And His Muse

God is not a poet.

His love is not inscribed on paper, nor stone nor waxen tablet. He does not write sonnets, odes, or ballads for you. No word of praise escapes Him, no longing sigh or wistful glance.

God is not a poet.

His love for you is silent, wordless. His love is in the rise and fall of the sun, the breathy kiss of the cool breeze against your face. He loves you with the ebb and flow of the tides, the touch of moonlight around you. He adores you with the gift of fruit and meat and drink, with shelter from the storms and every fear. He honors you with every star in the sky, with every raindrop in the clouds.

God is not a poet.

What need has He of mere poetry when all of Creation rings with his delight at your existence? What need has He of simple words when everything exists out of His delight in your pleasure? What need has He of limited form when all that He is, all that He was, all that He will be, is yours in loving fidelity?

God is not a poet.

He has given you your words, and in that is the purest example of His adoration. He has given us poetry, created it just for us, so that we may express our own love.

God is not a poet.

God is poetry.