Archive for December 9th, 2010

The written word cannot convey, 
or art or song or dance array
your beauty and splendor.
And so I surrender
to the fact
that
I
must,
from dust,
ascribe to you
the praise you’re due.

 

We write of you who cannot be written.
We sing of you who cannot be sung.
We paint of you who cannot be painted
We dance to you who created dance. 

 

The poet’s pen will surely fail,
the painter paints to no avail.
All impressions are a fraud
of you, oh infinite God,
whose presence
and essence
will
consume
and exhume
these dead forms
that grace transforms. 

 

So we write of you who cannot be written.
We sing of you who cannot be sung.
We paint of you who cannot be painted
We dance to you who created dance. 

 

Our artistic attempts to express
cannot capture your caress,
yet though we fall short,
we do not abort
these efforts
to convert
our
emotions
and commotions
into valid expressions
of our sacred profession.

 

So we write of you who cannot be written.
We sing of you who cannot be sung.
We paint of you who cannot be painted
We dance to you who created dance.

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