A Grace Poet

So I can’t be called a beat poet…
I’d rather be called a grace poet.
Cause where the pain
Racks and ruin
And harsh spits and barks and tangles,
I want a gentle lover’s pace.
And when I growl I hope I hiss
And the earth trembles with the sick of it
But in the night when breath comes tight
And what’s blocked from sight is nigh
But the pressure of what’s behind is fright.
I want tears in a river of gold.
Red of poison, red of healing gin
To salve the problem of what’s within, sin.
Nature fallen, human,
Supernatural, redeemed and yet in sin,
Where Mary’s gracing touch
Comes through
I hope the voice of grace comes through
And if my voice is tender when its gravel should throw stones
And condemn the hearty bold sinner
Trust. I won’t beat poet
I don’t want to beat a poet,
To be a beat poet.
I want to be a soul poet, a deep down and go poet
When what’s within is out and in grace and communion now
We’re entering glory how
One in wisdom finds You in you.

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