Messengers from the Source of Truth,
Thoughts wing their way to the Soul,
Roosting there until the time
Man prays that he be whole.
He feels the need for something more --
Of what, he does not know --
He meditates, becomes quite still
And listens to the flow
Of thoughts in flight; he may accept
Ideas filled with power;
His personality aside -- this is his finest hour!

In haste, he must take up his pen,
Record what he has known
For that caress of Spirit's breath,
He may not call his own.
For what he wrote was not mundane;
It came from up above;
His pen was but a channel --
An instrument of Love.
On wings of thought a message, clear,
Can travel at great speed
To all who wait with open hearts as Truth fulfills a need.

--Doreen (Adams) Ellis


My Sister's Poetry Pages Index