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Open Poetry #5
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The Purity that Believes
| Open Poetry #5 |
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The Purity that Believes |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California 
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The Purity that Believes My son thought a bandage stopped pain when he was three of faith, that blood was cause for screaming, fear, the mystery of dark nights when the shape of things shifted. At five, off to school, he of new found sociability was beleaguered by a case of warts so tempestuous that his face ached with remorse and he learned embarrassment. He submitted to the power of the white room where he knew, though covered in childhood blues and yellows, pain lurked from clean hands and the smell of rubbing alcohol was a needle for sure. There in the white room his patience was dazzling, for such was the determination in his submission to burn, freeze and scrape those warts from off that tender skin and still return they did a plague upon his childhood a nightmare of skin eruptions. To admit defeat is not a normal thing, the white coat shrugged, then whispered what to do, quiet least the warts had ears. Each night this child, this blond youth of my love, this sweet natured sunny child made a ritual of faith so big and true that doubting had no place inside the room where dreams are made come true. One week of this nocturnal ceremony, one week was all it took of squinting eyes shut tight in focused thought, fists clenched in purpose true, I wish the warts away he said five times and the trick not in the words you see but in the purity of youth, he believed. Now if you doubt that this is true I saw it for myself, from older eyes that had no faith in such ridiculous schemes. It changed the way I look at things, from this child I learned a lesson, that if you believe strong enough then what you believe is. In the dew of little things, the heart finds its morning and is refreshed. (ee cummings) |
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| © Copyright 2000 Martie Odell Ingebretsen - All Rights Reserved | |||
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hoot_owl_rn Member Patricius
since 1999-07-05
Posts 10750Glen Hope, PA USA |
Amazing the important lessons we learn from children  |
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Denise
Moderator
Member Seraphic
since 1999-08-22
Posts 22648 |
So true! I've seen this in action too... Great poem, Martie! Denise And slight is the sting of his trouble Whose winnings are less than his worth; For he who is honest is noble, Whatever his fortunes or birth.~~~Alice Cary, ~Nobility~ |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
Ruth and Denise, thanks for your faithful comments to my poetry and others. |
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HelmutB Senior Member
since 2000-01-06
Posts 964Canada |
They say that a child views our world with different eyes. I guess it true, for my point of view has changed as well. A nice piece you did there and so true. The ability to describe life with words is similar to painting a picture; both can be powerful tools. |
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Balladeer
Administrator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-06-05
Posts 25505Ft. Lauderdale, Fl USA |
very delightful, Martie. Did he go around humming "Warts new, pussycat?"  |
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JOY 14 Senior Member
since 1999-09-22
Posts 1419Wisconsin USA |
Children can teach us faith! Even if it is in the form of a wart or two! JOY |
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Marilyn Member Elite
since 1999-09-26
Posts 2621Ontario, Canada |
Ahhh the things we could see through the eyes of a child. Great work Martie. |
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Marge Tindal 
since 1999-11-06
Posts 42384Florida's Foreverly Shores |
Martie- I learned this ~chant~ from the footstool in front of Grandma's favorite chair. I've also seen it work many times through the years. 'If wishing could make it so .. and it did.' Thank you for this delightful look at faith through the eyes of a child. ~*Marge*~ ~*The pen of the poet never runs out of ink, as long as we breathe.*~ noles1@totcon.com |
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Martie
Moderator
Member Empyrean
since 1999-09-21
Posts 28049California |
Helmut--thankyou for seeing through this child's eyes. Balladeer--LOL and thanks for the read. Your comments are priceless! Joy--thank you for reading this and your comments. Marilyn--a child sees miracles every day. Marge--Your grandmother was a wise woman and so are you. In the dew of little things, the heart finds its morning and is refreshed. (ee cummings) |
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