For years now I've tried to write a poem about the birth of Jesus, but the words just won't come. So, I wrote about not being able to write about it. Also, I love Jesus.
Waiting for Words
I listen to the song in my head
about a manger, wonder how
to write the Only Story.
I wander through holy lands in my heart,
patient pen cradled between fingers,
descend beside a stream of tears
into the silent night.
Lambs bleating on hillsides
disappear when I turn to look,
their keepers gone with them.
Men from the East move together
toward redemption, their tale told in
beams of moonlight, while I walk
ancient roads, wordless, alone, watching
dust blow away toward Bethlehem.
Still, still in the long dark
I hear a lullaby, lift my eyes,
hoping for a wise star.
Melody Newey © 2013