Today’s post is a little different for me. It’s a poem which comes from a friend, Brita Alaburda, who is very artistic and has a love for words. She loves God, people, poetry, and chocolate cake (: among other things. She is also a fellow Word Weaver. Please let her know what you think of her poem! Thank you.

Corrosion comes to this corruptible goblet

When a decision is made

to play out

my mind’s ecstatic imaginations

eating away

at the incorruptible lustrous silver

of the conversations

between the King and I

preferring the gradual, vain destruction

of thoughts causing selfish reaction

and in doing

the organic metallic is blemished

I am left dull

as a woman tarnished

I succumb to my stained silence

no longer articulating the artistic,

with the only sound being my discolored groaning

I close my eyes

feel a sensitivity to

majestic Life unlike myself,

commanding a seeking

So I do what I know to do – ask –

If it is possible, my cup has become dark–

clean me?

And I am empty–

fill me?

Allow the words of my living to speak freely again?

I am made anew

substance bringing forth utterance

drink of delight

with pronunciation properties peculiar to myself

yet dignified possession refined to His liking

receiving a royal refreshing

going from gray to gold

can copious producing

now occur

of only pure

liquefied gilded word glory

now reflecting