If I stood before you in a hurricane,
or the wing span of a duck,
on a quiet lake, near a rock,
in the spark of an eye,
in a cup of brew from Starbucks,
or within the sincere intention in a lie,
or the adrenaline in the effort of a try,
Would you know me then?
You look for me in superficial things,
like cars, and chains and flashy bling bling,
I have come to you
in the form of a woman, a man,
This poet's right hand,
even appeared to you as a lamb,
once in a burning bush,
and you still don't know,
that I am that I am,
No mystery here,
I am the spirit
that animates your soul,
And when three or more of you,
gather together in my name,
You partake of me whole,
I am that teardrop, on your page,
Am those wrinkles,
That show your age,
Am those volumes,
that speak your peace,
am that scream,
Your frustration release,
I live forever and never decease,
You kill my young prophets,
then send them home where I wait,
And I birth out another, just reincarnate,
You can't silence me I'll never be damned,
As always I am that I am. ©
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