
the thing clutches me
and demands attention
like an ill-bred child.
"Look, just go!" I beg it,
and off it scampers
but keeps returning
with news
of its own imperfection
and my poor craftsmanship.
Then it crouches on my shoulder
as I inspect the work of others
and whispers triumph at their failures
and hatred at success.
Until I start to fear beauty,
***** my eyes shut
and cover my ears, ashamed
of what it breeds in me.
Dec 8, 2010
Dec 8, 2010 at 12:47 AM UTC
In the instant of creation
I am a channel of pure light,
translating truth from some wordless space,
forming the formless
and joyful at the privilege.
But then,
the thing clutches me
and demands attention
like an ill-bred child.
"Look, just go!" I beg it,
and off it scampers
but keeps returning
with news
of its own imperfection
and my poor craftsmanship.
Then it crouches on my shoulder
as I inspect the work of others
and whispers triumph at their failures
and hatred at success.
Until I start to fear beauty,
***** my eyes shut
and cover my ears, ashamed
of what it breeds in me.
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