Dip my fingers into the stream
Where thoughts of millions bubble by
Bring a little back and jot it down.
See if others can see.
Where thoughts of millions bubble by
Gray-white stream, sparkle against black.
Above the light I see with my eye.
The place where truth yet abounds.
Gray-white stream, sparkle against black.
Truth flows purely and deep.
The false is swept clean, no more to harm.
Mankind is free to be free.
Truth flows purely and deep.
Delicate to the touch of my hand.
Cosmically bound by the one who is truth,
Curving low to show those who can see.
Delicate to the touch of my hand.
Though it rushes so quickly by.
Calling to writers and poets, "Please come,
Drink deeply from me and share with all."
Dip my fingers into the stream.
Gray-white stream, sparkle against black.
The false is swept clean, no more to haunt.
Curving low to show those who can see.
Drink deeply of me and share with all.
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This poem really surprised me. It started with one image of reaching up into the place where stories and art come from - somewhere in the mind, somewhere in the collective ether consciousness, or whatever metaphysical, brain chemistry, spiritual title you want to give it - but took on a life of its own. I'm very pleased with it, and thankful.
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