7.25.2011

First Numbered

it is addressed thusly:
An ode.
it reads:
Six hundred and fifty seven --
How dare one to quantify
To count, that is, the leaven
Cast into the bread of life?
And thereby, see beyond its strife
Counted blessings, they say
None deserved, but each bought
Bought with each numbered day
Won in each battle fought
But to be given as one ought
Be all blessed things, away
As may man to his wife
Now give as he is able
Even to the blood of his life
If it yet be no fable
And each drop counted, then
As the tears even overwrought
And we return once again
Hereafter counting, consider our lot
Not blessings received, but given
Count each candle its lit-match sought;
- Six hundred and fifty seven.

2 comments:

  1. What a beautiful poem! It reminds me of how the Kingdom of God suffers violence and the violent take it by force. Certain blessings require one to seek after them with earnestness and persistence. They will not come unless one fights for them. This is the reader's point of view. Does the poet agree?

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  2. The poet was trying to figure out the best point to rhyme with 'seven' again, but I think the point is valid!

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