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.
Patient pen cradled in fingers,
wanders through holy lands of heart,
descends beside a stream of tears
into the silent night.
Lambs bleating on the hillside
disappear when I turn to look,
their keepers gone with them.
While men from the East move
toward redemption – their tale told
in beams of moonlight, while I walk
ancient roads, wordless, alone.
I watch 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