Monday, August 3, 2009


I got the idea for this poem from my favorite quote by C.S. Lewis:

"Every poet and musician and artist, but for grace, is drawn away from the love of the things he tells to the love of the telling."


Why is it that we sit around,
And write down random signs?
As a race, are we bound,
To go outside the lines?

What is it that makes us write?
What is it that makes us compose?
A single word upon a page of white,
Or describe the look of the rose?

Why do we make up stories?
In our heads then write them down?
Is it for our own glory?
Or so our lonely hearts might be found?

Is it because we were created first,
And to be like the Creator is our desire.
And so it is, crafting quenches our thirst,
And by creation, we are inspired.

We want to tell stories to the young and the old;
To live our lives and make up fanciful tales.
To hear stories both spoken and told;
To let our dreams set sail!

It is not for the love of the creation,
That we become painters, sculptors, and authors,
But the love of the creating,
So we might follow after our Father.


Lizzy said...

I love that = )