I am not a cymbal
and I have no angelic tongue
I cannot prophesize to save my life
and understand no mystery
I have no knowledge
No mountain moves for me
nor grain of sand even
but…I am not nothing
have I patience?
and am I kind?
do I envy?
do I boast?
am I proud?
yes, yes and yes
am I rude
and self-seeking?
easily angered?
is my book filled
with the injustices of
my life
like a record of wrongdoing?
Do I protect and trust?
Do I hope and persevere?
of faith, hope and love
which is greatest?
I know – but do I feel?
Good morning Pete. If I went forth according to my feelings this morning I would crawl into the nearest cave I find, hide in the darkest corners of it and pretend to be saved. I meet myself in the world and it is frightening at times but I am not nothing.Great poem!j