He held a pen in his right hand,
while seated on a cloud.
The pen-point glowed with fiery light,
as words it gently sowed.
The paper upon which he wrote,
made of finest gold,
Held firmly in its tender threads,
each and every word.
A glance upon the text pre-written,
enamored, wise, yet facile,
Spoke of wisdom cordially given,
by means of sacred vessel.
The eyes of the author blind,
saw nothing but his work.
No gaze distracting contemplation,
at the call of each little perk.
No rapping thought or confusion,
would his pure mind tolerate,
As the unfeigned dictates of heaven,
the angel faithfully writes.
His ears are fed with inspiration,
and joy fills his heart,
As with his dove's feather pen,
he draws the sacred art.
No sound is heard but angels song,
no voice speaks but God's,
No understanding could detract,
the truth of the sacred rods.
Yea, truth he writes with feather pen,
truth endless as the seas.
Integrity of thought and heart,
is all the writer needs.
Indeed, complexity made simple,
surely best describes,
The nature of his lengthy text,
and histories he transcribes.
The letters echo heavenly fruits,
each vowel endlessly circle's.
Each tender syllable's deft vibration,
a feel of guiding hands encircles.
No eternal time could culminate,
the writer's steady hand.
Nor could understanding ever cease,
to move the flaming brand.
I was going to write two separate posts... one on Truth and integrity of heart and the other as a story of a man "writing in heaven." Then I realized that the two concepts tie directly into each other... and decided to write this poem instead. While not particularly vague, this poem has to be read carefully to gather both concepts fully. Enjoy!