The Perfect Perfect Poem

Imagine that God asked you to write the perfect poem. You sat down at the table, pen and paper at the ready. You let your mind drift, as if in gentle wholesome prayer. You wait for some guidance as to the main theme. Into your mind came the title. How? You could not say. Yet there it was, as if it were your destiny... your duty... You write the title down and pause to think about it... Into your mind come images, unbidden, unrehearsed. Images unfolding, as from some midnight dream. You think you should write down the first line. You force the first verse to fit your new desire. The words work well and you are warmly pleased. With a faithful heart, you press on with joy. The images continue and more words flow... Who is the writer now? Who is leading the pen? You are puzzled as the images stop suddenly. You are given time to catch up, so all is well. The words become eloquent, bold and fanciful. The story becomes more than what is first known. A hidden meaning has yet to be revealed. You sense it is on its way and you strain to know it. What can it be? Is it a secret from the Lord? Is it a precious prophecy, is it a holy revelation? And you tremble, with eyes closed tight, waiting. 'Tell me! ' you plead with God... 'Tell me! ' Then the secret comes and all you see is light. White hot burning light, the essence of God's glory. It is fitting to kneel in the presence of Christ. Behold the Son of the Most High, the risen Lord... And all that was written before means nothing. Now is the time for revelation, for the Lord speaks. And you are truly ready, for now is the time to write.