You single wheeled cart
She places her art inside of you
A through Z tumble out hard
Carrying all that wells up inside of her
You handle with care the words
She places there, for now
Sacred container of
Words, filled to the brim, spilling over the rim
Z through A jumbled pieces, imperfect
No home in prose
You hold
Everything that needs a holy home
You carry pieces of a soul
Spun with tenderness with fragile yarn
Depositing gentle at the feet
Of those
Meant to receive a gift of poetry
Not prose
Line by line the art pulls the thread
Which started in the left ventricle of her heart
Held now frozen on a page
WIthin the walls
Of this word sanctuary called
Poetry
Penned imperfection, carried with care within a
Wheelbarrow of words
As with all that ‘s meant to fly away
She’ll pin the Monarch wings and set them free
You may now
Dump out all her poetry
Metaphor which carries dirt
Your services no longer needed here
For if she is created in His image
As it says
Co-creator with her God on High
She’ll park the wheelbarrow in the shed
For now
And humbly place the winged words
On the currents of the wind
And wave goodbye to what
Was born inside of her
Grace and peace to you as you travel far or near
My heart, my art, my poetry
Joining Laura at Playdates At The Wellspring
elizabeth w. marshall 
“Line by line the art pulls the thread”
Love that line-thread :).
Gorgeous, Elizabeth. *sigh*
Elizabeth, I don’t well enough to figure, but maybe you’re pondering something here?? The wheelbarrow is a perfect metaphor for a whole life time of words, whether dumped out or parked at the feet of our Creator. I hear surrender here.
Lovely. Just lovely. I want to share this with my high school creative writing students!