Poems

​Crafted. 
Crafter.
The beauty of a poem is that it points past itself, to a greater truth. Something shared. It points to the genius of an author.

We--masterpieces, poems, handcrafted by God (Eph. 2:10). As poems, we point to the Master for the praise of his glory. As poetry, we praise him.

A poem does not exist of itself, but because of its Creator. 
                                Glory to him, in very being an expression of the Speaker.
A poem does not exist for itself, but to reflect and give glory to its Crafter.
                  Glory to him, image-bearer essence of the Lifemaker.

A masterpiece poem is great because it shares something of the Author, something of his nature, his creativity, his heart. As an author, my greatest writing pieces are those that I have put myself into--some essence that words cannot catch, but some part of me. This is what makes a masterpiece, a poem more than ink scratches on blank paper--my breath. 
                              Glory to him, partaking in the divine nature of the Breath-infuser.

I, poem.
I, praise. I am praise. I do praise.
Him in me, me in him, seamless sing. 

He, delight. He, rejoice. He, "It is good, it is very good. You are good, you are very good, for I have crafted you, knit you, called you, placed you in the Beloved, conformed you, still tailoring you into an immortal being, a reflection of my First Born, so that he, so that I, am glorified. You are crafted as an expression of the praise of my glory." 

I, rest. He has called me, good. He has delighted in me. Words that give more than life, words that shape life, words that are not intelligible but splendidly sear the soul with a glory hope. 

​"If God is satisfied with the work, the work may be satisfied with itself" (C. S. Lewis, The Weight of Glory).