........................About You, About Me...The Truth Poem by elysabeth faslund

Poetry was etched on our eyes with birth.
Pains long, echoing screams on paper,
offered to stars in sacrifice
for what might have been. At one time.
Does Heaven listen to words?

Poetry is written in our footprints.
Marking passages into phrase forests
through shadowed meaning word brambles.
Clear-sunned patches' epiphanies
pathing to ending lines. Lanes.

Our Father, Who art in His Heaven,
we have sprinkled food for Your angels,
fed wearied wanderers on Earth,
touched the souls of doves. Broken. Tired.
What words can hide the poet...

Lead us to peaceful glades
seen with unquestioning eyes?