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Poetry: Thanksgiving

Gratitude

In the bright morning light that finds its way into
The slumbering heart within the waking bosom,
The wordy atmosphere receives no word of thanks.

Simple ways will teach the difficult how to be
Alive, but not afraid; ready, and not alarmed;
Thorny is the way to learn to always say thanks.

When we learned from mother how to serve family,
We also learned from father how to serve country.
But when did God Himself show up to give us thanks?

He must be leaning on the arms of angels now
And then when we circumcise the day and night with
A breathless expression of anything but thanks.'

So who am I to interrogate the heavens?
Was I there to bear a gift of love to my king?
Did I share in the Epiphany without thanks?

Still, I am not in love with garrulous women,
Nor will I be found in the company of saints.
I'd rather be discovered with men than with thanks.

Finally, in between the lines I take a breath.
And one in the middle. Then with humble spirit
I bow to you my God with nothing less than thanks.

Learn more about this author, Justin Bessler.
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Poetry: Thanksgiving

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    Gratitude

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Poetry: Thanksgiving

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