Bill Cantrell


Burning Bush - Poem by Bill Cantrell

Such a sacred place,
This crag of my existence
I always knew it existed
In my heart, I was convinced
That words could turn to flesh,
That there was a place in poetry
Where I could walk through walls
But oh how unworthy I am,
To happen upon a place such as this
From these majestic springs of inspiration,
The poets of old did drink
As prophets of balance, they kept order and peace
In a parched and desolate land,
Such a sacred place
Who can resist the spirit,
Once lifted to that secret place,
to behold the beating heart of the earth
And all things hidden in it?
My emotions are as children with wide opened eyes,
Let them play in your heart
My feelings are as seeing love for the first time,
With passions dressed in cherry red,
Let them touch your lips,
Let them taste your kiss,
Such a sacred place is this
My sandals, I do remove,
That I may empty myself of expressions
With my soul I shall wash the feet of those I cannot see,
For Behond the mountainous regions of melancholy,
There is salvation!
Above the gloomy clouds of death, and deep shadow
There is deliverance!

Topic(s) of this poem: poetry


Poet's Notes about The Poem

Another poem on writers block

Comments about Burning Bush by Bill Cantrell

  • Annette Aitken (8/8/2016 9:29:00 AM)


    That there was a place in poetry
    Where I could walk through walls Poetry is a place of imagination, of making the impossiable, possiable, its what ever you want it to be, lovely words there Bill.

    annette
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  • Moira Cameron (8/7/2016 3:06:00 PM)


    It is interesting, Bill, how many poems you have on this subject. It is like saying Words cannot express...' and then following that with all the words that DO express whatever it is that cannot be expressed :) (Something I myself have been guilty of on more than one occasion!) I am glad you are able to put these moments into words. (Report) Reply

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Poem Submitted: Sunday, August 7, 2016

Poem Edited: Sunday, August 7, 2016


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