The writing I perfect is not my own,
A gift, it was, from Heaven’s Holy gate,
A geist of Holiness in it is shown,
As is a gem, for which I cannot wait!
For poetry, a vision quite sublime,
Is nothing when compared with what’s to come,
When silent bell doth ring at end of time,
A glory, all shall see, excels the sun!
And thus the greatest gift is given me-
I am a chosen prophet of the light,
I am the herald of the majesty-
Through all the beauty which I have to write!
Although the words I speak are not my own,
My spirits medium yields joy unknown!
Written February 27, 2007