I wish to sing a thousand
songs of you
atop a mountain as the Savior sang,
expiring from my lungs the wind that blew
through holy lips from which the Lord's word spread
I should instruct the masses in your ways,
teach them every tiny quirk and glitter, and they'll
record as gospel every word I say,
in awe of images so purely female.
A faith would spread like tidal waves around
an earthquake; converts would, their loves forgone,
construct cathedrals on the hallowed ground
that myths say we may have made love upon-
For I'm my Father, poetry's my Son,
And you're my Holy Spirit; we are one.
By Jason Paul Fox
illusration and web page by JASON PAUL FOX
You MUST credit my authorship when reproducing this poem in any way!
(It's OK to give my poem to friends or people at school, if you credit me and don't make money off it)
2007 Jason Paul Fox