THE LIFE OF A FLEA
how often God's good grace
relies too much on an imperfect state
both sun and moon continues to shine
and still God's grace through these dear lights
unmasks an imperfect existance
to taste bitter- sweet wine
still and distilled in divine warmth
made drunk from over- ripe fruit
sipping dregs left on corrupted lips
aged for a hundred long dark years
eclipsing brilliance to half the shade
lost in fears where waters overflow
swelling pearls and make diamonds cold
but rank water turns bitter spirits into sweet
we laugh in our most tragic hours
cry when we are happiest
revealing creation's brightest hour
of humanity's struggle to survive
to meet suffering's end
and view these glorious orbs from greater heights
God's greatest gift of life and breath
picked up and dusted by an invisable hand
removing doubt and fears
no longer living in a bowl
but bold with knowledge of reason
to dance on the brighter half of light
two equal parts equal unto him
the living and the life
instead of wrong or right
so bitter is the sweetest taste
when love reveals its final hand
we like mites feeding on its host
lasts one second past the hour
even the athiests must agree
nothing back to nothing
in this imperfect state
makes us the perfect whole
from our eternal being
in the life cycle of a flea...