A Poem: The Word

They say this Word is living.

They say the Word was before all else,
and will last when all our words run out.

They say this word is sharper
than the sharpest double-edged knife,

and that it cuts,
straight between the marrow and the bone,

not with malice
but with astounding accuracy.

Something like a surgeon
wields instruments with skill

not for harm,
but with the best of intents.

They say this word is alive.
Though its letters stay still upon the page.

They say we cannot live
in the pages of a book

so the Word, full of breath
rises to meet us where we live.

Crosses the barriers of time
and distance,

and speaks as though its letters were
freshly transcribed.

They say this Word is life.
Medicine, sustenance, water for our thirst.

A prescription
to remedy all the ills that befall.

And gratification
to counter the world’s allure.

Yes, this Word, the great I Am

this treasure house of wisdom
that somehow gives us answer

before our questions form,
or meet our lips.

This Word, that drew breath
before the world took shape,

I know it mostly as
the loving whisper my ear inclines to,

that I might learn to listen,
and then trust with my life.

Ana Lisa de Jong
August 2018

Photo: Carol Haines

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