The Gift Poem by Shannon Wade

The Gift
Could it be the angelic tones that echo from the pit of her larynx?
Or the way the paint brush seems to travel about the canvass
Awaiting its destination
Is it the skill of discernment?
Showering words of wisdom
Embedded with aspiration and power
Could it simply be to say a pleasant word?
Uplifting a lost soul that had been swallowed by the mouth of deceit
Perhaps it’s the ability to listen
While a fellow friend or loved one vents about the hurt buried within
Take note that I have made not a single notion to harp on materialistic gifts
Creativity cannot be bought
For it comes ideally from above

By Shannon Hogan