From the human dump of dung and debris.........

Life digs itself deeply into
the core of a soul destined to become a poet;
clearing away the brush of his defenses with
sharply honed sickles,
walking down a flight of stairs into the entrails of his being
with hot coals, and vinegar.
carving into the landscape of the poets existence;
fashioning a poets soul there in the dung pile of his years,
the ruin and pain from acid rain in his raw wounds.
But God fills that dung pile He has made of someones tears,
fills it with words and phrases and singing birds of hope, side by side with longing and despair...
and He is always there.
One day we find God Whispering flowers into being with His breath,
flowers from the seeds He planted in the dung pile ....
His blowing petals....a sacred fragrance from a field of aching.
THe poet tastes God's imagination on His tongue;
he is belching grace from the human dump, the dung and debris.....
God has created beauty with His breath and His song
He was crafting with this life all along.