Twas long ago, in a heavenly land,
A banquet was held at the King's command,
It came to pass, when the Lord's poet fell,
Another was sought, who would not rebel.
Only the best were allowed to attend,
A coveted prize, for which to contend.
A great reward, was the victor's to claim.
Throughout God's kingdom, they'd whisper his name.
His rhyming verse, would be sung for the crown,
And for the people of hamlet and town.
So they arrived, over land, and by sea,
All bringing with them, their best poetry.
Prepared with care, for the Angels to sing,
Each of their poems was sung for the King.
Some wrote of love, and of beauty sublime.
Some wrote of nature, in glorious rhyme.
And so the Lord listened closely to all.
To every poem, at the poet's ball.
Then he announced he was making his choice.
And all who gathered were drawn to his voice.
The one he chose was quite unexpected.
A poet whom most would have rejected.
He wrote no rhyme telling where a stream flows,
No beautiful words describing a rose.
Nothing of stars, or the majestic sea,
No part of that world, in his poetry.
He wrote of God, and of biblical things.
He wrote many tales, of the King of Kings.
He used his gift, as God had instructed.
Describing how life should be conducted.
No lofty words woven into his verse,
No scholarly books to fatten his purse.
All that he wrote, came from Heaven above.
And each soul he saved, reflected God's love.
But no one cheered, as the choice was proclaimed.
"We need no prophets!" the poets exclaimed.
"I've chosen him!" The King quickly replied.
"What my kingdom needs, is mine to decide!
I've heard your words, filled with wonder and mirth.
Of gentle beauty, adorning the Earth."
"Meaningless verse, penned in masterful form,
Written to music, for bards to perform.
But decorative words that don't praise the Lord,
Exalt the writer, and covet reward."
"You have a gift that is second to none.
While using that gift, what good have you done?
What is conveyed, when you write about birds?
Can the Lord's message be found in your words?"
"Who do you serve, when your talent is used?
In serving yourselves your gift is abused."
Then the King stood, and he held up his hand,
All in attendance could hear his command.
"As you depart, I would like to suggest,
Not wasting the gift with which you've been blessed.
To lift up the world, you draw readers in,
Replacing God with the wonders of men."
"But what is the sea, compared to God's grace?
Should flowers eclipse His radiant face?
When your muse speaks, don't forget what you've heard.
The depth of your soul shines through every word."
"Simple it is, for one skilled at his art,
To speak from his head, and not from his heart.
You serve yourselves, for what fortune might bring,
He serves the people, and also his King."
"Now you'll return, to the kingdoms of man,
Back to the darkness, where your quest began.
He shall remain in my palace of light,
High on this mountain, where angels alight."
Then the King turned to his poet of choice,
He said: "Follow me, it's time to rejoice.
You are the poet God has appointed,
In service to man, you are anointed."
"You'll sound the trumpet, of mankind's reward.
The words that you speak shall come from the Lord.
Those who listen will conquer temptation,
And those who follow will find salvation."
"Your parables will give them direction,
Your sacrifice will teach them perfection.
So come my Son, you've a burden to bear.
For the task ahead, it's time to prepare."
"Drink from this cup, it is your destiny,
To be the savior of humanity."
Then came the sound of a thundering horn,
And a star appeared, as a child was born.
So it began, on that most holy night.
A poetic tale, endowed by the light.
A precious gift, we can never repay,
Was given to us on that special day.
Do not forget what the Poet has done.
His creative muse is second to none.
The message conveyed in His poetry,
Has opened the door to eternity.
