His Most Beautiful Words

His Most Beautiful Words

He speaks through my hands with ink
flowing from whispers in my mind;
like a night breeze carries the gentle song of
the whipporwill;

Soft and sad, yearning to open the eyes of the
blind-
he bids me wed my ink with his whispers.
For as each is alone,
each is silent.

Memoirs, sweet and golden jubilance,
spun as fine silk
dance before my eyes as words they've never
gazed upon.

Shadows of many days play out their melody on my parchment;
Soft, they harmonize into a concerto of him.

I humble at their brilliance, and glory in the
wonder of the utmost;
honored with the gift of his most beautiful
words.

And how I wish they would play on and on,
just to thrill my soul with his rapture,
to pen for him the most beautiful words
never spoken.
a.j.