Samual’s father leaned over and picked up a piece of paper off his desktop. “I see you’re still writing that poetry stuff. What does this one say?”
“Dad, leave it. I know you thought it was a waste of my time so—”
“Son, just because I didn’t understand your need doesn’t mean it was not important.” His dad stopped and started reading out loud.
Quiet Whispers
In the stillness of the night
Your quiet whispers roar,
In my heart the sorrows break
Then fall softly to the floor.
Each pristine shining needle
Feather floats to a dusty earth
Leaving room at last within
For pure joy and your immeasurable worth.
The bright glory of your face
Outshines all suns by far
blowing, your living breath crosses
desert skies to light each and every star.
Cleansing, blowing, refreshing
Reaching across an unending universe
Moving down from highest heaven
destroying forever
man’s darkest, ancient curse.
“This is pretty good. You need to keep this up.”
Samual could not help but smile. “Only pretty good? Dad, you didn’t insist on coming to see me to read my poetry. So, what gives?”
