breath of beadality

If words were like beads,
strung on narrow reeds,
I would plant bead seeds,
hoping they would sprout.
Then through the garden ramble,
along each row I’d amble,
hunting with a candle,
for the perfect bead.
Except on most days,
I’d resort to other ways,
plucking beans and maize,
their beauty leaving me amazed.
Stringing up odd feed,
and here and there a weed,
whatever the string needs,
or threading beads who plead.
It is not my mind which guides,
unable to pick or choose sides,
set aside my will,
unless I want swill.
I merely garden what wind needs,
cultivating wild beads and reeds,
witness and see where it leads,
threading all the gems and weeds.

Advertisements

About Brad Werner

Technical Evangelist
This entry was posted in poetry and tagged , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s