Parvum Dei

Primitive men carved 
on their cavern’s walls
with blood, bones and stones. 
Common daily scribbles
hieroglyphic-like riddles: 
That is how I see poetry’s sprout 
coming about, but we’ll never know.

I know that I can imagine
one of these unaware gods proudly
staring at his masterpiece, 
smiling and saying this:
One day, someone will see 
and put into words my legacy.
Poetry had a shape then,
yet it had no life or sound.

Then, other little Gods like me, 
skillful craftsmen of their art,
brought all the live elements 
to explode and play their part.
Poetry let loose its gifted hounds: 
All the shades, shapes and sounds
were brought to life. Even the
inexpressive worm beneath the Earth 
had its place in a poet´s verse.

Poetry became whole, 
as it was supposed to be.
Because of little Gods like me
its metaphors have cured a soul, 
lifted rocks with a pair of wings
and gave beauty to all the things.

It has made a stronger man 
of me, and under God’s plan
I may someday become poetry itself   
Or I’ll just write and walk 
until I reach myself.