Creation Of Our Selves Poem by Frank Avon

Creation Of Our Selves

Rating: 5.0


We are made up of
others we have known;
their impressions
are etched upon us.

Some have sapped us
of ourselves, slapped us
with a plague of self-doubts,
insecurities, hostilities.

But there have been others
- archangels in disguise, gods
and goddesses from some Olympus,
spirits of holiness and grace -

shaping us as golden bowls,
clothing us with flowing robes,
carving us as marble torsos.
They have made us who we are.

Engrave their names upon
whatever monument you erect
for yourself, laud them,
let your fame enhance

their names, whatever you
have achieved, festoon
a sturdy pedestal before which
you bow and scatter blooms.

We are not blood streams,
not genes; we are living wholes,
and the Creator molded the clay
from which we are made

with many, many hands,
some known and celebrated,
some distant, some hardly known
at all, or appreciated.

O, Infinite One, Adonai,
accept our pure thanksgiving,
and bless them, those with whom
you shared Creation of our souls.

Tuesday, January 20, 2015
Topic(s) of this poem: creation
COMMENTS OF THE POEM
Daniel Brick 02 February 2015

I came back to this poem tonight, Frank, because it speaks so wonderfully to me. You have expressed that has been inside me for a long, long time for which I could not find the words. Now I want to recite it in the morning to focus my creative energies for each day. It really does not take much effort to live a good life - it just demands the right effort, and this poem provides the key stimulus to make that right effort. How can people do a mean or unworthy deed knowing that he and she have been shaped by creators of cosmic good will to add their measure of good will to each day's life? We are all united in this divine mission - that's what your poem celebrates.

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Daniel Brick 31 January 2015

Hi again, /Frank The last stanza of this poem is going to be my morning prayer for the foreseeable future. It expresses everything I consider important: : acknowledgement of forces larger ourselves. gratitude for life, what ever is given, humility of self image but eloquence of world image. I love the way many figures contributed to our unique whole, there are so many for us to think but at the poem's end it all comes to rest in the ONE. I just found this Emily Dickinson passage tonight: EACH LIFE CONVERGES TO SOME CENTRE. That's your poem!

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