Author Information
Missmerise
A calling vault that carries the heart o'er hill,
Does wish there be a place that could find us all,
In a mission of deliverance that with us be still,
Yet we lost in the welt and mangle and maul.
The welt form the lashings we take by the hand,
And sup feverishly upon as no tomorrow knows,
And the mangle that brings a missed item to flange,
In hope of creating clean and dry clothes.
Together we have thrashed about our covering,
In hope, perhaps that we are not completely undressed,
It is not that our needs or wants now hard pressed,
But the mysteries untold have been sent back re-dressed,
In a missing or mischievous piece or a phrase,
To deny the truth and refuse the age.
Once a small creature of no fixed address,
Was cornered and asked if he knew this,
Where is the Father who dwells in you, you guess?
“It is the light that He saw and He made it His,”
And who may you be? they asked again,
“I am the child of God of the Light,”
And how is that shown? In the third attempt,
“It comes with movement and rest,” be replied.
A moment ago I knew nothing more than a mouse,
And the predators may still stalk and talk around,
But it be the loyalty found in hunter and hound,
In the continuance of the quarry and snouts.
And if in keeping the word gets out,
I hope there be enough, that we needn’t shout.
©Richard.H.Elliott 2003
